Sunday, January 9, 2011

Alpinism is the art of climbing mountains by confronting the greatest dangers with the greatest prudence.
Art is used here to mean the accomplishment of knowledge in action.
You cannot stay on the summit forever.. you must come down eventually.

So whats the point? Only this: what is above knows what is below, what is below does not know what is above. While climbing, take note of the difficulties along your path. During the descent, you will no longer see them, but you will know that they are there. When you can no longer see, you can at least know. Is it not better to walk with your head, than to think with your feet?

I questioned him: "What do you mean when you talk about 'analogical alpisim'?
"It is the art of..."
"What is an art?"
"The value of danger:
 temerity - suicide.
Short of that, no satisfaction."
"What is danger?"
"What is prudence?"
"What is a mountain?"

-Rene Daumal


And you, what are you looking for?
"I am dead because i have no desire,
I have no desire beacause i think i possess,
I think i possess because i do not try to give;
Trying to give, we see that we have nothing,
Seeing that we have nothing, we try to give ourselves,
Trying to give ourselves, we see that we are nothing,
seeing that we are nothing, we desire to become,
desiring to become, we live."

-Vera Daumal

Thursday, December 16, 2010


Your two cats squat, heraldic sphinxes, with such
desert indifference, such "who the hell are you?" calm,
they rise and stride away leisurely from your touch,
waiting for only you. To be cradled in one arm,
belly turned upward to be stroked by a brush
tugging burrs from their fur, eyes slitted
in ecstasy. The January sun spreads its balm
on earth's upturned belly, shadows that have always fitted
their shapes, re-fit them. Breakers spread welcome.
Accept it. Watch how spray will burst
like a cat scrambling up the side of a wall,
gripping, sliding, surrendering; how, at first,
its claws hook then slip with a quickening fall
to the lace-rocked foam. That is the heart, coming home,
trying to fasten on everything it moved from,
how salted things only increase its thirst.

- Derek Walcott, White Egrets