The Mystical Tip Of Everest

Man was not created to live in a world of automobiles and taxi cabs.

Or glass buildings that block his view of the stars.

Or hoards of humans walking in each other’s footprints.

 

Man was not made to punch a time clock.

Or “put food on the table.”

Or create a domestic existence.

 

Peer into the heart of every societal man

And you will find a pale blue heart.

 

For every man is suffocating.

No matter the smile he deftly paints upon his face.

 

Man may have conditioned himself into a domestic existence

But his heart belongs to Nature.

And Nature is everything

That domesticity is not.

 

Man lives for the open seas.

He lives for the endless sky.

He lives for the unknowable horizon.

He lives for the mystical tip of Everest.

 

It is Everest that calls out to him.

Longs for him.

He may not hear it.

But his heart hears nothing else.

 

While he has relegated himself to a life of petty comforts

And meager chases for self-improvement,

All that is wild

All that is divine

All that is pure and endless

Calls out to him.

 

Every man is suffocating.

For he has turned his gaze away from the horizon

And toward the cold asphalt streets.

 

Each morning he awakes,

Outside of his dusty window

Far off in the distance

Sits the mystical tip of Everest.

 

The blood that flows through his veins

Is saturated with the tip of Everest.

 

Let a man die

But may he never . . . Settle.

 

Every man has his Everest.

But it is obscured by the smoke from the buildings.

It is camouflaged by the societal conditioning of the mind.

 

Run you may

Here and there.

But that which you find

Will never be what you have always been seeking.

 

Drink from this cup or that

But never will your thirst be quenched.

 

You who have been taught

To best your fellow man

Live such a small existence.

The heights you pursue

Are far beneath you.

 

If it is not The Ultimate

Of what use is it to pursue?

 

If it is not Divine

What can it possibly do for you?

 

He who compares himself

To other men, big or small

Is a peasant

Among peasants.

 

Nature does not compromise.

 

Why is it

That man has chosen to do so?

Namaste.