The Body Remembers Beauty

A friend responded to my memory of canoe trips without phones. You could always drop the phone in the water. Splash!
"Invention is the Mother of Necessity"
Yes! On Yom Kippur when son Adam and I climbed Mount Doug, fasting, I would have taken my phone in my pocket, you know, just for safety and security and, you know, just in case . Someone could faint. You never know. But I forgot.
Our talk as we climbed was elevated, each tangled root carried a life metaphor for us, a tall tree grown past where the lightning had slashed it a perfect picture of Tamar Frankiel's symbol of forgiving while acknowledging the hurt as part of our bodies, letting the remembered hurt shape our contours to a thing of unique and asymmetrical beauty.
       When Adam and I got to the stunning sunshine of Mount Doug's peak, and the clearest view of    Mount Baker's snow in the distance, I had to memorize the scene in sharpest detail.
       Nobody fainted from the fasting and the climbing on no fuel but angel thought, and there were no emergencies down below. And no photo was needed of that thisworld beauty, the vastness of blue blue sea and distant snowy mountain. Without the iPhone, I printed the memory somewhere indelible and retrievable. Anytime. Now.
       Remembered beauty, too, leaves its contours. Our body shapes to it.