Kundalini Splendor

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Wednesday, August 13, 2008

The Climber (poem) 



The Climber

The mountain was steep.
Many had perished
attempting the climb.
But you went ahead anyway,
carrying your backpack
of provisions and tools.
This was the one
you had prepared for
for so many years.
You had planned every move.

At first it didn't seem
so difficult.
You went swinging along
admiring the view,
all the green valleys and towns
laid out below.

Then things changed.
The slope grew steeper,
the drops more intense.

And finally
you hit the ice--
a thick mantle
of gleaming skin,
rocks glazed
like sculptured glass.
Here it was grommets and pickaxe,
a struggle for every inch.
Caution was the word.
The glaciers were fickle,
rousing sometimes
like giant beasts awakening,
advancing in unpredictable ways.

The last stage was where
so many had fallen
into dark chasms,
off the unsteady bridges
or ever slickening surface
only to be discovered years later
dangling in some lost crevasse
or not at all.

In some versions of this story
this was where you too
plunged to your personal
disaster,
the spot now marked with
stones where later travelers
pause for momentary tribute.

But in this narrative
(the true one)
although you once swung out
you quickly recovered
and clung to the ever
more vertical rock
like a figure painted on a canvas,
a thumbprint on a page,
until you hurled yourself over the rim,
rose and planted your flag,
then waved both arms in triumph
to the unnoticing world below.

Dorothy Walters
August 13, 2008


(Picture, Mount Damavand in winter, Iran, by Arad (from Wikipedia)
(Perhaps this poem deserves a bit of explanation. It is allegorical, depicting the arduous journey upward of the spiritual pilgrim, the climber to heaven. This traveler is a solitary adventurer, facing many obstacles alone, finally arriving at his/her destination, the place where earth and heaven meet.)



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