Holidays and Home-time

Yesterday I turned 22. This means that I am now divisible by eleven, but otherwise is not terribly noteworthy. Unless you count the fact that I am now completely and undeniably a "young adult." (Eep.)

To celebrate my friends and I climbed Spencer's Butte. We drove through the morning mist and hiked up through the frozen old-growth, marveling at frosted spiderwebs and the foggy grand glint of the trees. On top of the butte the universe gave me many birthday presents. We were above the cloud layer (i.e. inside of heaven) and beheld an oceanic expanse of undulating fog pierced by the crowns of the cascades. I learned that mystical shadows are not unique to Sri Pada--my humble home-town hillock also cast a mysterious triangle across the sky. A rainbow sundog did yogic backflips at the tip of the penumbra pyramid, and, although my feet stayed rooted to the summit, I fell into the sky.

Sometimes I wonder why people prostrate to inert things like statues.

And today is Christmas. Despite my bitter old-age, there is still some magic in this day. The magic smells like candles, tastes like spiced cider, and sounds like my dad strumming his guitar while the rest of my family screams happily during a heated game of Apples to Apples.

Thus I return to my native land, after spending almost all of my time since June in Asia. It has been strange: I've had some bewildered moments before the fireplace during let-lagged insomnia where I pass the time by striking a match, watching it burn down to my fingertips, and then striking another match. I miss my friends from Bodh Gaya, I recall the sacred frenzy of India, and I struggle to remember exactly what it felt like to breathe the thin air of Tibet. Like somehow a perfect memory will make my experiences meaningful.

But it's also not strange: I laugh easily with family and old friends, exchange knowing moments with Douglas firs, and thank the rain for making things real. Even after six months of deprivation, it seems perfectly rational for there to be toilet paper in bathrooms, and I remember how to brew coffee. It's almost scary how easily I can slip into a place where buzzwords like "insurance," "football," and "career," are circulated so often.

I am not in a place to draw conclusions tonight. Hopefully further reflections will be forthcoming, along with pictures. Until then, I hope that anyone who reads these words can see the spectacular beauty of everything.