Experiences on the summits

Summits are an inexhaustible source of experiences, schools of courage, calm, endurance and strength. From his earlier experiences he knew how to approach, observe, reflect on the best route, on the weather, on the ground. He learned how ro read the indices, the signs, the clouds. He learned why not to start, by the scent in the air, by the direction of the wind: days when not climbing was wise.

Later he learned from others, from people whose experiences he could compare with his own, including those who had lost friends, or brothers, to the wrath of the summits. He listened to their lessons, to how they had overcome grief and succeeded in continuing to learn. He learned from others’s pain and defeats. He soon accept the limitations of his learning, the need to measure risks, to be prepared to fail.

He looked at the summits, and the valleys, how people had grown, sometime flourished, sometime declined, sometime disappeared. He read, the experiences of others, their success, their failures. He started writing about his own adventures. He took pictures. He visited museums, the graves of the experts. He built up his own collection of heroes.

Experiences of heroes

Some had gone far away, to confirm their faith, or discover other paths to very different summits. He read their accounts, about their dreams, also the disillusions, the conversion to a quieter, calmer way of life. He discovered that heroes too retire, when they are lucky enough to survive that long. Years passed.

He spent time in the forests, high up, close to rock and cliffs, observing streams, and waiting to see fairies and goblins. He sought the lore of creatures of the summits, eagles and bears. All the time he wished he could travel back in time, back to the centuries before the crowds, before the railways, before mankind surrendered to mammon.

He succeeded in meeting one hero, who told him to be patient, to accept that wisdom came slowly, to only the happy few, only to those who could learn and love their limits. That man was already much older than him, a model for anyone, who wished to know the truth of the summits. He quitted his job, travelled to more far away places, learned about secret schools that taught survival, the sublime paths to the very top. He became an itinerant monk, now fusing spiritual with physical exhaustion toward extreme strength.

End of a hero

In the silence of his cell, in the beloved mountains, he started writing his final book, a treaty on meditation, surrounded by mementoes of his travels, his photography, pictures of his long ago women, and tiny sculptures he had been given by his friends in the villages. He went back to cities, to have a last look, to visit his publisher, to say goodbye to museums he had loved, to attend concerts.

Back home he went for long walks, at the foot of the summits, inspired by the scents of the woods and the melody of the streams. He befriended an owl, who told him old tales of a tribe long gone. He prayed, spent hours in the old church, rose at dawn every morning, brew strong coffee, and worked. 

One beautiful morning in September, the air icy clear, the blue sky, saw him walking up, calm and at peace, take a well worn path toward the summit. He met some of the creatures he had befriended before, prayed at a small cross near the cliff. He had grown from his experiences, and was ready to meet his Maker, a smile on his lips. He sat down to make some notes in the small diary he kept in his bag. He heard the rumble, high up, and knew which way to go. Hours passed, he started climbing, feeling suddenly very young: life goes in full circle for those who have really learnt.

He left his bag and his notebook near the last rock, before the sheer cliff, heard the rumble again: now was the time to leave. He saw the little cloud of dust before the fall.

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