- Mountain over sea.
At seaside I feel incredibly nostalgic and timeless while reading or daydreaming on a sandy beach, in late summer afternoons. When the clamor is subdued by tranquility because not many linger around. When the gulls tire of flapping their immaculate wings above me and soar away. When the sun rays align gently on my body, without scorching my vulnerable epidermis. But whenever I stare at the crystalline or spumy waves, or I adventure my sight on the horizon, I grow desolate. Nothing else makes me perceive myself more painfully infinitesimal. It could swallow you in an instant, I tremble within each time. And no sign of you left behind. Neat surface again. No remorse for a soul’s last agony. No echo of despair resounding from its depth. Futility shadows hunt me then, and mauling specters of frailty cloud my sapphirine skies . So, despite being a so called “water sign”, I do not adore the water’s derisive force over our transient existence. Deep down, I partially admire it, but mostly resent it. And such an amusing irony the fact we actually live on a planet named Earth, but mostly occupied by water…
When it comes to mountain, oh, that’s an utterly dissimilar story! I simply venerate it. From the lassitude that encumbers my limbs and hastens my breath as I climb to the ludicrous yet splendid sense of fruition when I reach the summit. Because, unlike an uniform ocean, a steep cliff or a sinuous hill offers you a chance. The chance to
delude flatter yourself. That you “made it”. You intensely challenged your body, but gained something. A picturesque view, some remarkable memories on the way up, a few lovely souvenirs, be it a nasty scratch, a bizarre rock, a multicolored flower, sweet berries, or blurred photographs. And those feel pertaining to you as only rare beings venture up there. Where veritable wilderness reigns, no plastic sun beds to lay on or fancy restaurants to alleviate your hunger, no preoccupations of being noticed in a bikini or of getting a consistent tan. It is all about connecting to what lies beneath the layers of daily routines and to the ambient mise en scene.
So far, I haven’t found something more precious than highland. Pyramids, bridges, monuments, castles, whatever humanly produced wonder that does impress a gaze somehow pales in comparison. And nothing seems more excitative too, because there can lurk many real dangers, but not as deceivingly unpredictable as a turbulent wave or a shallow depth. Obstacles as hostile animals and hardly reachable paths can be warded off with a bit of common sense (detour!) and by means of a survival kit. If it is to dread something on peaks, it would be another creature of your own species. Because away from places where regulations are made and their application monitored, outside societies and in the middle of the unaltered nature, humans reveal their own genuine nature. In there you discover how much you can rely on another, who you must cautiously avoid or with whom you should fortify a bond. Up high, intrinsic features undeniably transpire through polished appearances. And those are the ones to be appreciated as those can’t be taught, imposed or loyally transcribed. Just as the mountain’s crude and sempiternal pulchritude.