City in the mountains

Reality

Nausea.

A hand

reaching inward,

clasping viscera,

and ringing it out.

A clash between

love and pain,

trust and deceit.

Disavowal

blew away

with the wind.

Acceptance.

Empathy

The path an eternity, 

time had lost its grasp.

Unbearable weight

...incarnate

within intertwined fingers

Had nature no discretion?

twisted.

robbed.

I had seen

but did not understand.
My own weight 
insurmountable

I looked again,

again,

and again

and finally felt
the tears
...suppressed.
concealed.

the weight

resting within those fingers.

Mosaic

Puzzled.

Broken shapes

unable to be reformed

...remain disjoint.

A witness

but not an advocate.

A spectator,

no role to play?

powerless?

bereft.

Sunrise from Jordan

Adventure and War

Thuds against the door

"To adventure," says the wizard.

Refusal to be constrained,

free

imaginative

limitless sky

each new step having its own identity

---

Colors muted.

Guises razed.

Signs of faltering humanity.

sadness

anger

limited to act

life itself devalued

Distance

Restless

Suspended in air, the floor just out of reach
...reaching still

A constant visceral pull

pining?

stunted

Crystal Canyon

Herd Paths

Kibbutz Ketura

Moonlit Ridge

Finally the ambient light of the kibbutz lost its eminence.  Clouds rolled past the moon leaving it exposed to reflect its lunar light.  The path's pebbles, defined only by shadows cast from the moonlight, cluttered every step.  Only a surefooted move would prove useful.  Wadis obscured the ridge trailhead, leaving a steep drainage for the ascent.  With all direction based on bearings, each slipped footing brought second guesses, doubts, and fear.

When all paths are concealed, can mere direction propel a person forward to keep walking, taking the next step?  It seems that when one is immersed in unfamiliarity, the search necessitates innovation and creativity whether during the journey or in hindsight.  The boundaries of a trail exclude the subconscious; the journey is prescribed.  Sometimes bearings are all we have or all we need, and when we leave the trail we subject ourselves to the uncertainty of our subconscious.  A fuller sense of self discovery is revealed.

Desert Rain

Above the wasteland loomed a vast mountain wilderness of jagged rocks and steep ascents.  Tracks of predators garnished all footpaths as if they seized prey the wasteland did not claim.

A lone tree found residence along the trail, yet all life was absent.  Its frame being compromised limb by limb, even the birds whose home was this tree took flight and abandoned their nest.

Further down the path emerged a peculiar drainage with unique flora.  Stooping down inquisitively, this shrub possessed intricate branched knobs as if to portray thousands of tiny fingers.  Discontent with this superficial discovery, pinching one of these knobs caused fluid to be emitted.  A taste of this fluid suggested that its composition was that of salt water.  Perhaps the key to thriving in the desert was demonstrated by this shrub's observed adaptations.  Therein lied a union between that which can prevent vegetation and that which can promote it: salt and water.  These resources were treasured as the shrub's extensions served as a sponge for storage.

Hours after more traveling in a desert canyon, a human settlement appeared.  With no person in sight, the air was filled with calls of waterfowl in the pond ahead.  This man-made oasis contained numerous fruit trees in tiers above the valley floor.  Dates, pomegranates  and olives littered the under-story, initiating a small feast of fruits.

With this adventure coming to an end, morning breeze had transitioned into beating sun, the threat of exhaustion apparent.  A cluster of clouds, almost without warning, amassed in front of the sun and blocked its threatening rays.  Then, a rare occurrence, small drops of precipitation descended from the sky: desert rain.

Wasteland

Barren and void, imprints from a past life remain in the sand.  They become obscured and disappear as new tracks wipe them away.

An outward portrayal of an internal hell, this realm is truly parched and empty.

Fallen timbers from leafless shrubs lay undisturbed as they lack mere water to decompose.

What new life do they create?  What manner of existence do they enact apart from enduring intense heat from the unwavering sun?

All defenses neutralized, the mountains surrounding this valley prevent cloud access, and the few clouds that remain are subject to the full brunt of the sun, dissipating beneath its relentless weight.

Stones array the fields, glazed and hardened under heat as the sun refuses to grant them any semblance  of moisture.  In search of solace, victims lie prostrate in the fields among rocks, and they themselves become hardened.

Shrubs convey an inner conflict as bark abandons limbs.  The antagonist prevails, prying wood open from its viscera and renting its exterior.

What life will be created here?

Sand Dunes

The setting sun pierced between gnarled branches of vegetation, casting shadows of mangled figures on the ground below.  Reaching my hand beneath the surface and drawing it upward, a stream of sand flowed back down to the earth.  Again I grasped the sand in my palm but clasped it tightly as if to manipulate its form, but the grains resisted their mold and returned to their resting place as before.  There they remained, tightly contained yet loosely gathered.  With the breeze, one grain may flow with many others, or it may travel with very few.  Nonetheless, the wind will cease and that grain will rest, perhaps near its origin or maybe far from home.  

Last night some friends and I watched this video several times. I hear it's an Egyptian brand of cheese.  Click on this text to view the video.  .

Dead Sea

Archaeology sampling at Timnah

Timnah Valley

Chumus, the first of many

Taking root

The crisp morning air rose from the rushing water beneath the path.  Each step a battle and each breath a gift, the mountain breeze supplied sustenance as if quenching an unmistakable thirst.  Finally respite came with an overlook into the mountain valley.  The morning sun rose as mist was dissipating and vanishing from within the valley below as though the veneer of my own thoughts was being lifted.  Immersed in reflection, all sounds and smells were only those of the natural world.  Each following step brought further thought, each of which had been suppressed more deeply than the previous thought.  The path gradually lost its resistance value and simply became a medium for reflections and aspirations.

Three years ago, the steady ascent to Shining Rock met me vulnerable following a monumental tragedy in life.  A close friend and I ventured to Cold Mountain and back, and I was left with a subtle awareness that life would continue and that I had enough strength to take the next step.  That's all I needed.

I returned to Shining Rock Wilderness to reflect on the significant change in recent years and to prepare for the future.  With Israel approaching in weeks, I hope to engage in spiritual reflection, reinforcing my own spiritual identity and what has informed it.  Also included are my goals for this experience and educating myself about cultural and religious norms of that region.  

Retracing my steps, I observed a deeply rooted hemlock tree downhill from the peak of Shining Rock.  I had stopped to rest here following an arduous and difficult bush-whack from the creek trail hundreds of feet below.  This time I chose to do the bush-whack after seeing the peak instead.  Only after hours of mountain laurel and brier thickets, boggy tributary drainages, and fallen trees the trail emerged beside the valley stream.