Day # I don’t know, of my recovery. Pushing myself, facing my body’s pains and fear. I think it’s getting there when you can do the Rocky moves in your work out. I don’t need a mountain to climb, I’ve been climbing a mountain since I was born. The mountains run away from me because they’re afraid I’m gonna eat them up in toe and heel.
It’s the journey and it can be long and lonely.
Sometimes there’s people along the way and they say, “Hey you’re so good at this can you carry my weight?”. Sometimes you help them out. Sometimes you gotta leave them in the wind.
It’s the paradox of the mountain. There’s other people on it and if you’re higher than they are and they’re asking for help, they can’t return the favor. Not today. They’ll make you feel alone as you carry their weight close to your chest. You’re not really holding them, just holding their load. They might be sitting on their ass at the bottom of the mountain. They might be higher than you but not in heart because they might forget about you when they make it.
It’s the paradox of the mountain. The more alone you are on the rugged trail and it does draw ragged beads from stung eyes, the more alone the closer you feel. In the open air, closer to everything. The more you appreciate every contact and every connection.
I’ve been climbing since I was born. There’s only one other person I respect in this world and that’s the person who’s climbing theirs too.
You can only hope that others live with the same reverence, like a spark of solidarity, but you gotta climb yours, gotta love yours.
It’s the journey, it’s the trail tailor made to the soul, fit to the soles. It’s our mountains we climb. It’s our climbs that bring us together. In the climb we find our peace, in our deepest pushes we find our harmony.