5 things about an endless Path
This is a primal story. The thread of which has been told for as long as humans have had the drive to Story. Woven into the tapestry of our being. The thread that runs, truer than blood, through the veins of time. That thread that remains after all else has worn away.
Mostly metaphor, almost myth, it found me, in the same way gravity finds my feet as I step. The essence in the communication below the information. The “yes, I hear you” and then beneath into the “Yes, I See You”.
This is the story of Learning To Climb A Topless Mountain. It starts with the first realisation.
There is a force in me that simply must be fully expressed.
A plant grows towards the light and a lion learns to roar, regardless of numerous external circumstances there is an innate drive to do these things and they do. Likewise, there is something in me that simply must. I call this force my inner mountaineer. A mountaineer simply must climb mountains — because that is what a mountaineer does.
This leads to a second realisation, as a mountaineer:
2. I have the power to choose.
This power lies beneath my skin and on the anticipation of my next breath. It lies in the sinew of my heart and in the lining of my lungs. My bones sing with it, my hands — no matter how naive, fold instinctively around it. There is in me, the innate power to choose.
Then, as a mountaineer, I shoulder my pack and walk a little further. As the dust settles around this new realisation I glance around to see that:
2. There is more than one mountain.
My eyes widen, my heart opens through me and I experience a distinct sensation of expansion. Then, on the heels of my next inhale, comes an uncanny observation:
3. Each mountain has different qualities.
I notice many climbers on a couple of the mountains. The routes appear well marked. The trails are well trodden and the grass barren where climbers have stopped — the same place each time, to catch their breath and look at the view. I notice also, that on the air, there is a pattern of exchange, each conversation similar to the many before it. The air worn with the tired memory of repetition and the climbers can’t help but surrender to it. I notice a heaviness in each climber. They have resigned themselves to the route. I notice also a quality of dissatisfaction in the climbers. I see great Beings of limitless potential climbing an almost too gentle a rise. Lions grazing like sheep. The weather also, always a shade too distant, the top too readily documented, the route well described, well photographed, every species encountered numerous times before. A sleepiness of intent born of the safe reassurance of reaching the top. Guides explain every-thing each step of the way, while safety rails and signs thickly redirect any straying climbers back to the main stream. No negotiation, a haze of inevitability. I stand and simply notice this. Tenderising my whole self to what I witness.
The wind changes, I allow my attention to shift. Brushing over the landscape until it comes to rest on another Mountain all together.
This one has no top.
The weight of my pack leans against my back, a gentle reminder of my inner orientation towards moving. My legs grow restless — a reminder of my need to climb.
4. Qualities of a topless Mountain
I become aware of a sound in my heart. A humming. A tune. As a mountaineer I must climb mountains, likewise there is a song in my heart that needs to be sung. It grows louder when I orientate myself to the topless mountain. I am already walking towards it. I notice there are no sign posts here and no tracks. I feel the hairs rise on my arms and I wonder if anyone else has ever been this way before. In the next moment, the mist clears and I see someone up ahead, quietly making their way through the boulders, picking a course that works for them. There is something fresh and peacefulness in their movement — a oneness with the rough terrain. A warm glow spreads though my body. There is company here also on this strange and topless mountain.
The mist embraces me once more, the other climber disappears and a chill settles in. I become aware of my breath, the crack of loose stones beneath my feet. Curiously, there is a shifting of shadows at my peripheries. The shadows lean in close to me, then spin away as I turn to look at them. It sends shivers through me, keeping me awake and I stride on. Intimately aware of each footstep. Curious of my surroundings, I notice an edge to each moment.
I do not know the direction, I have not walked here before, there is no instructions in my pocket and I remember, in a moment of tiredness, that this mountain has no top. This topless mountain has no marked routes. My boots rub the skin, hurting my feet. My tiredness becomes more pronounced. So I sit, I take off my boots and cup my feet in my warm hands. Questions bounce around inside me, like heating corn. One question sticks and I let it bloom:
“if this mountain has no route, no sign posts, no safety rails, no viewing platforms and no top, yet still there is an unspent will in me to climb, then how do I know which way to go?”
5. A Remembering
After I ask my question, the mountain becomes motionless beneath me and the air stills also, is if everything is holding its breath. My question lands in the grass beside me and a tiny flower grows. I watch it and smile. It is beautiful.
And, in that moment I remember. I remember that my heart sings when I climb this mountain, I remember there are others here also. I remember the aliveness in my skin and the warmth in my hands, I remember the freshness of air that moves through me and the multitude of possibilities found on the edge that I walk. I remember the shadow of mystery that shrouds this mountain, a likeness of which shrouds me also. I remember I could choose to climb a very different mountain and my nostrils remember the stench of stagnation on that other mountain. I look at the flower at my feet and remember that here my questions are the way, the route is the top.
I continue to climb because I am a mountaineer. And when a mountaineer climbs, life its self is embodied and this is love in motion.
And I remember that I don’t need a top because I am a mountaineer and I am climbing, I am embodied love and this, in its self, is the top.
originally published here: Topless Mountain
