The 'Cluster' LINK center.

The Mountain (C)1994 (C)2005 A. Alexander Volenski
Unedited Excerpt

An August visit to Mount Rainier National Park;
a nature book in 8-chapters.

Chapter 5, Tipsoo Lake

  Evening reached for the coolness of twilight, as slanting rays of sun caressed
with shadowy glows in peaceful waves of stillness.  Serene melodious sensations
fluttered with drift and hover.  Tantalizing alluring notions danced to an
emotional pulse, like Eleusinian performers surrounded with muse and mystery.
Intoxicating ambience, shaping to form mood and temperament, swirling spinning
warming.  Soft invisible spectrum rays of filtering light came as a soothe
through the trees, whispering to satisfy thoughts of contentment and pleasure.
Sunset rushing forth, embracing, assimilating, integrating, inducing, with 
passions of summer night time approach.
  Birds scurried about looking for a last small bit of nourishment to take them
through the night.  Hopping, chirping, moving quickly here and there, head and
eyes turning, glancing, peering in all directions.  Unique creatures with feathers
soft in fluff, feet scaled like reptilia, weaved for protection as armor, with 
claws to grip the roost or hold a morsel of food for sharp beak to pluck and rip.
Small keen eyes, miniature magnifiers, exceptional telescopic eyes for the large
high fliers, eyes to direct the minute pecking for seed and insect.  Each bird
in solo singing its own individual song, all singing together with symphonic
harmony.  Perceptive the infinite mind or entity, who connected the plausible,
logical, believable bond, to create feathered friend.
  Sitting next to my campfire at the White River Campground at 4400ft, dinner
was over, and I felt energetic as this night time approach infused me with its
magical delight.  Sky clear, air fresh, as I reflected upon my time here at 
Mount Rainier.  The character, surroundings and experiences of my visit, were
blending to form a dimensional realm.  A sphere like domain, that my identity
and perception had created from the multitude of places, views, sounds, colors,
touches, tastes, and angles of thought.  As I sat, I envisioned emotion and
passion, arm in arm with realism and inspiration, all strolling together within
these calm moments of evening.
  From this sphere like realm of combine, new awareness would come, manifesting
another level of understanding, and I hoped to find new and pleasing things and
experiences there; a consent of my own making.  The moon was full tonight, a blue-
moon this night would bring.  I thought about this moon's arrival near midnight,
and how long it would be until another blue moon would align in calculated
formation.  Yes very rare is a visit of blue moon.
  Dimensional spheres, metaphysical openings, mountain of awe, moon light
dreams, pink glowing mountainous sunrises, hovering halo summit cloud, watery
taste sweet, white-silvery plume, passionate and emotional sensation, provocative
seductive inspirations, imagined invisible doorways created to hold thought and
reality together, and alas, distinctive blue moon.  I pondered these reflections
which came, placed like momentary pinnacles weaved within a sweater design to
warm the body, heart, and mind, with generating endurance and realization.
  Heaven and Earth, pendulum swing, illusions of the fleeting kind, with depicting
seasons, opposing months, and varying landscapes, sun moon stars, phenomenon's,
night time ecliptic refraction's, aurora borealis, lightening and rainbows.  All
were established and presented as natures endeavor to open a lane, a trail, a
path for a pilgrimage to follow upon, a pilgrimage through mountainous ways.
Now as I sat next to the fire with coals glowing, an image of a white stairway
flashed through my mind (dream sequence/chapter 1) and it seemed vivid and real,
yet I knew that special stair, was a stairway most difficult to find.  Then I
sipped from the cup of tea which I held in my hand, and it tasted good.
  Suddenly there was a great urge within me to take a drive in the slanting shades
and tranquil soft glows of eventide.  The campfire embers were twinkling out,
and setting the cup down, I stood up from the table and walked to the truck.
Driving along the lane, I stopped at Mattie's campsite, thinking she might
like to join me.
  Mattie was a woman that I had met a year ago while camping.  Slender, very
warm and pleasant she usually seemed, medium height, gentle sensitive features,
energetic, yet vulnerable she appeared to me in many ways.  Mattie had shielded
her innocent naivete, and child-like self, with a cloak of durable sterness
and reserved control.  However, I had learned to look through that exterior
veil, which I never mentioned to her, and saw there within her clear eyes,
a woman who I could only admire and feel deeply toward.  Yet only friends
she preferred us to be, and I accepted that, for that too was part of her veil.
  Stopping the truck I got out and walked to her camp, she was standing there,
and I asked, "want to take a drive, have a look around?"  She smiled and 
answered that she would, so the two of us got in the truck and drove down the
road.  "Where to tonight," Mattie asked.  "How does Tipsoo Lake sound, up on
Chinook Pass," I answered as I glanced toward her.  "Ah, the lake," she
responded, "it's very nice, I like it there."
  We both in our singular and separate ways endeavored to be free to roam at
will, within the grand essay of life, unbridled and unconstrained, as we 
reached to touch and behold the environment, habitat, and atmosphere of which
we lived.  We had shared many good times hiking and exploring, observing
nature's wilderness and its natural essentials and all they entailed.  In
many ways we helped each other become more aware of our surroundings and
inner selves.
  Sharing to help and helping to share; I didn't do very well in the 'helping
the other share' category, for I was very caught up in writing and my other
pursuits.  A truth which I can clearly see and understand, hopefully in some
future time and place, I will learn to know and live the 'helping the other
share' component, which is so very necessary.
  Truth is a path that leads to everything of use to us, stray from that path,
and only dead ends appear.  We must strive to be free of encased domination
and untruths, for they hold us back.  We must realize and remember too,
that we are all of equal value.  A value comparable to everything in the
world of which we exist.
  Look to the sky and see the great river of all rivers, see how it shines,
sparkles, twinkles, in the clear night sky.  The great river sends its visual
glow to enliven and silently speak to our mind, conveying a subconscious
message to us; cosmic beam, Milky Way.  Enumerable radiance Milky Way, vastness
preserved within a multitude of visual awe, constellations, stars, cluster
formations, individual singularity, sublime the Milky Way.  Each emitting
light, equal in value to all other lights, for they comprise a whole, each
sparkling light equally necessary for the entirety.  Neither will one light
dominate over another, all are working in unison toward a greater good.
  Dominating untruths are like blocks, obstacles, impediments of restraint,
and must be hurdled and overcome, for we know that it is not wise for our
eyes to deceive us, nor is it advisable to not see that which is there, or
hidden from us.  While we visit the natural world and view how uniquely it
performs, we absorb that actuality as tangible fact, and that tangible actuality
strengthens us.  A firm foundation is then formed, a foundation which establishes 
new awareness, and imbalances diminish.  From that diminishing factor, renewal
takes over, and we become refreshed.  Obstacles and impediments being removed,
individuality opens, enhancing, reinforcing, as we move on-ward and learn how
to 'let go'.  Letting go of the 'old thinking' is not easy, however if we are
to grow beyond the negative holds, it must be done.
  There wasn't a wind tonight, yet it would be cool up at the lake, specially 
after the sun set.  As we drove along we crossed over the main bridge of the
White river, unique in design the bridge, very stout and solid in appearance.
Its material consisted of large rock, grey rock, chiseled and chipped to
give it a rugged surface image.  Honed decades ago, it was built by a group
of Austrian Stone Masons.  Their work and style original, and it reflects the
European personality and structural design one finds in the Alp's.  Secure,
firm, substantial in composition, hardy, stalwart, and stable in its strength;
a bridge built to last.
  Further along the road there are other smaller bridges of the same design
where streams and brooks rush under them, pouring forth from off the steep
and forested heights.  These stone bridges along this stretch of road, instill
a 'visual harmony' that merges with the landscape, letting one seem to ride
through to a time where they 'can picture' other more earthy pastures so to
speak, where the metal and concrete and wire rope of the Industrial Machine
has not totally reached.
  Several miles up the road we turned right onto highway 410, also named the
Mather Memorial Parkway, and headed toward the passes.  There are two here,
the first is Cayuse Pass at 4694ft, and then Tipsoo Lake, and a little beyond
is Chinook Pass at 5432ft.  Chinook creek, springs out of Tipsoo Lake, down to
where it meets the Ohanapecosh (O-hana-pe-cosh) River.  The Chinook runs south,
and the Ohanapecosh River, south-southeast.  There are many water falls in this
area, but they may be hard to get too, all is very rocky and steep.  A terrain
that rock climbers may find gripping, if they are the exploring and inquisitive
kind.
  Naches Peak and Yakima Peak, are laid on a line east and west of each other,
Tipsoo Lake and Chinook Pass nestled in between.  Yakima Peak I estimated to
be near 6300ft, and is west of Naches Peak (also estimated) about 6500ft.
These two peaks have many meadows which slope mildly up to them along with many
trails; a picnic area is at Tipsoo Lake.  Just over Chinook Pass (on the east)
one will find a large parking area and facilities for that common human
requirement we all maintain.  The Pacific Crest Trail, a trail which goes for
many miles and takes many weeks even months to complete, meets there at Chinook
Pass, as it ranges through the mountainous wilderness of the Pacific Northwest.
  The way up to Chinook Pass from the west side, climbs as a large switch back,
a moderate grade I would calculate, built on the side of lofty promontories, and
it is often closed during the winter due to snow.  As we drove and glanced down
to the right, the valley below was dark and swept to the south toward the areas
of Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens.  At one bend of the road the view stretches
north along Klickitat (Klic-ki-tat) Creek, which descends into the White
River below.
  Tipsoo Lake was calm with lacquer like sheen when we arrived.  Dispersed light,
reflected off its smooth exterior, and the surrounding peaks radiated a serene
transparent azure, tempered by the light blue sky.  Blue translucent sapphire
hue, blended with dark watery lake and background greens.  'Mystical atmospheric
guise, realistic natural presentation,' I mused as Mattie and I strolled and I
saw the reflected moon upon mirrored fluid surface of lake, then I glanced
upward to view the moon's twilight opal blush.  The unescorted and solitary
moon, rising slowly as pale and bright, seemed to be looking to soft golden
sun, slowly settling into the distant western horizon, while ecliptic shadowy
shade of darkness and night approached.
  Together we walked the path near the shore of the lake and viewed sudden
riffles from a soft breeze skipping across adaptable flexible surface.  In
soothing sway, zephyrs' caressed this watery smooth of spirited conception,
surrounded in quietude.  Little fish jumped here and there, sending circular
riffles outward in a quintessence of rolling motion.  Small flies and insects
flew over the water, anxious, enthusiastic, almost impatient, as the calm 
evening and twilight, rapidly over took all that was present.  The air was
fresh and scented with the encompassing fragrance of nearby meadow, as prudent
greens, and colorful flora, enclosed to cradle the little lake.  Small birds
flew and hopped about chirping, singing, speaking, melodious songlines true.
  Stationary lake and untroubled meadowy lays prevailed upon this dwelling
place high up near the sky.  A place where quietness soothed in child-like
waves of innocence.  At this moment a silence existed, which opened up feelings
similar to what one may feel while viewing a sleeping child just before it
awakens.  I vividly saw in my mind just such a child, and as the child opened
its eyes, I felt and absorbed the awakening, as child-like waves of innocence
sprung forth from that realm of peaceful slumber; just so Tipsoo Lake
seemed, as Calmness now awoke.
  We both sat down upon a log bench near the water on the east side of the lake,
and looked westward.  The fish of the lake still leaped everywhere, creating
little isolated circular patches of riffle.  The riffles were immured, like a
miniature island riffled-collage, that pulsed and changed with each passing
moment.  Moments which seemed to transcend to another time, a time and place
separate, yet still possessing movement and thought, with rationale and 
passion, delight, enchantment, and enlightenment; so flared Tipsoo Lake.
  My body and mind felt deep stillness, like moon and lake, gentle surrounds.
All was at rest, embodiment in cadence, as physical and mental embraced each
other fully; corporeal-spirited domain of self, alert and teeming to the cause
of this night, with desire, passion, reason and substance, keen and awake.
"It is very beautiful here...at peace," I said to her who sat next to me, a
woman with soft blue-grey eyes.  She did not reply, she too was experiencing 
an encounter, rendezvous, appointment, privately her own.  I let myself fuse
with this freedom of harmony, and the accord I felt was one of wholeness
and unity.  I affirmed this was a connecting intersection, converging, merging,
waiting to be established and installed, as an opening toward something new
and fresh.  I reasoned with myself, that I would have this newness, for it
was generous, kind, reliable, and not oppressive.  I looked to blue twilight
sky, an unlimited sky where eyesight and perception were free to roam at
will, clear and cloudless the sky, with its boundless extension of vastness.
Feelings of passion rushed in my blood, and the sensation was natural and
good.  I was at peace with the world and myself, and this newness I yielded
to freely, letting it flourish and join my total existence.
  After awhile we got up from log near shore of lake, and walked back to the
truck, senses alert and fixed in permanent sway, as all here memory now
possessed to replay and manifest somewhere, someplace, in another time.
Mountainous ways, filter through the confines of the human heart and mind,
and touch the nerve of awe, kindling a flame, to bring a newer light to us.
The mountain ever present, ignites wholeness as it shares its hidden fire
which traveles along the pathway of our perception, helping us become aware
of what we really are, and who we may really be.  Giving freely, spontaneously,
mountainous ways levitate with lofty completeness.  Giving is helping to
share.  Letting-go is helping to share, so we may have compassion linked to
knowledge, where the impossible does not exist.  Helping to share is total
commitment.
  Now in the truck, we drove up over Chinook Pass and down the other side
to the large parking area where we stopped for a little while.  There were a
lot of visitors at the rest area, young couples hand in hand, parents and
children laughing and exchanging momentary thoughts and recognition as
mountainous ways reached them too.  Elderly couples and singles, took pictures,
and some just stood in matured silence, letting their past tumble and whirl
together into the immediate.  People of all races I saw at this rest station
tonight, like an International Juncture of leisure, placed high up.  I looked
to the ridges surrounding me, and then far toward the distant eastern skyline,
and knew that I would always remember this time and place as a 'special dominion'
within the summer of a blue moon.
  Continuing to gaze east down the wide valley, a broad expansive valley which
extended far, I saw the Rainier Fork, which I knew flowed into the American River;
tributaries pouring eastward.  Above me to the west was Yakima Peak, steep and
rocky with an antenna planted firmly and sticking up like a beacon of some sort.
Another reminder of the technical world we live in, and I knew someday antenna's
such as that would not be necessary.  Leaving the parking area we headed back
up to the pass again, and looking out the windows of the truck, there high in
the sky were two hawks gliding upon the up surges of warm air, and we stopped
to view them.

Hawk gliding high
in air,
drifting to the
motion of wind,
gaining altitude
and diving,
searching for food
enjoy the mood,
seeing all to see
feeling very keen,
knowing how
to be.

Hawk with feathers
brown and dark,
wings out stretched
to reach a mark,
tail moves sideways
up and down,
to rudder wind
above the ground.

Hawk by two
they did fly,
over head
what could be said,
we watched them
long,
they watched us
too,
both aware
was time to roost.

The day was ending
with rising moon,
the sun was setting
not all to soon,
the air was cool
refreshing still,
and the lake in peace
now knew us well,
reflecting too
its loving spell.

  We drove down the highway and stopped near the Tipsoo Lake picnic area.
On the south side of the highway was an open area of alpine forest and 
meadow.  Grazing on the lush green vegetation which grew upon those meadows,
were a small band of elk.  One large bull, two lesser-bulls, and about half
a dozen cows, but I felt there were more in the surrounding timber.  The
large bull grazed, and now and then would look up to keep his eyes on the
other bulls.  It would not be long and they would be in the 'rut'...breeding
time, and these bulls would become very aggressive, mean, and unpredictable.
The muscles of  the large bull were massive, and his hair was light cream
and thick, his antlers though medium in size, made his body appear even
larger.  The cows moved slowly and paid little attention to the bulls, and
seemed unimpressed with the presence of them.
  After awhile we headed on down from Tipsoo Lake toward camp, and as we 
did, I asked Mattie if she would like to get a cup of coffee in Packwood,
the first town down the road about 20miles away.  She smiled and said she
would; there still seemed to be a lot of light in the sky.

~

[Next, chapter 6, Mount St. Helens; note: text is yet to be proof read]

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