I miss the mountains.
Metaphorically and literally.
The mountains, because there's always something else to look forward to, yet another hunk of mud and stone on your way to meet the horizon. Yet another journey to be had, trip to be made. The mountains don't stop, they just keep on coming and coming and coming.
Mountains remind me of Nepal, of Kathmandu, of greenery life, where the sun shone bright, where the water fell free and cold, where the people walked freely and snottily. The rivers verdant green and white, gargling and rushing through the valleys, jumping into serene lakes before continuing their journey to the ocean.
Those songbirds, oh those songs! The rivers never left you, the water was your friend. And the journey seemingly never ended, there was always something more to look forward to. You never looked at the mountains and said "ahh shit, there's no more walking to do". You looked at them and took upon yourself the challenge of conquering every last one. Your journey never ended, but so what, you were driven, driven by the desire for victory, to prove to yourself you can still travel.
The plains bring hopelessness.
They encourage complacency. They don't provide guidance, they show no direction. They breed a certain submission...towards...everything,..fate, life, the world. There's nothing to look forward to.
Bring me to the mountains.
That's where love is. That's where life is. The future is in the mountains.
The mountains cannot be conquered, literally or figuratively. But they're great teachers leading you into this wonderful journey of self-discovery and perseverance. You cannot retreat. You must go on. The fight will continue.
I must seek the mountains and be one with them. That's where my future lies.
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