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The ritual of scaling a rocky peak begins when you stand on level ground, just at the bottom of the mountain, or cliff, or the rocky peak. And you look up in awe, in some indescribable reverence imbued by the wilder instincts. And you wonder how the wind would feel at the very top. And you see the seductress teasing you, with her fleeting coquettish giggle; come, come try me.
And some of these temptations you ward off, giving into the stern voices of your gently patronizing guardian angel. But some, are like just striding on the verge of nonsense, and a very riskable exhilaration; so you may choose to risk :-)
And sometimes when you are midway to the top, perilously perched with one foot in a shallow crack and other wedged between some frail grass stumps, your mind inevitably races with the thought, oh dear, so much more to the top now, so much more being on this high strung edge, so much more of holding on tight, so much more scrambling, and just so so much more again that I can go back down and breath at ease.
So have I backed down? Of course I have, remember the guardian angel? Yeah, She's indeed a life saver at times. But I would mostly try to go around and find a less steeper trail.
And one thing I so very predictably end up doing when I manage to scramble to the top is to stand erect, very still, feet apart, arms stretched out wide, open palms, and close my eyes. And feel, how the wind actually feels at the very top.
And my friends make fun of me for posing like the Titanic stance, of course.
Err, wouldn't it feel so good to hold your girl, her arms stretched wide, against a vast, very wide, open calm sea, and when she could close her eyes, trusting you.
:-)
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