Thanksgiving
Hey all,
This is an exerpt (edited twice now for length and clarity) from my journal on thanksgiving that I thought later might have some usefull messages for my elite circle here in Morocco and perhaps some people at home. As a result I'm considering submiting it to the in country voulenteer magazine. Before I do I would love to hear what you think so drop me a line... you know the address or post a message on here!
I woke up early on Thanksgiving to a morning that was chilly but promised a warm sun.
Through an unfortunately timed series of Moroccan holidays and the usual endless list of post office mishaps I had been doomed to spend the holiday alone in my village, the only American. I had promised myself that if it had to be that way then I might as well make it an opportunity and get out and about and do some exploring. Give myself time to consider all that I had to be thankful for.
Half an hour later I was on the road up and out of the valley. I had no idea where I was headed and didn’t really care. The promise of the day had been accurate. The breeze, brisk and refreshing, was counterbalanced perfectly by the warmth of the sun and there was water everywhere. Streams that for months had been dry or the merest trickle now bubbled and gurgled as only streams can; making their happy way to the rivers on the valley floor. The rivers themselves now resembled miniature versions of the worlds greatest whitewater stretches and filled the valley with a constant yet soothing roar that receded to the background as soon as you stopped thinking about it.
Before I got to far I ran headlong into progress. The road had been blocked with a waist high pile of rocks and debris and a backhoe, which reminded me of an over large yellow insect, was busily knocking a niche out of the mountainside rock for a new house. The machine somehow struck me at the time as terribly out of place there on a road that sees perhaps a single car on a busy week. Evidence of just how out of place had been readily apparent in the form of a large crowd that had gathered to watch the beast work. I suddenly found myself unreasonably irritated by this noisy intrusion into my world. What business had this “Thing” here where the same tasks had been done quite well by mere men for hundreds of years? What right had it to ruin the perfect harmony that nature had promised me this day?
I looked then at the faces of the gathered throng staring at the machine in rapt fascination, even wonder. When I considered how quickly the work was progressing and how much easier it was this mechanized way my frustration faded. I could not begrudge these people progress. What was for me an uncomfortable break in the spell of a place that was still more wilderness than civilization was for the people of the village a modern marvel well beyond the means of most. I might find the old ways honorable, interesting and in the end quite functional but they make for a hard and demanding life and I am not the one that has to live it. I came here wanting better for these people and here it was in the form of a mass of metal and hydraulics, clanking away. Still, this encounter left me with mixed emotions. Clearly this wasn’t what I was looking for in my morning stroll.
On a whim I stopped at the rubble pile and looked up at the mountain towering beside the road. I pulled the straps on my pack tighter and scrambled up the first slope. I attacked it in true Berber style, without path or trail, map or compass, and following the most direct route between where I was and the peak where I wanted to end up. Soon I had left the machine and its dust far below and once again the air was filled with the sounds of rushing water, diminished slightly by the altitude and now forced to compete for my attention with the noise of the wind. Also in the air were the songs of Thekla larks, crested songbirds who were sharing my world in that moment. I agitated a pair as I passed by the thorny bush in which they were perched and they launched themselves into their soaring, dipping circular flight chattering away at me until I had safely passed them.
They were the last things that I had time to admire before the slope became very steep and the rocks wobbled in their sockets like lose teeth when I touched them. I was forced to forget all else except putting one food above the other carefully, lest the rocks betray me and send me tumbling below. It was only the mountain and I then, the two of us sharing time and challenging each other to bring out our best. The struggle made me happy, or perhaps the forgetting did. Either way I smiled as I worked.
Time flew by and I scrambled up one last pitch to the summit and was nearly blown over backwards by the wind coming over the peak. Some clouds had begun to form over Mt. Toubkal to the north and blocked my view. To the east there a mountain taller than mine that performed the same function. The view to the south however, was open and magnificent. I could see the whole valley I had just come through; its entire length decked in autumn splendor.
Here at last was the “environment.” I had come a long way and waited a long time to find it but at the risk of sounding cliché it was worth it. I wedged myself between some rocks to block most of the wind and appreciate everything I could see. The larks, far below me now, had resumed their abandoned perch though one or the other of them would occasionally lift itself off over the valley as if checking to be sure all was well below. The sun warmed rocks created heat waves shimmering in my vision down the mountainside. The warm air swirled together and raced upwards towards me but didn’t make it all the way as the cold air coming from behind me was the stronger. Still, some crows on the next mountain over were making use of a similar phenomenon to ride effortlessly in upward spirals. I wondered if they were doing it to serve some purpose that I could not see, or just for fun. Either way I envied them the ease with which they gained the heights, though perhaps I appreciated my own way more for having worked for it.
The trees that lined the valley floor were resplendent in the earth tones of still unfallen leaves. I could watch -- and did for several fascinating minutes -- gusts of wind blow down the valley and liberate some from where the branches still held them jealously to whisk them away and deposit them elsewhere. Away in the far distance the foothills of the range coated the ground like a rumpled and discarded piece of newspaper while more immediately to my sides I could see the snow covered giants of the range. Their caps were wreathed with wispy clouds that reflected the sunlight and gave them the appearance of having fiery halos; appropriate because these jagged pinnacles soared above even my lofty perch as if striving to reach the heavens.
Down in the valley the dirt buildings of several villages along the walls blended nearly seamlessly with their surroundings making it possible to forget the human aspect of the larger picture. I reminded myself that failure to remember them would be a mistake. Even though the majesty of my mountain perch confirmed for me what had been here first and what would likely be here longest, to ignore the activity of man would be to forfeit all the beauty that spread itself before me. The people that my vantage point reduced to tiny colored dots moving on the edges of my vision are both the and unwilling stewards and the unwitting destroyers of this wonderful place. The battle for simple survival here is no less bitter on either side for its being fought unconsciously. Nature tries to keep its balance and beauty; the people try to wrest from it what they need simply to live. It has resulted for the time being in a stalemate from which neither side benefits. Nature becomes slowly less self sufficient, degrading bit by bit; but with its mountainous backbone it will never completely give up its threatening unpredictability or its grandeur. The people do indeed live here but what a life! Constantly struggling for barest existence and never relaxing in leisure or comfort for fear of the next storm or season. There must be a better way! And there is, but it is a race where most of the participants couldn’t care less who wins and those that do care are often outsiders that must compete blindfolded or mute. Still, we must all play. What choice is there.
From where I was perched it was easy to believe that I was completely alone in the world and subconsciously it had been this solitude that I had been seeking all along. In it my thoughts inevitably turned inwards; examining myself in as much detail as I had just been examining my surroundings. Asking myself familiar questions: Have I made the right choice? Do I have a purpose here? Do I belong? I have ripped away all of my comforts, my connections, my friends and family. Taken my life down to the same level as the bedrock that formed the peak on which I sat so that I had only myself to rely on. What’s more I did so willingly, even enthusiastically. I have thrown away the rulebook for a chance at living a life where only I make the rules, where I can learn every facet of myself in excruciating and often painful detail and improve my character in areas where I found it wanting. I have come for a chance to help people and to help the natural environment which I so love and I have done all of this for reasons that even those that love me most may never understand. Some days I think they are right to call me crazy because the understanding they want so very badly eludes even me… … but not today. Not after sitting up there with only myself and the mountain and the window it provided to the world; my world. A world that I had nearly forgotten because I was bogged down in the process and the details; I was lost in the how of things.
Up there if only for a moment, I was above all the people and the noise and the problems and the daily challenges demanded by a life in an unfamiliar and alien place. Above the language and the food and the damned road. Above all the mistakes I’ve made, the lessons I’ve learned and the hoops I’ve jumped through. Above paperwork and money and bureaucracy. Above my friends and their misunderstandings and my enemies with theirs. Above time and distance and separation. I could see clearly once again.
Up there I could observe my surroundings objectively without simultaneously having to be a part of them, consider my circumstances frankly and openly without bias and perhaps most importantly I could take an honest measure of myself with no one to impress or pacify or cajole. I didn’t have to pretend anything up there.
A friend once remarked to me that this country makes it easy to complain sometimes and at the time I completely agreed. Nor will it be the last time. I have done my fair share of complaining since arriving here and they will remain a valuable part of the arsenal of tools I employ to keep myself sane. However, from my vantage point on the mountain in that quiet moment I realized that it was so easy to complain because I had been focusing on the wrong question. It is not the HOW? that’s important but the WHY?. With clarity restored the natural beauty that spread before me managed eloquently and without words to answer all my questions. I did make the right choice to come here and to live my life differently. My purpose here was once again clear, my space on the chessboard clearly marked out -- if not my next move. So long as what I’m doing brings the stalemate even a fraction of a millimeter closer to positive resolution, makes a single life easier or brings someone the same satisfaction and joy in their surroundings that the mountain has given me, I most certainly belong.
Up on the mountain a shadow crossed over me as a cloud blocked the sun and brought me shivering out of my thoughts and back to the moment. The clouds which before were airy and beautiful had turned dark and menacing and threatened to eat the sun. I smiled and descended precariously back to my life, relinquishing the mountain for a time but vowing to remember its lessons.
As I write this the day has turned dreary and rain clatters against my windows. I just finished a meal of pasta leftovers, hardly turkey and stuffing but satisfying all the same so I don’t mind. I have spent the holiday alone but I could not have asked to do it in more awesome a fashion. My spirits aren’t hampered by the weather or by loneliness but are still looking at the world from the top of my mountain.
I answered the call of that nameless peak today. It was not the tallest or the most challenging. It neither conquered me nor I it. Instead we reached an understanding. Next week perhaps I will forget all the reasons why I am here and again become lost in the HOW… but not today. Today the mountain has given me a gift of beauty and perspective so that I can once again find myself. I am thankful for it.
This is an exerpt (edited twice now for length and clarity) from my journal on thanksgiving that I thought later might have some usefull messages for my elite circle here in Morocco and perhaps some people at home. As a result I'm considering submiting it to the in country voulenteer magazine. Before I do I would love to hear what you think so drop me a line... you know the address or post a message on here!
I woke up early on Thanksgiving to a morning that was chilly but promised a warm sun.
Through an unfortunately timed series of Moroccan holidays and the usual endless list of post office mishaps I had been doomed to spend the holiday alone in my village, the only American. I had promised myself that if it had to be that way then I might as well make it an opportunity and get out and about and do some exploring. Give myself time to consider all that I had to be thankful for.
Half an hour later I was on the road up and out of the valley. I had no idea where I was headed and didn’t really care. The promise of the day had been accurate. The breeze, brisk and refreshing, was counterbalanced perfectly by the warmth of the sun and there was water everywhere. Streams that for months had been dry or the merest trickle now bubbled and gurgled as only streams can; making their happy way to the rivers on the valley floor. The rivers themselves now resembled miniature versions of the worlds greatest whitewater stretches and filled the valley with a constant yet soothing roar that receded to the background as soon as you stopped thinking about it.
Before I got to far I ran headlong into progress. The road had been blocked with a waist high pile of rocks and debris and a backhoe, which reminded me of an over large yellow insect, was busily knocking a niche out of the mountainside rock for a new house. The machine somehow struck me at the time as terribly out of place there on a road that sees perhaps a single car on a busy week. Evidence of just how out of place had been readily apparent in the form of a large crowd that had gathered to watch the beast work. I suddenly found myself unreasonably irritated by this noisy intrusion into my world. What business had this “Thing” here where the same tasks had been done quite well by mere men for hundreds of years? What right had it to ruin the perfect harmony that nature had promised me this day?
I looked then at the faces of the gathered throng staring at the machine in rapt fascination, even wonder. When I considered how quickly the work was progressing and how much easier it was this mechanized way my frustration faded. I could not begrudge these people progress. What was for me an uncomfortable break in the spell of a place that was still more wilderness than civilization was for the people of the village a modern marvel well beyond the means of most. I might find the old ways honorable, interesting and in the end quite functional but they make for a hard and demanding life and I am not the one that has to live it. I came here wanting better for these people and here it was in the form of a mass of metal and hydraulics, clanking away. Still, this encounter left me with mixed emotions. Clearly this wasn’t what I was looking for in my morning stroll.
On a whim I stopped at the rubble pile and looked up at the mountain towering beside the road. I pulled the straps on my pack tighter and scrambled up the first slope. I attacked it in true Berber style, without path or trail, map or compass, and following the most direct route between where I was and the peak where I wanted to end up. Soon I had left the machine and its dust far below and once again the air was filled with the sounds of rushing water, diminished slightly by the altitude and now forced to compete for my attention with the noise of the wind. Also in the air were the songs of Thekla larks, crested songbirds who were sharing my world in that moment. I agitated a pair as I passed by the thorny bush in which they were perched and they launched themselves into their soaring, dipping circular flight chattering away at me until I had safely passed them.
They were the last things that I had time to admire before the slope became very steep and the rocks wobbled in their sockets like lose teeth when I touched them. I was forced to forget all else except putting one food above the other carefully, lest the rocks betray me and send me tumbling below. It was only the mountain and I then, the two of us sharing time and challenging each other to bring out our best. The struggle made me happy, or perhaps the forgetting did. Either way I smiled as I worked.
Time flew by and I scrambled up one last pitch to the summit and was nearly blown over backwards by the wind coming over the peak. Some clouds had begun to form over Mt. Toubkal to the north and blocked my view. To the east there a mountain taller than mine that performed the same function. The view to the south however, was open and magnificent. I could see the whole valley I had just come through; its entire length decked in autumn splendor.
Here at last was the “environment.” I had come a long way and waited a long time to find it but at the risk of sounding cliché it was worth it. I wedged myself between some rocks to block most of the wind and appreciate everything I could see. The larks, far below me now, had resumed their abandoned perch though one or the other of them would occasionally lift itself off over the valley as if checking to be sure all was well below. The sun warmed rocks created heat waves shimmering in my vision down the mountainside. The warm air swirled together and raced upwards towards me but didn’t make it all the way as the cold air coming from behind me was the stronger. Still, some crows on the next mountain over were making use of a similar phenomenon to ride effortlessly in upward spirals. I wondered if they were doing it to serve some purpose that I could not see, or just for fun. Either way I envied them the ease with which they gained the heights, though perhaps I appreciated my own way more for having worked for it.
The trees that lined the valley floor were resplendent in the earth tones of still unfallen leaves. I could watch -- and did for several fascinating minutes -- gusts of wind blow down the valley and liberate some from where the branches still held them jealously to whisk them away and deposit them elsewhere. Away in the far distance the foothills of the range coated the ground like a rumpled and discarded piece of newspaper while more immediately to my sides I could see the snow covered giants of the range. Their caps were wreathed with wispy clouds that reflected the sunlight and gave them the appearance of having fiery halos; appropriate because these jagged pinnacles soared above even my lofty perch as if striving to reach the heavens.
Down in the valley the dirt buildings of several villages along the walls blended nearly seamlessly with their surroundings making it possible to forget the human aspect of the larger picture. I reminded myself that failure to remember them would be a mistake. Even though the majesty of my mountain perch confirmed for me what had been here first and what would likely be here longest, to ignore the activity of man would be to forfeit all the beauty that spread itself before me. The people that my vantage point reduced to tiny colored dots moving on the edges of my vision are both the and unwilling stewards and the unwitting destroyers of this wonderful place. The battle for simple survival here is no less bitter on either side for its being fought unconsciously. Nature tries to keep its balance and beauty; the people try to wrest from it what they need simply to live. It has resulted for the time being in a stalemate from which neither side benefits. Nature becomes slowly less self sufficient, degrading bit by bit; but with its mountainous backbone it will never completely give up its threatening unpredictability or its grandeur. The people do indeed live here but what a life! Constantly struggling for barest existence and never relaxing in leisure or comfort for fear of the next storm or season. There must be a better way! And there is, but it is a race where most of the participants couldn’t care less who wins and those that do care are often outsiders that must compete blindfolded or mute. Still, we must all play. What choice is there.
From where I was perched it was easy to believe that I was completely alone in the world and subconsciously it had been this solitude that I had been seeking all along. In it my thoughts inevitably turned inwards; examining myself in as much detail as I had just been examining my surroundings. Asking myself familiar questions: Have I made the right choice? Do I have a purpose here? Do I belong? I have ripped away all of my comforts, my connections, my friends and family. Taken my life down to the same level as the bedrock that formed the peak on which I sat so that I had only myself to rely on. What’s more I did so willingly, even enthusiastically. I have thrown away the rulebook for a chance at living a life where only I make the rules, where I can learn every facet of myself in excruciating and often painful detail and improve my character in areas where I found it wanting. I have come for a chance to help people and to help the natural environment which I so love and I have done all of this for reasons that even those that love me most may never understand. Some days I think they are right to call me crazy because the understanding they want so very badly eludes even me… … but not today. Not after sitting up there with only myself and the mountain and the window it provided to the world; my world. A world that I had nearly forgotten because I was bogged down in the process and the details; I was lost in the how of things.
Up there if only for a moment, I was above all the people and the noise and the problems and the daily challenges demanded by a life in an unfamiliar and alien place. Above the language and the food and the damned road. Above all the mistakes I’ve made, the lessons I’ve learned and the hoops I’ve jumped through. Above paperwork and money and bureaucracy. Above my friends and their misunderstandings and my enemies with theirs. Above time and distance and separation. I could see clearly once again.
Up there I could observe my surroundings objectively without simultaneously having to be a part of them, consider my circumstances frankly and openly without bias and perhaps most importantly I could take an honest measure of myself with no one to impress or pacify or cajole. I didn’t have to pretend anything up there.
A friend once remarked to me that this country makes it easy to complain sometimes and at the time I completely agreed. Nor will it be the last time. I have done my fair share of complaining since arriving here and they will remain a valuable part of the arsenal of tools I employ to keep myself sane. However, from my vantage point on the mountain in that quiet moment I realized that it was so easy to complain because I had been focusing on the wrong question. It is not the HOW? that’s important but the WHY?. With clarity restored the natural beauty that spread before me managed eloquently and without words to answer all my questions. I did make the right choice to come here and to live my life differently. My purpose here was once again clear, my space on the chessboard clearly marked out -- if not my next move. So long as what I’m doing brings the stalemate even a fraction of a millimeter closer to positive resolution, makes a single life easier or brings someone the same satisfaction and joy in their surroundings that the mountain has given me, I most certainly belong.
Up on the mountain a shadow crossed over me as a cloud blocked the sun and brought me shivering out of my thoughts and back to the moment. The clouds which before were airy and beautiful had turned dark and menacing and threatened to eat the sun. I smiled and descended precariously back to my life, relinquishing the mountain for a time but vowing to remember its lessons.
As I write this the day has turned dreary and rain clatters against my windows. I just finished a meal of pasta leftovers, hardly turkey and stuffing but satisfying all the same so I don’t mind. I have spent the holiday alone but I could not have asked to do it in more awesome a fashion. My spirits aren’t hampered by the weather or by loneliness but are still looking at the world from the top of my mountain.
I answered the call of that nameless peak today. It was not the tallest or the most challenging. It neither conquered me nor I it. Instead we reached an understanding. Next week perhaps I will forget all the reasons why I am here and again become lost in the HOW… but not today. Today the mountain has given me a gift of beauty and perspective so that I can once again find myself. I am thankful for it.
posted by Andy & Erin | 12:27 AM
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