An outlet for the feet that wander

Falling Into Place

As announced previously, the symbolic start of my north eastern mountain expedition will commence on Sunday, when I begin Mt. Mitchell. At the same time preparations can be justified for documentation, equipment, partners, and reviews of the north eastern heights, more beats on my stomach like a drum inside.

I am afraid to ascend, but terrified to stay put. As is frequently heard, death is welcome when one never lives. Climbing has since its first claim on my spirit overcome every bodily need, every social function, and has threatened to tear me away from all my professional engagements (I’m only kept to them as I hope they will allow my more money to buy more gear, and leave sooner). I have never felt the excitement as I do now when faced with such freightening weakness in the face of pure, primoridal existence. Even now, as I have sat in my Maryland hotel with the TV losing its battle to call me back to society, I run through my movements, my inspections, my new life. Sustenance is childish when confronted with the ascetic integrity and progressive necessity of breathing raspy, short and rebellious gasps of thin air. Sex is petty once the bleeding, chalked and ruined fingers of revolutionary vitality appear as gospel in front of one’s eyes.¬† Every concern I’ve carried, every undertaking in my life is petty in comparison to the only actions that can change man – Ascent and Exploration. This is what overcomes me, this is how I live forever more and it has become my only necessary focus.

The clock nears 12am. This Mason-Dixon sky fades to black. I am in the shadow of a giant, and all but my spirit is crushed – it is the only way to exist. If it is ever said that the road or the cliff takes me away, tell them I’ve been headed there for a long time. I hope this sheds weight on the cup I have taken up, I hope you all continue to read and believe in me. It is far too easy to dismiss what you don’t understand, just give me a little more time.

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