The word ‘HOME’ was sloppily & childishly scrawled upon a sandstone rock which was propped up on our mat in front of our tent’s door. I stood there looking at it, arms full of needed gadgets: hatchet, a shovel, & a bag that we had labeled ‘bouldering’ which contained our climbing shoes, chalk bags, a guide, & two extra blocks of chalk. I was entranced looking at this piece of décor which Haggle had made. Silly & fittingly, it…fit. Something about it warmed the corridors of my heart. What’s more, was the thought that she had had the mind to do such a thing. Before, to create a comfortable energy of familiarity, I had started hanging prayer flags from our tent, or stringing them up between trees at whatever campsite we found ourselves, but alas, failing, I had forgot to bring them along.
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| Lewis, Duece & Haggle - Usual camp setup |
Perhaps this is why Haggle added something personal to this particular site, but nevertheless, it worked. Substitution to that which I forgot. It seemed hard for me to move. To rent myself from my enraptured stare. Perhaps I was finding too much meaning where meaning wasn’t to be had (but the mind works best, & meaning is most found, when you turn it over & down upon itself, dissecting those ordinary thoughts that exist in the mind already – it is the watering of a flower in a desert heat), but Haggle unknowingly taught me something great from such a simple action: Enjoy where you are, not where you aren’t. I believed in a moment’s snap that wherever I was, was home. W/ Haggle & Deuce present, her smiles, his constant digging & contented demeanor, I could find home wherever I wished to look, & it would be there – no longer a mirage, a transient ghosting sense of something real, but a reality. Something as tangible as those things which I was holding in my arms. Even surrounded by the clay-like sheer cliffs of the south, beautiful, hold-less, perfect walls, climbing escaped my mind. I un-packed calmly. Deliberately. Slowly. Glad to be out at least…Enjoying exactly where I was, for I was home…
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| Near Green River, Utah |
...US 6 is a stretch of lonely road that seemingly elastics on for eternity; after every hill Eternity once again smiles its ugly, snide grin, daring you to contemplate its longevity. & that is exactly what you do. W/ Haggle asleep next to me, the stereo lightly coursing its tune, the hum of the tires jazzing it up in musical-tranced perfection, its all I can do but let the thoughts of my up-coming climbs criminal back into my head – apparently the weekend of contentment over, & back to the project I drive, back to the very real beast of failure I spin, & a sheath of futility paints over me in an awesome stroke. It is this futile emotion that grows w/in me as I gas the car forward (ever forward! Does this road ever end!) that spurs me on. So many years of such feelings, giving into them, forgetting & lamenting, cursing & spitting, but to what end? I glance over at Haggle. She looks peaceful in her car induced slumber, at home w/ herself & for a minute wish it was I who was the one fastly asleep, unaware of all that is. Solitude creates wishing. Wishing creates doubt. Doubt creates a loathsome concoction of ever stirring misery & pain induced longing. I cease to take notice of all that is passing by. The Southern Mountains dull in their natural gleam, the sky blue is just another expanse of nothing. I sigh soggily, arching my aching back; my knee, a torturous flame combusting from the inside out. Yes, the echo of US 6 creates something w/in me that resembles doubt. Mirrors that which I've left behind a long time ago. It aches & screams like my aeonian lust for the contents of a bottle. It's there, all of it, & should be acknowledged, & I do. I roll down the window, a gust of wonderfully warm air explodes into the car & onto my face, seemingly revitalizing something deep w/in my psyche. I step on the gas, marvel once again at what the mountains have to offer me, & say, fuck you, to US 6 & watch it recede into the rear view mirror.
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