It certainly has been a while, to say the least, and I hope to be able to backtrack over the next few posts in order to cover any and all adventures of the past month or so. I will start with this past Monday's trek out to Sourland Mountain Reservation for some nocturnal bouldering.
I used to boulder and climb. A whole lot. And although I would not currently label (labels are overrated anyhow) myself a "climber", it is in my heart, nonetheless. During my hiatus from hanging on rock, it always seemed to remain with me. Cruising by slopers, crimps, and pseudo-crack climbs on any number of mountain bike excursions in the Northeast, I knew I would return when the time was right. The time is now and it feels just right. It is inherent that I appreciate these rocks on more than one level: for their natural beauty and unparalleled solidarity, their ancient presence and unmoved confidence; for their ability to provide an indisputable surface to grip with either two churning tires or two aching hands. Rock is--one of many gifts.
About two weeks ago I made my way back over to NJRG for the first time in way too long a time. The network of friends associated with carabiners and chalk, crash pads and tight shoes seemed to rush back as quickly as the technique, one as familiar and embracing as the other. The strength, on the other hand, I am aware will take some time, but another facet of learning and growth has been tapped into, this time on a different plateau.
So much to absorb in this short life, so much to live and love.
Although my focus still remains on riding and bonding with my exquisite Sula as much as possible, I feel settled knowing that I have come full circle and reopened the temporarily dormant vein of climbing on rock. I can feel the blood flowing and joining my already content stream of life. Thank you, g.
P.S. Heading back to NJRG also brought the serendipitous occasion of encountering a good friend from college, Nicholas Salerno, with whom I have not spoken to in about two years. It is interesting how paths diverge and then re-converge at just the time they are meant to. Individuals enter in and out of our lives for a reason (brief encounters with strangers and long relationships with lovers), although we do not always understand the reason nor accept it; and still, it happens regardless of whether we desire it to or not. When we are open enough we take a certain truth from each individual, and the same thing hopefully happens in simultaneously in their world. It's an exchange of truth, of self, of world, of the good and the bad. I suppose what I am trying to say, on a more subjective level, is that Nick and I ran into one another for a reason, part of which I already see in the nature of our spirits. The rest I will witness the unfolding of if I remain constantly and consciously aware--The amazing thing? The same goes for everyone else, all of those whom we have met and all of those whom we have yet to meet.
Keep yourself open and embrace the knowledge of being aware.
