about invisibility and goodness

Ever since I wrote about unsearchable things a few days ago, I've been thinking about invisibility.  It's funny, isn't it, how so many things in our lives are actually unseen: our moods, our thoughts, our emotions, love, the future.  There's so much we can't anticipate, so much we can't pull out physically and dissect and research.  We live in a world of lots of invisibility. 

A couple of years ago, I went volcano boarding during a trip to Nicaragua.  It was simultaneously the most amazing and frightening thing I'd done up to that point -- you hike on super narrow trails to the tippy top of a volcano and then get on a tiny wooden board and go 4798435 MPH flying to the bottom.   The day that I went was really overcast; the volcano was completely covered in fog and only occassionally could we see the landscape or how high we'd actually climbed.  The world below became invisible, and still we had to climb, still we had to board down.  It was the only option available.

At the time, my mind was mostly preoccupied with not plummeting to my death, but in retrospect, the experience seems pretty true to our real lives:  sometimes you've just gotta move forward and trust that what you can't see quite yet is good.  

Here's some thoughts in the form of a short poem :)
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The Invisible 

We reach the top and are hemmed in by clouds.
The soil is warm and humming beneath us,
small, soft pellets of ash that grow hotter
under the surface. Our truck, once at eye-level,
has vanished like a magic trick.

To slow the speed of my pulse I rest at the edge
and think of invisible, good things:

          the wind in warmer seasons,
          smells that remind you of someone,
          faces unknown that I will love
          and each day ahead that has not been
          written down by me.

It's in the birth of this list that I begin to feel
that I am free, that there is no pressure to execute
the architecture of my dreams. 

I think of how even my hopes are in themselves,
unseen.  And the things too foggy to hope yet,
that might one day grow clear to me.