The Wild Man's Country
The trip back was enchanting, driving along Cumberland highlands looking down from Jellico Mountain, watching vast seas of concrete parking lot go by. So far removed, I am able to imagine that their halogen lights are stars below, a blurry reflection of the stars far above. I can't help but think that those are the places that God treads. Riding along the tops of the earth, he is that Wild Man that you might meet, carrying the trappings of ten thousand journeys. I see him leaping from peak to peak as his scraggly beard whips about, laughing and playing with the wind as it joys in his Glory. Of course, I don't know what God looks like, but the wildness of his Spirit gives gives vast possibilities to the mind's eye.
Perhaps that's what draws me there. I feel that he's up there, in the lonely places, where Jesus could be found in the dark hours of the morning. And in answer to my great desire to sit at the bar and talk with a friend, is my desire to go to the highest and loneliest place I can find and listen.
Somewhere on the Appalachian Trail, between Charlie's Bunion and Peck's Corner, between Carolina and Tennessee, there is a stone table, facing East.