Go to the Mountain

After last weekend I thought about the cracks in my heart. The ones that have been there since I arrived on the planet. Like old riverbeds on Mars that have run dry before my memory even existed, I see the etching but don't remember the way it felt when they ran wild and full. All humans carry this feeling I think. We draw colse to remembering through meditation, the ocean, loving eachother, music, art, nature. In one way or another, we find our mythology that makes sense to us and tells the story. Every religion has it's ideology, and though I may not be religious, I am spiritual.
I am not some barren wasteland of dust, don't get me wrong. But in the landscape of my soul there is a place that craves nourishment and aknowledgment. I find peace in nature, and it has been so long since I escaped the city. Until two days ago.

It started out as a trip to the golf course, ironically. 7am, stuck on the 56 freeway waiting in traffic. I got a call saying the boys all flaked on the game, and to go back to bed. Well, going back to sleep was not an option by any means. I turned my yellow bus around and headed out to the east, to the mountains, to the Indian Reservations and the forests. All in all I explored most of east county and a part of Riverside. I made two giant loops and burned up some of those precious fossil fuels. Damn satisfying, I tell you. My chest felt like the elephant sitting on me finally lept off. I peed in the bushes, sang at the top of my lungs, felt my left arm getting tan hanging out of the car, changed into a long skirt and kicked off my shoes.

I first headed to Julian, an old pioneer town famous for gold, pies, and shitty wine. When the city broke, the land unfolded and the sky grew taller-I knew I was getting closer. They have seasons only forty minutes from my place in San Diego. My Michigan roots squealed in delight as I saw my first flaming tree and heard the skitter of dry leaves on pavement. Had some breakfast and read the local paper at a little outdoor cafe and eavesdropped on three older women talking about horses. I wondered if that would be me one day. It felt good to wear a sweater and my beanie. The air smelled a little like smoke and the town was very quiet. I looked into my coffee mug and thought about how I laughed and cried the last stretch of road into the begining of the mountains. My face felt sticky from the tears. Those cracks and depressions in my heart started filling softly with a feeling of calm. How I miss the country.

My mission was to find a campsite for my birthday party next month. Three years ago 300,000 acres of land burned in East county due to the carelessness and ineptitude of a lost hunter. The devastation and loss of trees, animals, homes, lives...pretty gnarly. The regrowth is pushing up through the charred remains, but it doesn't give me the best feeling either. The bottoms of trees are exploding in bushes of fresh green, but the tops protrude like black grave markers covering the mountains and valleys. Creepy. I drove further after a few disappointing state parks.

It felt freeing to be alone miles from nowhere (Cat Stevens, holla!) and to listen to music and drive. I went to Lake Henshaw, Pauma Valley, Pala, Fallbrook, Alpine, La Jolla Res., Viejas, and to the very top of Palomar Mountain. It took a bit of effort and about fifty switchbacks to make it up to the top (6000 ft. ele.) and I prayed the truck wouldn't poop out. It was fine, and I went to the State Park to find information on camping. I think this is the spot I will take my friends. Driving through the trees my tires made popping sounds as they crushed the acorns ont he road. Everything was still and three deer wandered across my path. I also saw rabbits, lizards, wild turkeys, hawks, emus, goats, cows, horses...you name it man.

The air was so clean and thin I couldn't get enough of it. The lookout point perched up high and I could see for hundreds of miles. The land looked like waves of green ocean, shrouded in wispy layers of mist down below. The sun felt sharp and piercing, like standing too close to a fire. Immediately I wished I had come prepared with a guitar and a journal, but oh well. Dancing above me was yet another redtailed hawk, and I had only the wind and the hum of the insects for company.

I stopped for fresh corn and fruit on the res, talked to my mom when my phone regained service. I ate some of the pistachios and spit the shells out on the road, the salt burning my lips. Meditated on the mountain for an hour or two and then came back to my life. All things suddenly seemed different. I thought about making the journey to the mountain more of a habit. I thought about running away to the wilderness, but I know I couldn't handle it yet. A little taste was just what the doctor ordered.