I go to the mountain

And sit and stare.

“How did you get to be so big?” I ask.

I watch the mountain crumble a bit.

“I’m not as big as you think I am,” it says.

The mountain is tall, but it looks up, and it looks down.

It casts it’s mighty shadow on the ground below.

“This body is just a heap of things I gathered from all around,

But it’s not me.”

The truth waxes and wanes,

Even in the mountain.

The mountain may come to you,

But will it be with hat in hand?

The mountain crumbles a little bit.

“What do you want from me?” the mountain asks.

“What do you want from me, Mountain?”

It’s a good day for rain.

It’s a good thing, too.

It cleanses the air.

And now you can see up, into 

The clarity of the sky.

Now you can see:

You are a mountain inside the earth,

Tall and abundant,

Strong and true,

But supported all around 

By the vastness of the planet.

And so now you see, too,

Your height is nothing,,

Neither your stability,

But in modesty, you can offer honest admiration to the sky,

As it offers its honest admiration back to you.

Then the sky crumbles,

Just a little bit

And offers its blessings.

-jenn