... and the earth took over. The silence was deafening as the earth stood still in its perpetual motion. As I can feel the breath and blood in my body so too did I feel the same substances of life reverberating through the snow covered landscape. I have never felt so at home (i know, cliché...) but I don't mean where one lives, but that home that is talked about when someone is dying and a loved one say's, "he is finally going home." That moment where the mind stops torturing itself with the constant onslaught of useless thoughts and conceptions and stillness can finally be maintained. Except of course, I wasn't dying, or at least not in the physical sense of the word. I tried to breath in the glory of that moment, but my lungs simply did not have the capacity to take it all in. Nervousness took over for a second as stuffed my skins in backpack and lifted the heal clips of my tele skis, and the silence stopped when they snapped onto the back of my boots. But those moments of seperateness fell away when I started flying - hanging on to every turn like it might be my last. No tracks ahead of me, one track behind me, no resistance: simply alive and utterly free.
When I took of my skis when I got to my car, I put the shackles back on, but it wasn't so bad, having touched the world that I knew existed but normally couldn't touch or feel. Until time stops again I will let those moments dangle in my memory. The search continues, my sails are at full mast, and headed full bore into eternity.
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