TRAILS UP NORTH

Glo Abaeo Tuazon
Call of the wild

KABAYAN, Benguet -- I often wonder what drives a person to do the things he does, just as some wonder about the reasons why people climb mountains. It is often said that people climb mountains simply because they are there. But for those whose spirits soar above the clouds, the mountains spell freedom -- sweet liberty from the bondage and boredom of everyday life.

Mt. Pulag called and beckoned. Like a soul drifting too long in the smog-covered urban maze I was glad to turn back and walk away awhile, to an upland arena where the wind talks and earth breaths. The feet tires after awhile, but the mind walks on up there.

The feeling that you own everything as far as the eyes could see. Lying down on the warm grass letting the Heavens move above me, forming apparitions of ancestors gone ahead, their hair flying in the wind, looking down on us, reaching out a hand or both, if only they could.

I envy the people who live in and close to places like these. I envy the people of Kabayan who were gifted with a playground to run around in. A playground of gods they say, I would not argue. In my mind I toy with the idea that maybe it really is. For how come that when the sunset arrives the mountains almost seem to be on fire?

The reds and oranges mixing, bathing the horizon then flowing down in a burst to flood the valleys below it. And yes, the clouds too. They form a pillow of intense white, right there just above the ridges of the mountains that it seemed you could touch it if you stretch your arms long enough.

How do I describe this place? Beautiful? The word isn't good enough. God must have kept it from us, because if we knew the term, we may never comprehend the intensity of it. If I thought the mountain has life, I knew I'm not wrong. It breathes. And it cries too.

It has always been a giver. From the moment sunrise touches its bald head the beauty and comfort it shares are incomparable, it soothes the aches of people longing for peace and serenity. It is a giver. It bleeds itself to give us water, water that sustains life. It will always be a giver.

It gave some people part of its body to live in and till it for awhile. But people are not content. They want its soul too. Moving up like armies, slowly killing it with picks and hoes and treating it with acids. The mountains sobbed silently. It will always be a giver. Still the killing continues, scarred now and bleeding raw. It cries.... email: twilight_glo@yahoo.com