I keep my personal website and this weblog alive for memory's sake (and to honor the work I put into it). I have deep thanks for my web hosts, too: Were it not for their patience, it would have gone dark and I probably would not be writing an entry this evening!
Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes, and the events of the past years placed me outside of the creative space. With gratitude, I am finding my way back again. It's been over five years since I journaled here. My beard is grayer; my voice has changed. My heart is a little softer.
Like so many in the world right now, I'm filled with grief as the forests burn down around us. Close to home, the Frijoles fire near Cundiyo, NM, was started by lightning and fueled by dead or dying trees and powerful winds. The great majority of these fires are caused by humans, though, intentionally or not. I feel a powerful urge to spend more time in the mountain forests before they're gone.
Wherever I've lived and visited, I found myself drawn to the mountains. Even as once I stood on the shore of the Pacific Ocean for the first time at La Jolla Beach near San Diego, I'd find myself turning to stare at the green foothills to the east. I'm not alone - these rocky mountains sustain so many people physically and spiritually.
My mother, who came from the Blue Ridge mountain country of North Carolina, once told me she was drawn to Taos, New Mexico, because the mountains there reminded her so much of home. She taought me how her ancestors, mountain people, built community, how they came to depend on one another for survival in these rugged areas. She had powerful calves, built from a lifetime of walking the mountains.
All of my father's fondest memories were around time spent in the Rockies near places like Estes Park and Boulder, Colorado - those tales always had elements of beauty, elements of danger. His stories spoke to harsh winters, gorgeous autumns, carefree summers, and unpredictable springtimes.
As a child, growing up on the front range of the Rockies, I'd relish every chance we had to drive to from Cheyenne to Denver on Interstate 25, a trip that allowed me to stare out the passenger-side of the car at jagged, snow-capped peaks. My eyes would boggle at their size. I would feel the ice-cold wind that came roaring down the Rockies. I came to understand that the soft rolling hills near us were shaped by these winds over millenia. The Rockies had power I could feel.
On many trips returning to Santa Fe from Wyoming on that same highway, I'd always feel a sense of comfort as I neared Las Vegas, where the great plains give way progressively to pine-covered slopes - I knew I was getting close to home.
To quote the Zen monk Dōgen's Mountains and Rivers Sutra:
"The green mountains are always walking."
To me, this speaks of the constance of change. Mountains are born of the earth, grow tall and strong, and foster life. They're changed by the forces of nature, for sure, and by each season as it passes. So, too, do they change us as we walk their slopes and valleys! Truly, to survive well in the mountains, one must be present and aware. Mountains can teach us to be mindful.
How lucky I truly am to have grown up and spent so much time in the shadow of these beautiful mountains. If life takes me far away from them, may I eventually return.
~ Yours, Jeff - Late August, 2026