Then, I thought about my approach to the "Sunset" post, and I considered accepting the same self-challenge in composing the lyrical wonder that is the mountain...except, under the weight of one major difference. With "Sunsets," I endeavored to imagine which words I would use - for someone that had never beheld the gift of sight - to describe the immense beauty and inspired vision of our sun dropping below the watery edge of our world. With "mountains," I will attempt to do the same, only this time I will challenge myself further by seeking a way to bring the colossal dream scape that is a mountain into reality for someone that has neither beheld sight...nor sound.
Unable to hear my words; unable to see my gestures? How could I possibly deliver the proverbial package to this one?
After much thought, I think I have figured out the perfect way to effectively portray the inspiration bequeathed to us by the mountain. I believe I have uncovered a profound reactionary design that lends itself to the majesty and metaphor of the mountain.
And it goes like this...
I would take the person - let's call her Helen Schmeller for all intents and purposes - by the hand and lead her up the long and steep mountain path...on foot. We would take periodical rests against the evergreens that would surely excite her sense of smell.
We would take the time to lightly tumble and play, as the feel of the soft snow in contrast to the hard rock beneath would undoubtedly bring life to her sense of touch, as it changed from smooth to jagged and everything in between.
We would make our way up the mountain in this fashion; taking it one slow, steady, and comfortable step at a time...moving in and out of shadow and sunlight, absorbing the differential sensation of cold and warmth in a matter of mere moments. Ah, such is life.
Finally, we would find ourselves on the precipice, where I would encourage her to take all the time she desired to breath the clean, thin air. I'm almost certain she would feel inclined to spread her arms - recognizing them as the wings they are - in acceptance of the moment, humbly accepting an embrace by Mother Earth and Father Sky...a Family reunion.
As it is with the ocean, the mountain brings us closer to god, and there isn't a need for sight or sound to feel that kind of wonder.
But, also - as it is with the ocean - the mountain is a testament to life: unrelinquishing in its sermon. So, it is at this point - shortly after her slow dance with majestic peace and spiritual validation - that I would push her. Yes. I would shove her off of certain ground, knowing that as she tumbled head over ass, stumbling and clamoring her way back down, she would do so with the skill imparted to her by the gift of other heightened senses, and by faith. By the time she reached the mountain's base, she would have a complete understanding of its size, its sanctimonious beauty, and its paradox.
As for me, I would take the lift back down and wait for her as I sipped a nice cup of java...knowing, of course, that my days of being pushed down "the mountain" are far from over...but neither are my days of dancing at its summit.
somehow, i knew you'd push her... but, hey...it was for a good cause....Experience.
ReplyDeleteNicely written.
Keep em' coming!!