Trudging upon the dirt on the crest of the range. I am taking steps on the trail on which I should watch where each foot moves from heel to toe, or flat, or pronately. Constantly I am having to decide the proper balance of the body axis. Move the upper body forward as to impulse me away from the fall or place most of the weight on the right foot and slightly push the left to keep the balance. All in all, my eyes are seeking to look forward, not just to advance but to take the scenery: the tree or the shades of blue of each mountain crest on the horizon. Each taking a foggy tint, suggesting either distance or illumination. Such it is with our imperfections. However though, such suffering, I find is not of pain, but of wanting to take it all in. What can mostly be learned, the detail of the leaf on the aspen which is translucent to the sun’s rays, and clearly shows its veins emanating from the midrib. The intricate, symmetrically random fan that gives order to the world. Or the capriciously formed peaks, layered one in front of the other, or behind the other making an ephemeral gesture that it is right there, albeit way too far to even think the time it may take to get there. Those crests have always been there, very long. So it to comes to mind, my studies of geology which tells the tale of mountain formation and the biology of living things. The fascination of it all is a joy. Yes, a joy of realizing that we are part of this world. Even as small as we may be relative to the world, or as intricate as the leaf. We are thinking beings. It is not suffering at all. It is a joy of life. It is a joy to be alive. It is a joy to be part of it all.
It is not suffering at all. It is a blessing to have imperfections. It makes us pause to look at things.