From home to home.

There seems to be a large number of half finished posts in my blog drafts. That seems about right. None of my thoughts seem to end before I am aware of a dozen more standing at the door waiting for my attention. Anyway, I have just returned from Montana, which is one of my favorite places to write about. John Steinbeck wrote “I’m in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection. But with Montana it is love. And it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it." I used to think that quote was silly. But the more I untangle myself from my growing up, the more I love Montana.



There is no better place than summer in Montana. Of this much I am convinced though I admit to a heavy bias. There are so many stars and rivers. The clouds are always changing, growing, and traveling across this theater sky. The mountains rumble with the gentle roar produced by snow melting and racing down to the valley. And it is in the valley that I grew up and learned all of the things which have made me who I am.

Have I mentioned that I love Montana's sky? Because I do. I do not know if I would want to fly so badly if I had grown up somewhere else. In Portland, flying is a nice idea, but the sky is gray and unplayful. But in Montana, it is always changing. When I go there, I spend half of my time just watching it and it teases me. It tells me that I am still tied down by gravity and have so much left to learn and explore.

And then there is the rumbling of the waters. They used to put me to sleep at night. Everything has its rhythm and I am convinced that the blood that flows through my veins keeps pace with the rivers of Montana. I rafted them with my parents soon after I could walk and I have never been the same. My heartbeat answers to glacier water and my breath to the sound of wind in tall pines, cedars, and my most beloved cottonwoods. The wind too told me I should not trust the ground.

These pictures are of Avalanche Gorge and Avalanche Lake. There are pictures from both sides of the lake including some of the glacier snow for a reference point. ...And one more for good measure.

Yep. This is Montana and I am in love with it even though I no longer belong to it. Even if I never return, it will remain home. My first home. And that is so much more than a first love. Though, if you asked me the difference between those two, I am not sure I could tell you. Perhaps, home is the place where you learn to love and be loved. That is why it is so difficult to leave if the love is good and kind. 

Morning.

I love the morning.

I say this with my eyes not yet fully open of their own accord. I say this not yet ready to talk to anybody who does not understand the sacredness of morning.

I don't wake up feeling on top of the world. In fact, even this morning I groaned internally when I realized it was 7:00am and then 7:09am (which felt like an hour later) ... and my body was not going to go back to sleep easily. I do love sleeping. It is not the act of waking up that I enjoy in the morning. Rather, it is mornings like this one. I cannot see the morning from my bedroom. But now I see it is one of those perfect mornings.

It is Saturday so the world rests easy. The birds wake up first, after the sun. The air is crisp and cold but the sun shines gently promising it will not stay this way. The space between summer and fall is best, especially for mornings. The evenings hold onto the warmth built up in the day, at least here in the Northwest of the States. But somewhere in the night, a chill steals in and mornings crack open. I wish I had a porch swing.

There is nothing quite like wrapping yourself up in a blanket, bringing something hot to drink, and watching the world wake up slowly. You can hear yourself think in those early hours. Nobody has to know that your thoughts are slow or disorganized. Morning is a good back drop to organize yourself. I feel like my soul can breathe then. Nothing is yet expected of me. It is something I can share with the world before society wakes up. Society with its demands and rules, with its expectations and deadlines.

Let that sleep.

I want to wake to stillness.

I want a space to be.

I want to remember who I am before the day starts and I am too quickly reduced to function and reason. I am so much more than just who I have to be. Everyone is so much more than who they have to be to make it through their day. But it is so easy to leave the rest of you out.

I have felt much like I have been knocked out of orbit while the rest of the cosmos spins quietly on; but I have been sustained this far. Only now, in this space, am I beginning to accept this new season of life on its own terms rather than the terms I thought I could set. That, that is freedom. And so I breathe easy as one who is free, but has not yet forgotten the feel of being bound and the weight of shackles.