Mountains

Mountains do not ask questions.

Mountains do not ask the deer to live somewhere else

and not on their skin.

Mountains do not ask the clouds not to rain

or ask the sun to shine brighter.

Mountains do not move their internal rocks

to be taller, bigger, grander.

Mountains do not compete with their neighbors.

Mountains are the same as they were billions of years ago.

They do not control, wish, ask, demand, or try to change.

They are alive, however,

just as we are.

They belong to this universe

just as we do.

They have a right to be here

just as we do.

But the difference between us and mountains

is that we think this right means we also have the right to demand more,

to ask questions.

We ask the deer to live somewhere else

because we want the land for ourselves.

We get mad at the rain for existing

when we want to be out in the sun.

We try to change our bodies

to be stronger, smaller, bigger, grander.

We compete with our peers.

This is because we, unlike mountains, are not billions of years old.

We’ve seen the world for only a few years, as new,

since we ourselves are new.

We are only a split second of the entire lifetime of the mountains.

But what if we rid of this difference

and realize that we, too,

are mountains?

What if we didn’t ask questions,

try to control or change what “is,”

what has been for billions of years,

and what will be for thousands more?

What if we just accepted

and didn’t try to change our bodies,

control the rain,

or ask the deer to leave?

Mountains do not have answers.

They are not here for us.

We are not here for us.

But we both belong.

Here.