One cannot stay on the summit forever –
One has to come down again.
So why bother in the first place? Just this.
What is above knows what is below –
But what is below does not know what is above.
One climbs, one sees –
One descends and sees no longer
But one has seen!
There is an art of conducting one’s self in
The lower regions by the memory of
What one saw higher up.
When one can no longer see,
One does at least still know.
One has to come down again.
So why bother in the first place? Just this.
What is above knows what is below –
But what is below does not know what is above.
One climbs, one sees –
One descends and sees no longer
But one has seen!
There is an art of conducting one’s self in
The lower regions by the memory of
What one saw higher up.
When one can no longer see,
One does at least still know.
-René Daumal-
Someone wrote this poem in the register at the Granite Mountain lookout, an 8.6 mile hike with 3,800 feet in elevation gain that two friends and I tackled on Friday. The poem resonated with me so much so that I looked it up when we got back home. It reminded me of why I love caving as well. Such activities command your attention in a way that you almost can't help but be totally present in the moment. And if you open yourself to it, these adventures can bring clarity to other areas of your life.
I often find it difficult to explain my wanderlust and unabating yearning to get outdoors. For others who share my enthusiasm, there's no need for explanations. For those less adventuresome, I feel like I'm on an ongoing mission to find some allusive phrase that will give them an "ah ha" moment where they suddenly get it. I'm slowly realizing that there probably isn't a one-size-fits-all explanation, and that because we are all so very different, not everyone can understand it. And that's OK.
