Mt. Cheaha Again; A Poetic and Spiritual Reprise

Warning: the below is of a highly poetical content. For those who tend to dislike anything lyrical or dramatic, I suggest you go watch television and not give a thought to your shallow existence, for those who like poetry, may these words deliver a shred of that light which I attempted at portraying. It took place today at a beautiful precipice at Mt. Cheaha in northern Alabama, a place which takes the credit and the blame for first inspiring me to take poetry serious. Nature was my first Muse and it still continues to ravish me.9 years ago…did I not wind through these paths, intent on feeling that that which lies hidden behind the clamorous façade of society where men cling and scramble their dissonant tones into the glossy murk? And yet, then from this same oratory of nature, on these rocks, did the entire scenery of mountain, sky, and field clash together in their rhapsodic symphony of grandeur? Did my eyes not catch the vision? My ears hear the chorus ring across the valley? Have I not sought in every nook of creation this sweet, solemn music, heard its lullaby, and resolved to sing it myself?From this overlook, the trees sway in ticklish motion, catching the invisible, yet poignant heralds of the sky. When I first caught the glimpse of this wild mountain theatre, its sight, echoed down deep into the bosom of man universal. Sunlight and moonlight are incorruptible instruments, full-powerful, and they charm everything into its sanctified serenity, by the soothing fingertips of God, tearing through the azure-vaulted sheets, of the day and its shadowed night, and strumming His chords onto mountaintops and cliff sides for those who have ears. –And I’ve been there wondering did I not make the firm commitment in striving to embrace this Spirit, and how to record its violent reactions waking in my soul?I’ve followed It down the gilded streams of the dawn’s ransacked days, when the meadows sparkle in laughter and the drowsy dew hangs on the green coattails of nature’s rebirth. I’ve seen His vision before…when lids veil the carriages of sight with their own dark world and hush the quibbling impressions of earth with silence’s sonorous tune.You were as bright as the sun, wrecking the skies in havoc, unleashing your beauty to the trees and clouds, I watched you walk over hills into the golden netherworld glow, a captive of your intent, a prisoner of your theme.But how my rage has blinded my sight and the thought that you have walked away has burned its rebellious fires in my days and nights. Half of where I look, I see the destructive pages of bitterness charred black beneath the imprint of the years. Disappointment has its tale. But to hold onto that vision of light and hope when the far off mountain horizon is dimmed in the sacred blue of love and ecstasy, and to call it by one name, this has been my fight and my quest for all these years. My eyes now catch sight of a hawk riding upon the winds. His turn and his movement cut into the skies like a creature of graceful faith. The sunlight breaks through the heavens, peeling through the clouds. To keep these moments eternal, as if to freeze the mountains’ pious orchestra can never be. The music must have movement; it must vibrate. And since I strain my senses for this rhythm, I too must travel on. But before I go, one last glimpse of the golden sun perched on the treetops of yonder mountain, of winds billowing the forest path, of some Creator blazing in the heart of nature, vibrant and beautiful and...most of all...there.