(a)Forever, (A)board

June 27, 2008 in figurative, letter

Then came winter.  Stepping slowly from the mountain, he was re-approaching the base of the summit.  The birds played their songs, perhaps their attractive song is why the man left.  No-one ever saw the man, how he made his way to the peak, and so rang the predictions.  Women told stories over breakfast and the children listened imaginatively.  Every speech had the image of the incline, the ascent, the wild, the mountain—no-one saw.

He looked ghostly.  If close enough, sounds of metal and sand could be heard.  His hair was on-ends, no, there was no hair.  Perhaps frozen, in the middle of the night, when the weather turned volatile.  Maybe that’s when he broke off each hair, spitting them out like needles.  So there was the man, with his clothes off, but no one noticed.  Not him, or anyone else, because there was nothing missing.

We shouldn’t be watching him.  Look now at the model.  Those infinitesimal lines encrusted in the geography.  How portions of his body were left upon the mountains.  There are the coordinates, polar coordinates which absolutely tell direction irrespective of the relative.  Relative to him or me the directions would be blank, they could then be interpreted by one person.  No, one body.  Because without knowing, telling direction is like the time, there is no need to tell someone—if it is only time and directions that matter.

He walked with certainty.  Notice how the earth meets his feet.  Down, his head wanders, up his feet fly.  His walk was distinct, never seen before—or ever again.  It was that brief moment, when two become one.

So shook the real, the ever darkened light.  From what he saw, from out of those eyes, perhaps was only a model.  Tracking his life like a vector in the real.  From point-zero in Cartesian space, he continued in disbelief like Zeno, that he would ever move.  His eyes betrayed him, unable to see himself.  There he stood fixed, watching the light pass through the trees.  Who knows, was he happy?  Was the fire at his feet, his way of smiling?

A mountain—of wonder.  A man—of wonder.  One of earth, the other of reason.  There go the stories, to their own meanings, without ever meeting.  There was a man from the mountains, he went unnoticed from day-to-day.  He enjoyed this space, it reminded him of home.