Can the real tale be so inspired? The tale of harsh realities, fractured dreams, and ponderings of the rapids. Always there will is this undying love, fascination, peace, found in the space. But it becomes clouded by terrors of life. Can this possibly be more beautiful than the idealized versions we dream of in our heads?
This, I should end. The fascination with the false. I accept the flawed beauty of reality. Will I ever see the mountains again?
On the island of Maui, soothed by the bleating of visitors, the tweeting and twittering of birds. It is always so easy, so simple to regret what you've lost and overlook what you have. Change, is it really something that we can believe in?
You learn what you loved, which you previously overlooked. For me: freedom, trust, responsibility. And what I have also found what I need for happiness, which was missing before. A partner, the ocean, a city. Newly discovered thoughts and ideas breed new frustrations. What Kind of adult will I be?
Will I remember swimming in the icy, cold water? My eyes scanning the granite cliffs and the mossy gnarled oaks clinging to life. The first plunge is always the hardest. The anticipation and fear of cold, unwelcoming waters.
Every time it is the same. You learn to jump, just jump. Jump and the whole world falls away. All that exists is the cold, bubbles, quiet and when you resurface you are changed. Renewed. Refreshed. Cleansed.
The sun will always shine on that memory. How the air, choked with dust, mixed with the pungent aroma of the mountains. Sweat began to form, my arms strained climbing up an over boulders. Step, crunch, slip, gasp. I clung to my unsure footing, positive, self-aware, and determined.
Determination. I made it to that swimming hole. Just like I had 100 time before. And again, I gazed upon that icy clear water. Pondering the feelings that lie beneath.
