Snow On The Windows \ Descent

Nancy: Blizzard, whirlwind, maelstrom of air, snow packed against, blocking, the windows – creating a world of memory and imagination.

Snow On The Windows

a landscape

a geology textbook

a campsite at Jumbo Rocks

a canyon, walking deep into history

a rolling meadow

a cave

icebergs

Mount Kailas, streaming cloud

I might say

    I am shut in

    yes, I am shut in

traveling

traveling

Alan: If I fly, it’s the landing that scares me.  If I climb, it’s the wondering how to get down.

Descent

It’s not the climb that’s so hard –

            even Jack knew that –

                       strength, agility, courage

all that’s needed.  Once there

           the adventure, despite dangers,

  doable.  No,

                      with or without the stolen

           or even offered boon,

                                         it’s the descent –

the stalk collapsing, the magic gone.

Shamans who beat their drums

              then threw their rope-ends into the air

    climbed

                       and vanished

knowing they might not return

                                        might fall down dead or mad.

Those waiting also knew,

                       making the wait a prayer.

My father told of climbing the knotted rope

              to the gym’s very rafters;

                                       then, thinking it smart,

                         he slid down neat and quick,

tearing the calluses off both hands.

              The coach mercurochromed the raw flesh.

     He almost hit the roof again.

A trivial example but worth recalling.

There were oracles of the state who, summoned,

             first went into trance.

                          Only then could they bear the headdress

            hoisted by several men

                                      that otherwise would snap their necks.

    Each time the fierce deity

                         entered them and spoke,

their lives shortened.  Yet it had to be done.

So, as we climb now

     with hands and feet, with our whole bodies

                                     disappearing toward what we cannot know

               may never reach or, reaching, find ungraspable

let us remember

                       when it comes time at last to descend

   to do so gently, slowly –

                                  bearing at least ourselves as proof –

 and with infinite care

               together.