Our mountain bed
Sliding uncomfortably into a week between two worlds, I find myself unable to process routine thoughts, or complete simple tasks.
The cold granite wall of Everest approaches steadily, casting shadows of doubt and fear, and behind me lies a marshy 6 months of relentless working, and weekends of debauchery, which, although being really good fun, have really squeezed whatever surplus energy I may have had.
The work is not over; reports still need to be written, second semester science curriculum still needs to be planned, and re-testing must still be done.
And yet, I just can't sit down and actually do it.
I wish it were a simple case of being worried about the Nepal/India trip, but its more than that.
It has to be, because this feeling is always with me and despite sometimes moving to the periphary i'm always aware of its presence.
I guess it just gets stronger when I'm under any sort of pressure, or when a potentially life changing event is about to happen.
Its usually triggered by a song, or by a passage in a book, and this time was no different.
Billy Bragg singing Woodie Guthrie's "Mountain Bed" swept me to a brown, green and blue memory, lying in the grass with her, deep in the Dragon mountains. Leaves lay softly in her hair splayed out golden on the ground as her fingers played in the icy stream of crystal water flowing beside her. Her other hand was entwined in mine, and we knew without saying, that we were both happy.
We spoke about the future that day, not with trepidation or doubt, but with a sure contented peace.
The stage then shifted right with a blur, and I was at the S.P.C.A second hand book shop with musty paper and ink filling the air with words. She left me to look at poetry books while she pottered about the children's section burying herself in her childhood.
It was then that I found a passage that struck such a chord within me, that in less than 8 months, I would be in a new country, away from the person I loved the most, trying to find the elusive life I dreamed of.
I found the passage today and it again struck the same chord. It sounded a little tired today, but it was there nonetheless.
I started here:
"... born in the pain of ending one life and beginning another, born in the excitement of the continuing search for life's meaning. Some people do not have to search, they find their niche early in life and rest there, seemingly contented and resigned. They do not seem to ask much of life, sometimes they do not take it seriously. At times I envy them, but usually I do not understand them. Seldom do they understand me."
My heart beat a little harder, as I read on with hot eyes:
"I am one of the searchers.There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover it's ultimate secret. We continue to explore life, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn to the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter."
Slowly, the bad memories started trickling through. Memories of me manipulating, and distorting fact and reason for my own selfish ends.
It boiled down to me being afraid that the person I loved didn't really share the same passions I did.
"We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we want to love and to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or to compete for love."
And in reverse, I didn't want to be trapped in a relationship that kept me from what was bubbling inside me.
And for my singlemindedness I received all this...
I still don't know if its what I want. But I'm pretty sure I couldn't have lived without it.
Its what I've lost that I still mourn for.
Is all this really just an attempt to justify my decisions?
I earnestly pray that it isn't.
So all day, I've chewed on these words like a ball of black tobacco.
"Passion, you see, can be destroyed by a doctor.
It cannot however, be created"
So no matter how much I long for what I've lost, I have to reconcile myself to the life I've created, and the future possibilities it holds. Losing passion would surely have been the wrong decision.
It the reconciling that takes it out of me.
"When Equus leaves--if he leaves at all--it will be with your intestines in his teeth"
The cold granite wall of Everest approaches steadily, casting shadows of doubt and fear, and behind me lies a marshy 6 months of relentless working, and weekends of debauchery, which, although being really good fun, have really squeezed whatever surplus energy I may have had.
The work is not over; reports still need to be written, second semester science curriculum still needs to be planned, and re-testing must still be done.
And yet, I just can't sit down and actually do it.
I wish it were a simple case of being worried about the Nepal/India trip, but its more than that.
It has to be, because this feeling is always with me and despite sometimes moving to the periphary i'm always aware of its presence.
I guess it just gets stronger when I'm under any sort of pressure, or when a potentially life changing event is about to happen.
Its usually triggered by a song, or by a passage in a book, and this time was no different.
Billy Bragg singing Woodie Guthrie's "Mountain Bed" swept me to a brown, green and blue memory, lying in the grass with her, deep in the Dragon mountains. Leaves lay softly in her hair splayed out golden on the ground as her fingers played in the icy stream of crystal water flowing beside her. Her other hand was entwined in mine, and we knew without saying, that we were both happy.
We spoke about the future that day, not with trepidation or doubt, but with a sure contented peace.
The stage then shifted right with a blur, and I was at the S.P.C.A second hand book shop with musty paper and ink filling the air with words. She left me to look at poetry books while she pottered about the children's section burying herself in her childhood.
It was then that I found a passage that struck such a chord within me, that in less than 8 months, I would be in a new country, away from the person I loved the most, trying to find the elusive life I dreamed of.
I found the passage today and it again struck the same chord. It sounded a little tired today, but it was there nonetheless.
I started here:
"... born in the pain of ending one life and beginning another, born in the excitement of the continuing search for life's meaning. Some people do not have to search, they find their niche early in life and rest there, seemingly contented and resigned. They do not seem to ask much of life, sometimes they do not take it seriously. At times I envy them, but usually I do not understand them. Seldom do they understand me."
My heart beat a little harder, as I read on with hot eyes:
"I am one of the searchers.There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover it's ultimate secret. We continue to explore life, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn to the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter."
Slowly, the bad memories started trickling through. Memories of me manipulating, and distorting fact and reason for my own selfish ends.
It boiled down to me being afraid that the person I loved didn't really share the same passions I did.
"We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we want to love and to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or to compete for love."
And in reverse, I didn't want to be trapped in a relationship that kept me from what was bubbling inside me.
And for my singlemindedness I received all this...
I still don't know if its what I want. But I'm pretty sure I couldn't have lived without it.
Its what I've lost that I still mourn for.
Is all this really just an attempt to justify my decisions?
I earnestly pray that it isn't.
So all day, I've chewed on these words like a ball of black tobacco.
"Passion, you see, can be destroyed by a doctor.
It cannot however, be created"
So no matter how much I long for what I've lost, I have to reconcile myself to the life I've created, and the future possibilities it holds. Losing passion would surely have been the wrong decision.
It the reconciling that takes it out of me.
"When Equus leaves--if he leaves at all--it will be with your intestines in his teeth"
posted by Graeme at 6:48 pm
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