Mountain Tears
Ancestral cries from the face of a mountain. L.A women scare the birds.
Fate
Up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to him
Two woman form L.A. join me for hiking trip in the mountains. These ranges are overlords. Kings of a different world, unlike anything one calling home to East Coast can imagine. Miles high. Their peaks tickle the toes of God, their valleys snake below to the Devils dinner table. It is land of up and down that without gift of sight one will never truly understand. I had underestimated these mountains and they humbled me.
Much like my greatx4 grandfather that explored West as a mere teenager. He was humbled poetically. Mining into mountain for gold, or oil, or coal, my family loses the exact details, he was hunting something. This a result of his adventurous spirit, same spirit that is dying today because what left have we to turn over?
What land, sea have we to be the first to touch? Space is fake. I believe there is hidden spot that you can still claim though. A place on Earth that hasn’t been poisoned by the hands of others. A place waiting for your footstep to be the first and only to disrupt its soil. It may be in your backyard.
Have you ever peeled back a river the way you do a comforter before getting in bed at night?
He was humbled by the mountains tears.
House sized boulders!
Out of nowhere, seemingly from the clouds, begin roaring towards his group. Heard before seen. The men took shelter but where do you hide from heat inside an oven! Their destiny was written and if one believes in God we must believe the Mountain as an extension of his will that, at all cost, will defend itself in the most natural way possible. The flood was real. A macro version of this.
My family only ever heard of this from the groups apprentice who was stationed a mile away. Opposite a valley, he was on a slope of another peak. His mountain didn’t cry. His mountain didn’t defend itself, not that day atleast. It gave him time to wait for the elders and after days of no response he gathered a team to trek up through the avalanche. For weeks they screamed names of the lost Men into spirited forest, nights lit by only a Moon that is now more sinister… closer… a moon that seems within walking distance. “Does it seem like she’s getting closer to us?” “No, you’re just paranoid”
And paranoid the apprentice was. He felt he was stomping on burial grounds, as if pagans were dancing atop the graves of saints, priests who could wield the power of God into one breath. If you’ve ever walked through graveyard at night and stepped on the spot 6 feet above where a dead man lays, you’ll understand his sentiments…
Winston
Souled Idea
Man of God
Solider of the Most High
