And the Mountains Don’t Cry

May be an image of flower and nature
WAHATOYA

It’s raining in the Wahatoya now.

I remember the potent smells and aromas of the Earth aroused by the rain bringing the clean dirt alive with miles deep of Earth memories, shiftings of the land, magma flowing upwards to form the rock dikes that stream downwards from the Wahatoya.

I am there now, my body alive with the Earth’s exploding and imploding scents filling every cell within me. I am running up the hill behind my wooden cabin drenched in the rain, drenched in the thunder, drenched in my awakening senses. I am laughing and shouting and loving this place where scents leap out of the Earth.

It is snowing in the Wahatoya now.

All is silent and the scents are buried under glistening heaps of wetter than wet snow. Icicles threaten to crash into my windows, hanging craggily from the metal roof.  So beautiful. So dangerous… like Life.

I am lost in memories of children growing up far from me on the coast where waves wash up on laughing beaches.

Everything laughs or cries except the Wahatoya. They sit there in the perfect peace beyond human emotion. They do not join me in my self-judgment or my judgment of anything. They let me be: laughing in the rain or crying in the snow. They let me be.

The Wahatoya know that all is well, all the time. I have turned away from them for their indifference, their silence, their detachment, only to remember that it was me who was indifferent, silently separated and detached.

Now, back on the coast, near the waves and the whales, and the little humans playing in the sand: I think they must be my grandchildren…

I remember the Wahatoya, fully alive, pulsing upwards in peace. A strength that promises that pain and fear washes away in the rain. And even though I turned away from them for never crying with me, I was wrong. Their tears are the rain. And their tears wash the Land clean. They wash me clean of my pain and my fear. Their rumbling voice speak to all who can hear it, of the deepest levels of connection, joy and peace.

3 thoughts on “And the Mountains Don’t Cry

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