Three o'clock a.m. Tick Tock...
Sleep interrupted. My thoughts wander to this place, late in the cool of the fresh autumnal night. Not another Homo sapiens sound is audible out there. Nothing but stars chattering, competing for my attention in a unified, illuminated display of that special kind of magic that I thirst for. The dark night aches to be heard.
They must have stirred me as I slept. Something compelled me to wake up and listen, my bedroom windows serving as some kind of this so-called 'protective' encasing from such a mystifying, evasive occurrence. A time to let go to these protections our species seeks out surely... I thrive when I stumble onto these revelations. They touch my soul so deeply as to leave a scar. That's what I desire; to have a scar from this place. This place that I have finally thought of as 'home'.
As a rock, I resisted. Soon though the feminine waters of the Merced found a way to work through my rock like psyche- as any fierce source of running water would do. Amazing grace indeed. What I adore about 'river living' are these little pockets of solace. Sometimes so quiet, but that constant background buzz that resonates... that is pure joy.
Another joy in this land: Sunny summer daze/days laying under a tree next to the mighty Merced (this summer in particular with all the snow melt from the season) River, and feeling the leaves of the tree imprinting a pattern of shady images above you. With your eyes closed you can feel the sunlight vibrating through the foliage. Lulling you into a trance. Perhaps even a catnap.
I position my bed so I'm pressed up to the west-facing window. Stimulating, crisp air permeates. This messenger, rush of negative ions carried with light winds, of mysterious tidings greets my senses. Activated, I am up. No going back to sleep when I dwell in this mood. I know to just sit back and enjoy the ride...
This quaint spot on the map, I ponder tonight, is kinda awesome. There is a certain way I walk upon this earth- even my waking consciousness understands this. There is a shared memory- Big Island, Hawaii. Walk curiously, slowly. Smell everything. Eyes wide open. Heart filling with these permeations. Body regenerating. Running. Yoga. Hiking. Meditation: The force is in me here.
I suppose, though, that the 'force' resides within. Some places bring out different manifestations of this, that's all. There is something distantly familiar in relaying my Hilo experience to my Yosemite experience. I like this.
Immediately I transport back to those early days from my move to Hilo, just a rock's toss from Maui. I was leaving the big city (?) to move to Hilo- another unexpected jewel on my superhighway- to attend University of Hawaii. What did I know? After all, I had only lived on Maui. Just visiting the other Islands, one never really understands the different manifestations of forces that make up these Island entities. Steeped in ancient lore, and modern logic, I knew I was in for something that I needed to tread lightly into because I understood the ancient intensity of the area I was headed into.
Early days in Hilo, pure magic they were. That sleepy city... Walk lightly on that hard black-lava earth I did. I was rewarded with primal knowledge.
Honestly, everywhere I go to, that is some sort of search. 'Primal knowledge'- that's what I call it. My drug of choice. Roaming to the ends of this planet eARTh, seeking out THAT sweet spot. Hawaii was my teacher. Maui no ka oi!
But I digress; back to Yosemite... El Portal, so aptly named, is this door extending from the Sierra Nevada foothills and transports you into Yosemite Valley, and these unrelenting geologic formations that kinda makes my knees a bit weak when I sagaciously consider the greatness of this. Currently experiencing In Through the Outdoor in the utmost appreciation for this awesome :) Led Zeppelin inspired! I hiked to Glacier Point the other day. Mountains are majesty, man. So lush. Jewels strung out along the horizon, reaching into the heavens. The landscape hues are so unbearably ravishing. I'm still high on THAT; inhaling the air, seeing the colors, experiencing the elements in what feels like they are trying to rip my ribcage open as I unconsciously resist their full effect. Giving way, being made pliable from their unending pulsations, I abate, soak in, and fill up. It's a quick turn-around and we must depart the summit due to some unexpected snow-flurries of the tiniest snowflake sort. Magic. Cold magic though, and we were both only outfitted with mid-layers on, so down the mountain we went. Ever the student of nature, I humble myself, and smile wide.
The spirit of this place seeps into my realm of thought. I embrace every intense moment spent soaking this up. So good the crisp night air has been since I returned from a trip up to Ashland recently. That (9-hour driving) journey was some sort of time keeper goalie celebrating a change of season noticeable to even myself- a mere neophyte to this geologic land form in this particular location, on this planet rising within the solar system of the sun...
The Bewitching Hour; stars chattering, shining. A sweet cacophony of earthly delight one can delight in late in the night. This. THIS. I thirst for this. These experiences that leave me stupefied. Realizations that my explorations are not in vain. They tattoo my existence. Perhaps my incarnate existence bases this 'high', this feeling of deep elation in being aware of all existence, perhaps this fuels my passions. So, there's that...I can reach out to all my past homes and travel in that time- that's what I'm realizing. All these collective experiences teach and support.
Night sounds. Suddenly I am tired. I need to tune out while the tune plays on. I mean, I have to get up early and get to work today! Where do I get to travel to? Tuolumne Meadows- another perplexity I am drawn to here during this brief stay in this magical whereabouts. Shit it's 4:30 am...