Life: I Climbed a Mountain in Oregon

I felt holy. And not the church camp sort, contrarily, a real sense of calm. There is something about standing on top of the world that creates perspective.

Maybe it’s the height?

As anticipated, while visiting my sister in Oregon, I scaled an authentic mountain. The trek was a drag in that my muscles still ache but the view was well worth the pain.


In retrospect, I find it interesting that I had only been above the clouds in a plane. Historically, a hike is more common than a plane ride but technology has inevitably shadowed reality.

Although it would exercise my poetic abilities, I will no further attempt to describe the event, for inexorably my experience will conjure emotions not uniformly shared by others. I therefore offer a common discussion.

I’ve been careful not to solidify any thoughts concerning god; I am agnostic…

I can no more easily accept a bang of sorts than a god who sat on his romp for a timeless time twiddling his omnipotent thumbs until one day he decided to create us. Not to mention he created billions of useless planets and a multitude of unloved life for mere fun.

At the top of the mountain, I felt insignificant. This could have pulled at my proverbial heart strings in either direction, spiritually, or intellectually, thus, creating the epiphany (realization) I so desire. But predictably this journey to perspective did much of the opposite.

Rather than solidifying any beliefs, my thoughts bounced from, “look at this world, there must be a god,” to, “look at this world; it makes sense in itself.”

Regardless, I’m still climbing.