Something in me always wants to get
to the furthest mountain-top, the peak beckoning with fresh slopes shining pink
in the sun. And then, if you squint carefully, there is one even beyond that,
retreating duskily into the mist; they are silent, hooded, but always there,
always reminders of the places I have never gone. If I could reach the furthest
one, could stand wind-whipped on the highest thrust of rock on the other side
of what I know, would that be far enough? Would I have crossed the threshold,
passed through the portal to mystery and adventure, or would there be another
peak, just beyond my gaze? Even if the last and highest mountain were put
behind me, there would always be something else, causing me to follow the
staircase, winding, mounting, toward something which I can’t even explain, but
which leads my feet as clearly as if they were tied with strings.
Can you long for something you’ve
never seen, can’t fully imagine? Can your questing be led to places never known
to you, even when you’re not sure that they exist after all? I long for the
last stair on the staircase, just beyond the highest peak… If I were a bird, I
would probably fly too high, and get frozen by glacial winds; but then the
mountains below would no longer beckon, only sit. Perhaps I would move on to
the tossed palatial clouds, following the sun as it rolls on behind each
floating mountain…
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