Murmurings

Climbing this week has been difficult, but rewarding.  I am definitely progressing, as both the V2 (which really should be rated as a V3+ or V4) and the other V4 project I am working on are becoming easier and easier to link to the red-line points for me.  However, I feel that to improve any further I need to really start investing some time and energy in putting together a training regimen.  In this aspect of fitness, I am woefully under-informed… I need to talk to some veteran climbers and get some feedback on what I need to work on.

The nights are so much quieter where I am now.  It’s almost disturbing how quiet it gets in this neighborhood, but at the same time it’s a welcome lack of sound.  I had a poet-like moment while I was driving back home with no music playing.  I’ll attempt to share to the best of my ability and recollection:

The nights are murmurs against the cacophonous days,

where true rest resides in contrast to life’s unending tempo.

Who is it that took away our dreams and banished them to the night?

Who is it that compresses our waking hours to white-hot, clamoring light?

Why is it that only when we sleep we remember who we truly are?

Why, indeed.

All the world is a stage, and we are but actors.

Through clamor and catastrophe we march on.

When the compression eases, when the day sees fit to retire itself beyond the horizon,

we ourselves retire to our dressing rooms and closets to prepare for the next act.

Only in rest do we remember ourselves: without false faces, sans false witness, and bereft of inherited restraints and weight.

Only in rest do we remember our dreams, pluck them from whence they were sent and cherish them as we cherish our most beloved.

How strange that when we wake, we forget who we are;

yet when we find ourselves in dreams, we remember all that we were, are, and have yet to be.

Queer, indeed, that our dreams are but whispers in our ears.

Murmurs in the dark, but belonging to those who would hear.

I’m glad this week is almost over, I could use a good rest.  Almost half-way through “A Game Of Thrones”, as well.  I’ve been told a number of times that this series does not disappoint, and I have to say so far that the reviews are ringing-true.  For those that are so-inclined, I recommend picking up “The Wolf Gift” by Anne Rice when the opportunity arises.  Fantastic book.

Another post to follow this weekend.  I promise.

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