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Submitted by Meredith Arena on Wed, 9/21/2011, 4:20pm
Today I looked at the Olympic mountains and I felt so happy to be here in Seattle.
They sun is shining, the sky is a cloudless blue and the mountains look like a dark blue painted horizon. I see these mountains in the distance on any day that I take a bus or ride my bike to the north part of Seattle and anytime I walk down to the market where I work. But I do not always see the Olympics. (Note: On a later date, I will write about the famously elusive Mt. Rainier, which many visitors to Seattle, never see)
At times they are covered in thick mist. Certain mornings I leave so early that they remain in cold darkness. Sometimes there are dark storm clouds laying over the entire range. Other times you can see cloud openings casting sunlight down in patches. On clear days the sunset through this mountain range is other-worldly. They seem to be on fire, they turn all shades of purple and blue. But still I don’t always see the Olympics.
Maintaining a sense of gratitude for the beautiful things around us is difficult. Harder yet to accept when they are ugly, or worse, dull. Our moods often dictate the way we see or if we see at all. What and how we see determines how we experience any given moment. I see the Olympics differently on my days off and the days I work. Sometimes, on my way to work, I actually resent the Olympics. There again, I am not seeing them at all. Because the Olympic mountains are not only a projection of my mind-state. Or are they?
Learning to accept the Olympics as they are at any time is a ongoing struggle. Learning to love them whether or not my day is going well or I am cycling uphill or downhill is like a doing a dance.
Dearest Olympics, how do you stay so still, when I am so restless? You are a great big whale and I a silly ant.
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