Home for a night wherever it happens to be. –1

Mountains are our fate; they are the place where our own existence seems to shine in the purest, simplest, least distorted stage, suddenly easy to accept and apprehend. Life mostly takes place in the valleys, but up above on the peaks we can see forever; up there at the edge of our life zone, exposed to the universe we come closest to our dream to detach ourselves from the confinement of our personal life and float into a universal being. High mountains, more than sea, sky or desert, serve as a mirror to one’s own true being, utterly still, utterly clear, an emptiness without life or sound that carries in itself all life, all sound.

Mountains have no meaning at all, they are meaning. In the true Buddhist definition mountains are, just as I am, nothing else. When I’m out there I feel with overwhelming clarity that we share everything; we are the same, there is no difference.

I see us walking on, becoming smaller and insignificant and meld into the vastness and stillness and become part of it. The emptiness and silence of these mountains bring about these states of consciousness that occur in meditation.

Somebody said that you can hear the roar of eternity ring in these mountains, the deafening silence of pure being. These rocks and mountains, all this matter, the air, the earth is ringing. Do I hear with my heart the ‘music of the spheres‘ as the old Greeks liked to call it?

And I listen to the silence and feel the stillness to which all returns.

 

 

 

Done