Thursday, July 06, 2006
s
Inside here, are all the seven oceans, & hundreds of millions of stars..the acid that tests gold, canyons & pine mountains... When Kabir wrote those words I knew that Kabir saw the writing, on the inside of the skin. Inside here, are the only things precious to me beyond daylight...This tiny box & this scented plant, are my soul jewels. Being all I would rescue from this house, I have placed leaves from this box on Ama Dablam & carried the remnants, those I discern of her spirit, her light & her smile, inside, safely through the high peaks, to rest under our own constellations. You can measure each of these two objects by macrometral size & apply physics, equate their individual mass, down to point zero zero, & give them a squared mathmatical presence, a scientific reason for being, just as you can with a climb. You can say that my route at Cairn Liath, south of Kilt, Iconoclast, is E9, or E10, or, 6c or 7a, or f8a+ or f8b+, but you miss it's importance, the skyward audacity of the line, black corridors of movement, thrown raging defiant across the daylight. One thing is for certain, it's real E9. It'll kill you. There's no multiple screamers to take here, you commit & do it faultless or you never go home. The line is uncompromising, horrendous madness, eerie & raging. Or is my last boulder V13 is it V12.6? You can muse over Ama Dablam being 5563 metres or only 18251 feet? You can train scientific grip, & I do, but you must feel, what is right. Seeing the world in such ways, you would miss the soul, the life inside the stillness, the movement & invocation tearing through pompous kingdoms...the undergound drone & drum of why you do what you do, with such conviction...the soul jewels. Tha mi am chadal, na duisgibh mi.
Inside here, are all the seven oceans, & hundreds of millions of stars..the acid that tests gold, canyons & pine mountains... When Kabir wrote those words I knew that Kabir saw the writing, on the inside of the skin. Inside here, are the only things precious to me beyond daylight...This tiny box & this scented plant, are my soul jewels. Being all I would rescue from this house, I have placed leaves from this box on Ama Dablam & carried the remnants, those I discern of her spirit, her light & her smile, inside, safely through the high peaks, to rest under our own constellations. You can measure each of these two objects by macrometral size & apply physics, equate their individual mass, down to point zero zero, & give them a squared mathmatical presence, a scientific reason for being, just as you can with a climb. You can say that my route at Cairn Liath, south of Kilt, Iconoclast, is E9, or E10, or, 6c or 7a, or f8a+ or f8b+, but you miss it's importance, the skyward audacity of the line, black corridors of movement, thrown raging defiant across the daylight. One thing is for certain, it's real E9. It'll kill you. There's no multiple screamers to take here, you commit & do it faultless or you never go home. The line is uncompromising, horrendous madness, eerie & raging. Or is my last boulder V13 is it V12.6? You can muse over Ama Dablam being 5563 metres or only 18251 feet? You can train scientific grip, & I do, but you must feel, what is right. Seeing the world in such ways, you would miss the soul, the life inside the stillness, the movement & invocation tearing through pompous kingdoms...the undergound drone & drum of why you do what you do, with such conviction...the soul jewels. Tha mi am chadal, na duisgibh mi.
The meaning and feeling of an object will always outweigh its physical substance, rock isnt much without a climber as a climber is nothing without a place to live, to grow, to stretch himself. Objects become, are born, grow, change, simply when they all that happens is they take form and place in the mind of man.