hiking up Jirisan: I

at 3:30am on Saturday morning, me and about 150 other hikers spilled blearily out of the KTX into a tiny little town in the southern part of the peninsula. it was a 4 hour train ride from Seoul--my current home. strange that i call it that even now. home.
it felt far away, but that felt ok.

the air tasted different down there somehow. crisper--more clean. bluish? it's hard to describe. given my inability to sleep in moving vehicles, needless to say, i was tired and apprehensive about the journey that we were about to embark upon. we were told it would be a 13 hour hike.

what the fuck was i thinking?? i asked myself repeatedly, as i could already feel my leg muscles cramping up. the taxi screeched around corners up the side of the mountain and i bit on my thumbnail to quell the rising panic. there really wasn't any way out. not for the next 13 hours anyway.

this was my choice.
you're doing this as a challenge. you're doing this to stretch yourself. you can do this. it will be beautiful. fabulous.
you're beautiful and fabulous.

taking a few deep breaths, i curled my fingers tightly around the strap of the sling that carried my trail mix, 2 peaches, my notebook, my Bible, a change of clothes, a blanket, my pack of menthol cigarettes, and my miscellaneous. when we stepped out of the taxi, the cold mountain air whipped around us. the whole group shivered and tightened their hoodies and jackets around them.
what happened to the summer?

i sat on the ground and rummaged around my bag for an energy bar as i stretched my legs and arms.

"c'mon c'mon! let's go!" yelled our guide, and upward we began to trudge into the darkness.

as the velvet enfolded us, i saw them. their unmistakable cold brilliance against the black. i had faintly seen the Little Dipper and the Big Dipper a few weekends before in the middle of the night atop a mountain in the grand city of Seoul, but this was *different*.

i have seen this many stars in the middle of the backwoods of Tennessee; when i have driven all night in different directions across the US--from the Midwest to the East coast to the South; in Maui on a post dusky beach; on a mountain rising out of the South sea. a few times in my life i have paused and beheld that kind of sky.

but after 9 months of yellowed Seoul horizons, the sweeping, forever bright sparks that i knew were there seemed almost fictional. like something i had read in a book or had only seen in photographs.

but there they were, these shards of bright nestled into the clearest black.

you've seen these--sometimes you'll stretch your hand out b/c they look so large, so close, you feel like you can touch them; your fingers catching only the faintest rays.


but tonight. this felt real. this was tangible.
hello stars. hello Real. hello Life.
thank You for the stars.

with this rush of gratitude, came a slight burst of energy. we started on a flat concrete incline, then onto gravel, then onto larger rocks. turning left, there was a set of stairs that stretched upwards into the dark trees beyond my vision.

whew... it begins.

here it is. August.

Seoul summer. the heat is oppressive. stepping outside is like walking into an oven. your first few breaths are a suffocating blanket. i often have a moment of panic--like i'm not going to be able to get enough oxygen into my lungs.
but when i pause and slow my breathing, my skin warms, and the overall temperature of my blood rises. my panic recedes. i begin to perspire.
though i can sometimes fool myself into forgetting how thick the air feels, my first few moments of daytime summer Seoul always shocks me.

i've had a hard time breathing lately. the whole month of July choked me. i think i'll always slightly hate this month--the frustrating heat, the beautiful, the awful. the fucking violence. the fucking white satin. clean blue skies, Vancouver. dripping tears. sweat. a needle buzzing into my leg. a needle sewing skin. black eyes. those memories. that black bloody darkness.

the month is over. thank God. i can move on, move forward, until next year--and maybe it won't be so severe. maybe that vice grip inside my chest won't be so tight. maybe next time my face won't turn so purple. maybe it'll all be less bloody.
"time. give it time." it's what they all say, right? i even say this, and believe it occasionally. but the problem w/ a calendar is that you can't forget. certain days and months are burned into memories.
damn this emotional bullshit. why am i so damn emotional? i wish i could turn it off. it'd be easier.

Seoul at nighttime gets much cooler. the humidity drops and breathing becomes easier.

i tasted the nightime forest this weekend. i entered the trees around midnight and began tromping up rocks--and then more rocks and boulders. i pulled myself up by tree branches and roots, and wondered if i were completely crazy. what the hell was i thinking?
how could this possibly be a good idea? the inky darkness. the sharp drops. burning muscles. trickling sweat down my back, neck, and face.

and then we hit a clearing. and there was Seoul in all of its et ceteras, a field of lights--they went on and on; orange and blue and pink and green. the streetlamps' lazy curve along the Han River, disappearing behind mountains, then reappearing further along. all of those lights. all of those people. in every direction. on and on it sprawled.

25 million. the tragedies, the hope, the faithful and unfaithful, the grinding mundane, the friendships built and broken, the buzzing TVs, the promises, the kisses, the laughter, the spilled soju. 25 million stories.

we climbed and climbed higher; the trail lost several times and then found, the continuous upward motion seemed interminable at times. the transpiration of the trees cooled our faces as we followed the person in front of us.

another clearing for rest. breezes blew over our sweating, overheated bodies; our lungs filled with the mountain air. i sprawled onto a boulder and stared at the sky:
oh hello there, Big Dipper, Little Dipper, and Orion's belt. and there you are Mars. it's been a long time.

and then the air above grew almost imperceptibly less black. and i could discern which direction was east. dark orangy and scarlet layers, along with pink. we were quiet.

the sky began to glow as the city lights began to fade. the closest mountain ranges were black, fading into dark green, falling back into the valleys of buildings and slowly swirling fog. ranges behind were staggering backwards in depth and brightened by the morning mists; the Artist's paint strokes of the horizon, subtle and never ending.

"there it is"
it's hard to describe. i remembered a story i read in childhood: a 'bright copper penny'.

i've often been awake during the dawn, but i can't remember the last time i actually saw the sun rising out of the edges. the blaze seeped and spilled around the curve of the earth and burned through the fog, warming our cheeks.

in my periphery, someone watched me sighing at the sight.
a murmur of laughter escaped my throat.
i felt the expression turn quizzical.
a smile. a brighter day, a brighter month.

the August sunrise over Seoul.

years behind and years ahead

her name is April
i met her today
she's 62
i'm half her age

i shared
she shared
she's beautiful
she reminded me
i'm not alone
we're not alone

she fights like me
we fight together
she said some things--things that sound completely crazy
but i completely agreed

how can this happen?
how can these outlandish notions be so real for both of us?
we're separated by oceans
time
generations
colors and trees and culture and
the sun, it has blazed
over lifetimes

but our spirits touched
and we could both rely upon Knowing
we know that we'll meet
and laugh in giddiness
we'll hold hands
i'll kiss her cheek
we'll sing as we run
never out of breath

we'll race through the City
together

redundant. trivialities.

convictions. why are they so fleeting?
you really can feel like you believe something--you may still bear the scars from the lesson you learned, but then you forget. or you fool yourself into thinking that maybe the conviction you felt was just not that big of a deal. you don't allow the conviction to take hold b/c you're so used to continuing along the grooves you've been ambling down. and then there's guilt about that, and often shame. the cycle perpetuates.

how do you change? how can you move forward into a brand new thing? the old way of doing things is your version of 'normal' and your body just moves in that direction b/c that's what feels natural. but you hurt yourself and often hurt people around you. and then sometimes you cry about it. sometimes you need to make apologies. sometimes you promise yourself that you won't put yourself through it all over again.

conviction.
a lie.
the same lie
over and over.
the same mistake
over and again
tears, conviction
but then, there it is again
the same lie

i need to believe that these trivialities won't continue to cycle. i need to trust that change is possible and that a hundred years from now, things will be different. the incremental steps forward--no matter how subtle, they mean something.

subtle steps at a one degree angle may look like nothing to some, but they can feel like miles to the one walking that way. no one may believe you--no one may be able to trust that your trajectory has shifted, but inevitably, these choices are personal and valuable.

i've got to keep stretching upwards, even if i don't look any taller.