I WONDER if I am.

Making my way? Do I truly make, my way?

As I’m heading into the mists of the mountains, a great passage is emerging. That might be the actual mountain pass — it’s coming; but then it might be the passing from the wetter clime of the western ridges of the Cascades — mist to light; to the drier sun casting of the eastern slopes, now that Dawn is coming.

Then again, it might be that this ascent, this way that I am going, I’m getting to something new — there will be refreshed vistas to see. What is coming? Can I be ready for that awakening?

Where am I going, what am I driving: in to? And that good, perennially inquiring, meditation: “what, indeed, am I driving towards?”

As the rain falls ever harder, and it’s becoming harder to actually see the road (now, really, where am I going?) — and I can feel the pressure changing (getting out of the familiar, to new heights,) it does come down to the fear of the new.

Making your way, there might be a process of making that is unexpected — since this manufacture might be wholly new, in your experience.

It is for me.

And what might be emerging, what new light might be coming? Even heading into the darkness, the tunneling movement through the mountainous crag-scape, still — in that ascent, you’re coming to light. To survive, you go through.

At least this is what I hold to, in principle. Practice, I try.

That the ascent, the climb, is to seeing something new-eyed — something powerful and refreshed that might be openly perceived — and held as enchanting and memorable.

It’s all out there, but the journey starts in here. Right where I am, and where you are.

There is always another climb to begin. All ways.

t | a meditation: just short of the summit, the Cascade Range