visiting.

when i open my eyes i am standing barefoot on cold wooden planks, a bridge laid across a coursing glacial stream. it jumps and tumbles down the rocks, a vertical joyous roar cutting down the mountain toward me and under me and away. i am bathed in spray and sound.

to my left, the cedar forest, tall and dark and fragrant, the home of deer and spirits i never glimpsed but believed in all the same.

to my right, the path.

my path, and i step off onto it.

packed dirt under my feet colder than the boards of the bridge, it hugs the waterfall and leads up the slope sharply. i climb it until it curves away from the cascade and stream. twin aspen guard the way, a wild mountain torii. i can smell blackberry leaves, and like a bear i am drawn forward.

i climb the mountain, forest always around me. pine and aspen and cottonwood, but also oak, and birch and hawthorn and hazel and maple. i walk in a pine wood and a rain forest and a farmland copse, and always upward, always my feet padding on the smooth dark earthwork path.

i cross streamlets, i eat blackberries and salmonberries, i kiss trillium and walnut leaf. bird chatter in high branches accompanies me, a mule deer stops and gazes at me, small ones pace me in the undergrowth and leaf litter. i look out into the tree depth and it is barry with golden light and green shade.

but the path leads upward, so i do not stop, do not explore. it has come to my understanding that i have an appointment.

and then, a second torii, two immense trunks flanking the path. large enough to be redwoods, but with silver smooth bark, and a high canopy. beyond them, a wide meadow, an oval wild garden of tall grasses and wildflowers, sunlit and filled with song.

i enter.

it is beautiful, and warm, and sweet -- a safe space, an oasis hidden on the side of the mountain, cloistered by pine arcades. i wander, my soul sipping in contentment. i believe i amble without design, but of course, i am still led, and soon enough, i am within sight of a small green jewel of a knoll. there are figures upon it. a woman and a man, and they are waiting for me.

i know them. silver moon and golden sun, soft embrace and burning kiss, weaver of life and dancer in death: sweet lady and smiling lord. she sits all calm and grace, her dress never quite still and stars in her midnight hair. he is cross-legged and grinning, and the scent of amber and blackberry leaves is his. there is a sparkle and a wink in his eyes which must be responded to, but i am too shy to look so boldly up into her face. i can feel her kind indulgent archaic smile, though, and it is more than enough. it is all my heart needs.

i walk toward them.

i sit at their feet.

and i am in a holy place.