The Majesty of Mountainscapes |

Last year I was plunged into Patagonia by a subconscious will I did not know was within me. I found myself in a land, fierce and unforgiving with high winds and a blazing sun. It was a world of extremes with wide, vast expanses of sweeping steppe that suddenly rose up in steep slopes covered in snow. I was initially overwhelmed by the intensity and stark stillness, but with time I began to find the bounty in the biome.

I was enchanted by the harsh, hard, and hardy beauty of survival seen in the land, sea, and sky and the fauna, flora, and people who made their home there. I soon saw how nature mirrored itself in every aspect of the ecosystem creating a beautiful symmetry and harmony made rich by depth and diversity. And in that moment I understood that I needed to learn the mountainous might of Patagonia in order to rejoice in the majesty of an interconnected macrocosm.

I’ve always been drawn to bright, tropical colors, bursting with life and fertility. I love vibrant hues and movement that embody the joyful profusion of primavera and the vital humming of earthly activity. In contrast, I generally associated dull hues with a lifeless, lackluster spirit, and as such, I initially struggled to see myself in the subtle stony tones of the sierras.

But in Patagonia I discovered the nuance and even necessity of neutrals and non-movement. The land wore a simple raiment of rust, brown, charcoal, and sage. But beneath the understated surface, I sensed a profound richness that came from the very heart of the earth. The emerald green of the pines, garnet of the soil, and graphite of hills did not vibrate with the murmur of a spritely season, but instead bore a steely stillness that withstood an eternity of erosion. In the constancy of the muted mountainscapes was the steady wisdom of the ages. Immune to ephemeral excitement, instead it formed the background of bedrock upon which the dance of seasons could come to life.

I knew I had much to learn from the southernmost landscape. I would occasionally find myself bowled over by a boisterous remark in Buenos Aires, made in passing. But after millennia of howling winds, rain, and snow, the mountains and evergreens of austral Argentina still stand unshaken.

Why was I so flustered by the austere and severe people who came across my path? Ultimately, I mistakenly believed that mother nature had left me defenseless with no adamantine armor of my own. Or that society somehow forbade me from inhabiting it. And so, without the option of fight, I fell back on flight, and if ever I encountered an extreme in my environment, would enchant and evade.

But as I walked the paths of Patagonia, I perceived the prickly pines were not blown away by even the most blustery blizzard. Their needles retain heat and moisture and resist wind and their downward-sloping branches shed snow. They know how to let abrasive elements pass over and keep in the nutrients they need to survive.

The imposing impasse of the mountains and their steep slopes may initially appear intimidating, or even hostile. But their deep roots, tall towers, and robust, rugged ridges create the foundation that supports and nurtures a thriving ecosystem. Their lofty crown peaks allow them to collect caps of snow that trickle down as freshwater finger lakes that nourish and attract all forms of fauna and flora. And their sturdy spine shields their children of the earth and sky from foreboding winds that whip and wail.

For the first time I saw the implicit softness that a stern strength belies; how it creates a cradle for community and all its creatures. And as I acclimated to the Andes, I began to adopt the insulation and resilience of the conifers and unbreakable backbone of the mountains; the missing links in my evolution that previously lay dormant within and would allow me to survive, thrive, and become part of the hive.

I feel a great flow of synchronicity as I write this because I’m currently rereading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and am on the very last chapter “The Choices of Master Samwise”. There Sam finds himself in a similar situation to my own, passing through another formidable mountain range “The Mountains of Shadow”, home to the web-filled underworld of Shelob’s Lair.

In the chapter, he is left in the wake of his master’s incapacitation by the giant spider’s venom, alone in a barren and hostile land with no guide and no clear path forward. Previously he had found comfort in his role as a trusty servant; a steadfast supporter and loyal friend. For the first time, however, he must look to himself to forge a path through the fog and live with the consequences of his decisions when the stakes are dire. As he navigates the rocky terrain, he realizes he has his own true north. And as obstacles arise he inevitably finds inspiration in his moment of need. In the darkest, most uncertain tunnels, Sam finds his inner light of brightest clarity.

The awe of the magnificent mountainscapes leave many paralyzed in wonder and fear. But looking beyond the bedrock reveals a steady, sustaining soul in the stiff, southern soil.

Whether you call it your rocky will of Patagonia or your light of Eärendil, this confidence, clarity, and conviction allow you to feel at home in yourself amidst a windy, winding world. The steely inner strength and rich, restful tones of the towering peaks showed a stillness and symbiosis in myself and the world about me, breathing new life into my existence and connecting me to the magical mutualism of a majestic macrocosm.

The awe of the magnificent mountainscapes leave many paralyzed in wonder and fear. But looking beyond the bedrock reveals a steady, sustaining soul in the stiff, southern soil.