Nov 2, 2012

A Chronicle of Limits, Part 9

19 June: Tuesday—Little Yosemite Valley Campground
The highlight of today was meeting Rod and Sue from Chestershire, England. They are my Little Yosemite Campground neighbors. They have been avid backpackers/mountaineers all their lives; their children even grew up thinking of vacation as sleeping in a tent. They are a charming couple. We dined together and talked.

Otherwise, the day was very tiring. I welcome the shorter day tomorrow because my feet have some trouble spots. I blame the rocky stair trails around Yosemite Valley. They are quite taxing on the body. I did enjoy a few hours on the Merced River beach near the chapel. My water filter has me concerned, though. I hope that the filter is not clogged.

Generally, I still have little inclination to continue the 50+ days of hiking essentially on my own after Lake Tahoe. I will try to wait to fully decide until then. Yet against such a question is another daunting question: What, then, would I do as an alternative? To which my response would be, I am not entirely sure. I have a few weak ideas. Ideas. . . . Waiting.  They are all amidst doubts and a humbled perspective of my strength: themes of this year. Regardless, may I respond wisely. May I be responsible. May I be bold.

Amen. Psalm 9:10

20 June: Wednesday—Merced Lake
The wilderness is full of voices. Have you ever heard them? It is not the sound of animals or the songs of birds, or even the cadence of wind through the trees. Perhaps they are all part of it, but it is surely the water that resonates the most. Not so much a waterfall or a raging cascade, but the trickling of a stream. Perhaps it is in all these things. Perhaps it is in none. The voices may be something in the wilderness, or they may be within me: my echoing hopes—in my mind. I want them so much that I almost hear them—see them, touch them. Yet they are so far away. They are so unknown. The wilderness shows me myself. The longings come out in the quiet. Meanwhile, the day is full of cursing weakness. I praise God that each day ends in peace—like life, or so I believe. Yet the road can be so hard. Lord, give me the strength to see it to its end, for I have no one else.

“In the Lord I put my trust; how can you say to my soul, ‘Flee as a bird to your mountain?’” Psalm 11:1

I no longer wish to flee to my solace, to my sanctuary. In truth, I have none. This is God’s domain. If it were not so there would be no beauty and no peace—no fellowship. I love being by water. Living water. Rock. Mountains. These are YHWH. Yet I am a spectator, an observer—one to share this truth. As an artist, I seek to do so. I have the means, but I need a place to belong. How long, O Lord, must I wait? Is there more for me to do? Or must I just wait? Actively? Passively? I do not know. Or do I? Are my desires veiling the answer? God, I hope not. I trust you, Lord. I await your command.

Meanwhile, Lucifer seeks to deter my attention. Mosquitoes, spawn of Hell. It is very discouraging to think that tomorrow at Tuolumne Meadows it will be worse. God forbid. I have found some solace beside this waterfall just north of Merced Lake. A mild breeze also helps. Mosquitoes are certainly at their worst at dawn and dusk—my favorite times of day. The enemy seeks to claim what I love most. Well, he cannot have this peace.

Thank you, God.

What is there left to write? . . .

No comments: