The Permanence or Transience of Mountains

Landscape shots and close-up images of flowers and animals have always been my fascination. Recently, I also stumbled upon the captivating concept of Komorebi, a Japanese term that refers to “the sunlight streaming through the trees.” My mind has also been filled with memories of the colors of dawns and dusks. All these things in my head never fail to feed my love for the mountains. And as a digital nomad and remote working professional, the permanence of mountains became one of my solace when I feel alone, stressed out, and tired of living the on-the-go life.

I used to think that peaks will live on long after I’m gone. I think they’re lasting.

But, are mountains really permanent?

I’m into mountaineering for many years now. Although I haven’t been to major climbs yet, I’ve seen how the biodiversity of the peaks I’ve been to a couple of times change. Buildings are now being built where trees used to stand. Streams have dried up. Hills become housing development projects. And verdant forests slowly degrade into quarries.

Apparently, mountains have become just like any other things – a usable tool for human beings. Despite their immensity, we humans have a knack at finding ways to break them down, bit by bit.

Knowing their fragility, I resolved to study mountains a little bit more. I took an online course called Mountains 101 from the University of Alberta. 20 hours and 12 course lessons after, I learned to see peaks as more than just travel destinations. Ultimately, mountains serve as our firm foundation, literally and metaphorically. Literally in a way that civilizations rise and fall along with the changing of territories and terrains. And metaphorically in a way that many people usually find more clarity, relief, and enlightenment in the midst of the flora, fauna, or even the desolation in the summit.

Life Concepts That Helped Me Appreciate and Protect the Lasting Beauty of Peaks

As I got to know more mountains through online courses and in real life, I was able to pick up key concepts that helped me become more aware of my impact on the environment. I came face to face with my own thoughts at the peaks where there’s nothing else to be heard but the roaring wind and birds. In those moments of isolation, I felt the importance of living a simple life as a way to healing, both personally and interpersonally.

• Minimalism – Learning to live with minimal resources doesn’t mean I’m playing small. On the contrary, it’s a way of opening my mind to the ultimate potential of what I have. Minimalism is the way to learning the lost art of resourcefulness and creativity. It’s a lense through which I’ve learned to appreciate things not just for what they’re made for, but also for the unique ways I can use them. When camping, for instance, space-efficiency matters when packing. So, I’m compelled to choose the best things to carry, ideally those multi-functional ones. The less luggage I carry, the easier life becomes.

• Circular Economy – This present age of “instants” and consumerism got us to think that this world has unlimited resources for us to use. But no! Even if we could recultivate mountains and seas, it takes time to grow the raw materials for the products we need. So, the solution lies in applying the concept of circular economy. It’s the art and science of reducing waste and making something useful or decorative out of garbage. This is a core concept in conservation and preservation. Nothing goes to waste.

• Eco-Therapy –  Lastly, the beach, mountains, waterfalls, and anything in nature are God’s creation as much as we are. I realized that, indeed, “God is in everything,” as the Jesuits have it. Nature is God’s way of giving rest to the weary human soul. The discordant rhythm of the crashing waves and the hymns of birds have served as balm to my aching spirit. Many times, in my solo trips camping by the beach, I sleep to the sound of waves with tears in my eyes. Then, I wake up to the sight of the sun’s rays seeping through the fly of my tent, and I hear the birds calling to each other. Perhaps, they’re also calling me. Mother Nature (and God) did it again. During the hours that I’m asleep, she (or He) healed me. We call her (nature) Mother because the feminine nurtures.

My love for the mountains is as deeply-rooted as my affinity with words. In every hustle I have in life, be it volunteering or freelancing, these two loves of mine go hand-in-hand in helping me maintain a healthy balance.

But like the rest of Mother Nature, the mountains are often desecrated, abused, and drained to the last drop of its stream. Can the balding mountains ever recover? Can the coastal seas littered with garbage ever be clear enough for the fishes to swim? I think of these questions often as I set up a tent by the beach or at the summit. And I’m still hoping, deep inside my heart, for the permanence of mountains.