Diners With Windows
And mountains with mojo
Sitting in some restaurant located a long way down the highway in a land full of sorrow, I took a sip of iced tea and thought about elevation. From my windowed booth I stared out across the desert at distant mountains draped with cloaks of forest. A longing was born in me to go ever higher into the mountains. At that point in time I did not know how high I wanted to go. I just knew that my life’s trajectory was locked into an upwards-pointing trajectory.
It is simply impossible for me to go by a mountain without stopping and staring at it — and when I say, ‘staring at it,’ I mean commune with it. I have this compulsive urge to FEEL every mountain I come upon.
Every mountain is different. Each mountain has its own unique feel, unique vibes, unique temperament, unique knowledge, and unique soul. Most mountains have been around for a very long time. They have a lot to teach.
I may as well reveal something else about me that is a little weird. I vehemently refuse to eat in restaurants that do not have windows. I will not eat in a cavernous box. That’s unhealthy. When I eat I need that connection to Mother Gaia. I need a window to look out of. My imagination needs an outlet while the food-eating part of me enjoys its guilty pleasures. Even when eating at home I always eat near a window.
