The Hill

I was sitting out in the field for a while, up on the hill in Potlatch Idaho, watching the clouds billow over Moscow mountain in the distance, the wind buffeting the right side of my face. I tried to quiet myself but found that ‘mama’ by My Chemical Romance insisted on playing in my mind on permanent repeat.

Yesterday I walked down to the river and sat on the rock I used to sit on sometimes for Trappist hour back when I was here for Hill Abbey all those years ago, and here also found many thoughts about work making a din in my head. Along with my current worries many memories from my year here raised themselves up and jumped around in my consciousness, creating a rather irritating racket.

The river, I observed, didn’t care for my thoughts. It kept serenely and silently flowing on its way, unhurried and unconcerned. I was struck by the complete peace the river displayed, and the strength of it’s current, betrayed only by a few ripples on the surface. I could feel the energy and power that flowed in front of me, without noise or struggle. What I wouldn’t give to be like the river.

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