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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 27, 2016 - 03:49am PT
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This Tin Foil Hat's A-kilter
Looking out the gas mask brain holes
From inside and through these great big skull holes
The inside plush green and leopard camo
Diamond tuck upholstered flannel
Like PJs cushioning my brain
You'd think I'm weird or quite insane
Hey I don't chose this stuff you know
The thought police they make it so
They've made it rough
But I am tough
So I'm prepared for all out war
Against conformity and more
And I'm prepared to make them suffer
For making us feel like the duffer
There's no waiting here in limbo
While others take a stance akimbo
Mocking and deriding that
Which some to wit decry all that
What once before is coming back
Socratic method out the door
Will I find what I am looking for?
This soliloquy is growing old
While embers flick, the feet grow cold
Desdemona falls once more
Manipulated with allure
Despicable this treachery
By false champions of misery
But I've made it no mystery
A world afire and on its side
It's easy for us to deride
The turmoil swirling all around
The many bounders that abound
As we the people swirl and writhe
Like maggot piles to stay alive
So staring out my comfy den
With brains at rest a 'snuggled in
This helmet fortress cranium
Built subconsciously by delirium
Battened down to weather the din
Of mankind's only mortal sin
Our hubris lying fast within
Incited, brandished by our pain
To shout we can be 'great again'
As though some cold and heartless slob
Culling diamonds from the angry mob
Their pockets picked and fortunes robbed
Unaware it's been an inside job
They don't know they don't need him at all
To inspire the heart or so enthrall
Our humanity to hear the call
To go about and make good works
Instead of acting like spoiled jerks
Entitled by our lineage
And self talk of our heritage
As though we're destined to nobility
Imperialists with inferiority
Complexes like Japan or Germany
Before World War Two
How'd they do?
Tell me how that worked out for them
Less tens of millions, they've borne the stain
So if human beings would have no worth
I ask what are we beyond all such dearth?
As I drive my helmet and protruding duckbill
On down the road to the next windmill
-bushman
11/27/2016
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Nov 27, 2016 - 02:32pm PT
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I thought I saw Tobin today
I was making morning coffee
Having slept in 'till past eight
The sun was out
It had been days
Since it came out to warm and stay
When something caught my eye
In the window to the east
High above and where the snow flies
Over Yosemite above the trees
Riding above the ridge tops over the western slopes
There was a cloud formation that looked just like heaven
As one imagines it might be
Majestic on the breeze
Mountains of golden clouds
A range below what must be starlight
I thought I saw his spirit climbing
With his axes and crampons still moving up
He would still be up there at sunset
Mists trailing off at his feet
Sparks of stardust glinting off of his breath
I thought I saw Tobin today
And do miss him and would still mourn him
But he's out there somewhere now
In whatever transformation he would need to be
So if you were to see him
Please give my love for me
-Tim Sorenson
11/27/2016
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Just a Natural Born Child
Strangely, as I listened to the lady
Conversing with voices in her head
Her illness was not so out of place
For perhaps her angels were there to grace
Her due to some tragic circumstance
For which she had not the will to face
Adrift, alone, a stranger to this foreign place
An affliction not for me to judge
To each their burden and path to trudge
Besides, I carried my own grudge
Personal, experienced, a witness let's just say
To acts most cruel and unkind
A man made calamity in childhood years
Remembering the scars within my mind
But I no longer feel the victim to
Or resentment for the unmasked fears
Not going so far as to be thankful for it
I would not be so bound as it turned out to be
So shredding the yoke I set myself free
But still carried my heart upon my sleeve
With my pain laid bare for all to see
So I stifled it with drugs and alcohol
Because all along I'd been deceived
For what man or religion should make the call?
Or tell me in which God I should believe?
For I had never truly heard such things
No voices or angels whispers ever spoke to me
Only the sounds of a mothers soft encouragement
Were at first that intimate or had meaning to me
Like my own voice of curiosity and reasoning
And so was set free the child in me
This natural born child of the universe
Evolved of mud, a wolf pack boy
Unshorn, unclothed, I swam the sea
And I saw the world of men's hypocrisy
We man beasts who once killed so wantonly
We're now hold claim to an advanced society
Such an elevated civilization have we
Cultured, sophisticated, as it were, ahem
All held together with the spit and phlegm
Of our prisons and wars and the dogs of men
The police state and nationalism
And our pious religious institutions
And last not least a mythological deity
To cast our souls in chains eternally
For the sins we commit so eagerly
As the self talking lady started up again
I agreed in thought, while I tried to eat quietly
And as the lunch counter traffic waned
It all made sense but seemed so inane
Beyond what we are told back when by whom
We are what we have told ourselves to be
For I was just a natural born child from the womb
And like the stars we can see with our naked eye
These objects of such enormous power and beauty
They live, they die, it's what they do
As we, like the sun, shall die someday too
-bushman
12/03/2016
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Sandals, Flies, and Winter Skies over Maui
Beneath the tall bananas trees
Along the waterfall trail
High above the bluffs
From on a bridge
We looked down through the mists
To calm waters below cascades
This island bliss
North of Hana on the way
Past the Seven Pools
Which we cautiously avoided
Due to tourist crowds
And traffic jams
Then we lingered in the afternoon
In an offbeat botanical garden
Beneath the banyan
By the orchid beds
Where we stayed until the fog arrived
And left to darkness on our way
Bushman
12/03/2016
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 10, 2016 - 11:32am PT
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the Lonely Stance
Of what I know
Lost in the past
It sits upon the tarmac
Weighted, overloaded with the baggage of my heart
Of what I was
There is little value
Stories told to the young and interested
Uninformed, uneducated as to what true sacrifice
Was made by my compatriots
Better trained and more committed
To the life of the ax
Knowing well at times
The uselessness of the rope
Of mountains climbed
Were few I knew
Shasta, Moran, and of ice I climbed little
But made acquaintance with some true hardmen
And some alpinists of unusual grit
Of life I've lived
I chose marriage
And fealty to hearth and home
Over noble quiet death
On a cold north face
It would not be my fate
Nor hardly a sane choice
Though such quietude deserves respect
Of those who've found
Their end and peace
In the halls of mountain Kings
Having taken fight
Upon the wings of dedication
They have earned their stance
In our legend and in our mythology
-Tim Sorenson
12/10/2016
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 10, 2016 - 09:00pm PT
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For the Birds
I might have written more poetry
More stories and more words
But I've wasted time and energy
With pablum for the birds
I've raised hell with life and folks I've loved
For no reason I can see
Beyond those selfish illusions
Of the man I used to be
Today I saw the sky grow dark
And ominous with clouds
So suited to this gloom of late
To which I am endowed
I even thought to leave myself
At the curb with all the refuse
But the lottery folks keep telling me
This time I cannot lose
So come what may I'll make the choice
To try another day
And take what life is offering
Though it might not go my way
And I don't agree with most things
But am willing to go along
Because the story is in the telling
And some music is in the song
Tonight I'll try to put down
A few more simple words
No matter what becomes of them
Or even if they're heard
Though thinking might be easier
If I tried to get some rest
I'll write some things down anyway
And add them to the rest
And though I've tried to understand
What others might go through
When loneliness and hopelessness
Is all there is for you
I'm guessing that the sadness
Is just more than some can bear
When no comfort can be found at all
Except when God is there
For what it's worth I've tried to endure
The emptiness and the cold
Though accepting what comforts others
Is just part of growing old
Though the evilest of all demons
Still resides in the minds of men
What we do with our own destinies
Of this we should defend
And writing of such platitudes
Elicits little hope
Especially when some are out there
At end of their own rope
It's a metaphor of such desperateness
Please forgive me if I smirk
But a place from which I've risen
With an immensity of work
Though I've witnessed death and pestilence
But never famine or war
The horsemen are still out riding
Yet to knock upon this door
So as sands still pour and days go by
Within this hourglass
I'll try harder now to dwell on things
Worth more than my own ass
For I might have written more poetry
More stories and more words
But it's hardly worth the time at all
If it's only for the birds
-bushman, tim, sorenman, something, something, that guy
12/10/2016
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Dec 11, 2016 - 08:56am PT
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Reading Bushman's poetry is always an adventure that brings new adventures to mind.
One of them this time was the four horsemen.
I saw them riding in a dream, Hell-bent upon their course,
And each one with a sickening scheme as he rode on his horse...
And so they moved, this world to claim with utmost misery,
With death and suffering as their aim, their shame and infamy!
I saw them riding coast-to-coast, on sturdy steeds at night
And evil had them all engrossed, as if they were held tight...
And so they moved, one thought in mind, to bring the world despair,
Until the time four horsemen find their victims unaware!
I saw them riding recklessly, regardless, side-by-side,
As if their perfect destiny, each smiled with stubborn pride...
And so they moved and cut to shreds the mortal flesh of Man,
While moonbeams shone upon their heads as all four horses ran!
I saw them riding to my town and to my very street
And there they cast their curses down upon men's hands and feet...
And so they moved, unmerciful, upon the young and old,
To fill up every hospital with fever and with cold!
I saw them riding from my home, to Europe, for a spell
And I beheld that even Rome was subject to their Hell...
And so they moved, unmoved by deeds, unspeakable and foul,
Men's lives to quench like choking weeds or wicked wolves that howl!
I saw them riding, north and south, and east and west in time,
With blasphemies to fill each mouth, as if their perfect crime...
And so they moved, sharp tiger-toothed, repentant, not at all...
Four horses and four horsemen proved that even the mighty fall...
Denis Martindale
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Dec 12, 2016 - 12:02pm PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 15, 2016 - 03:40pm PT
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Days
Swift and subtle
The flying shuttle
Crosses the web
And fills the loom,
Leaving for range
Of choice or change
No time, no room.
--Janet Lewis
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 16, 2016 - 04:31pm PT
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The sunlight pours unshaken through the wind...--Janet Lewis
After consulting the Rain Gods and feralfae,
I've decided to publish these lines from Janet Lewis,
but have no idea of the name of this work.
Call it what you want, I daresay.
Tsaile, Chinle,
Water flowing in, flowing out.
Slow water caught in a pool,
Caught in a gourd;
Water upon the lips, in the throat,
Falling upon long hair
Loosened in ceremony;
Fringes of rain sweeping darkly
From the dark side of a cloud.
Riding the air in sunlight,
Issuing cold from a rock,
Transparent as air, or darkened
With earth, bloodstained, grief-heavy.
In a country of no dew, snow
softly piled, or singing
in bitter wind...
The earth and the sky were constant,
But water,
How could they name it with one name?
[For DBK and DJ]
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Dec 19, 2016 - 12:13pm PT
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For Tran GarbleBase and friends ofthe diabase and Locker
Time Worships Language
innocence
wisdom
physical beauty
even longevity
are less precious
in Auden’s estimate
in McMurtry’s mind
and mine as well
(silence is golden, golden, golden, echoing down the ages)
no matter how innocently spoken
no matter the words of wisdom or the lack thereof
no matter their attraction
no matter their current value
Time will tell and re-tell them
simply because they are words
to be carried in care
encased in the quiver of our vocabularies
embedded in the body of our speeches
kindling for the bonfires of our vanities
(boughs of budding Holly abound, singing of love for Peggy Sue which rages)
sweet little haikus
temptingly succulent words
dangle out of reach
(sayonara oh my darling, for you I pen these loving pages)
I need no Boswell to carry my quiver of time arrows
my twenty-volume dictionary of speech parts
my missives to the yet-to-be-born
my definitive list of infinitives
I will use the future tense
strung tense as a bowstring
drinking my coffee with no cream
(while Ginger bakes, Eric sews, and Jack spins his tales of the braver ages)
striking up a conversation with myself
I speak to you and you and you
and yours and yours and yours
of scores and scores and scores
of topics from tuna to toothpicks
of Omegas and Omicrons
of bygones being bygones
but looking forward ever forward
to my words coming back to me in your words
in other words
ad-lib or on the monitor
on three-by-fives or cenotaphs
on a chalkboard loudly shrieking
or from the glossary shyly peeking
at the ending of this work
(Time is of the essence of love, or so write other sages)
What would happen should Nabokov appear at my door,
butterfly net in hand?
“I know where we can find some words with wings, Vlad.
Come, let me show you.”
How would I react to Yuri Gagarin standing at my front door,
in uniform bedecked with medals,
empty tea glass in hand?
“Let’s go stand on the high dive,
you can show me your tattoos,
but I’m sorry, I don’t know Cyrillic.”
Would I bother to send an RSVP
to the Molotovs,
who’ve invited me to cocktails.
“My regrets, comrades,
I have a book to finish reading,
called Martin Guerre.”
(have you read it, telling of sin’s wages?)
what’s right for today
could be wrong for tomorrow
but try anyway
and watch what you say
or it may come back to bite you
much to your sorrow
I beg, steal, and borrow
if the words don’t mind
why should you?
(kiss my copycat ass, I’ve penned nothing outrageous)
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 20, 2016 - 05:03am PT
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Quietus on Mars
She had asked him to climb that day
Down in the Valles Marineris
It was well he was a Scorpio
For he knew she was an Aries
And the route was her new project
But he was otherwise enchanted
By her beautiful long black hair
Though she took it all for granite
She never saw his true feelings
And he never saw his fate
The rock fall was unexpected
Still, she named the new climb Nate
-bushman
12/19/2043
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 20, 2016 - 08:02am PT
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When the Dahlias Bloom
You were perfect in my eyes
But your imperfections were the view
That someone long ago had given you
So there was nothing I could have said or done
To change your mind
I wanted more than you could give
But someone long ago had told you
That you weren't beautiful
And you weren't worth loving
When you first told me to go
I thought that I was broken
I didn't believe you
But it hurt so much more the second and the third time
So I searched for your replacement
And all those who never knew
That the pain that you had shared with me
Was still there in my mind
And turned to something strange I thought was lovely
But that was long ago
I really hope you are now happy
There is someone I'd like you to meet
Though the feeling might not be mutual
It took me many years to see
You were the reflection of my own heart
Of the beauty I did not want to see inside me
And sometimes in the garden
I'm reminded of you when the dahlias bloom
-bushman
12/20/2016
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Marlow
Sport climber
OSLO
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Dec 27, 2016 - 02:56pm PT
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"With heart at rest I climbed the citadel's steep height
Looked down upon the city as from a tower
Hospital, brothel, prison and such hells
Where evil comes up softly like a flower."
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Dec 30, 2016 - 07:31am PT
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Pleased but, Not to say More
The highway track had no spirit
So I left the car
And walked off to the east to find it
Dirt, rocks, grass, trees,
It was here someplace on this earth
Out in the wind
Or over the ridge top
There beyond the cottonwoods
The unnameable essence of my freedom
Tied to my life by only a few short breaths
And the blood that flows through me
Back at the car
At eighty five miles an hour
Under my right foot was death
And at my left foot were taxes
Binding me to make my snake oil pitch in the marketplace
With words that whisked from me never touching down
Like the rank stench of hard work
Or the acrid smell of stale coffee
I slowed to forty five
Now thankful for the traffic
The bee or the wasp sting feels so sweet
Comparing to the spider's bite
Like those people whose grins always turn to dreadful words
Where the joy has long left them
And they've learned to fake the life that has enslaved them
Except for when their kids laugh it sounds so good
For they haven't learned yet
What becomes of wanting more and needing so much less
Later in my life on six am Sunday mornings
As with all tussles over blankets
When the queen bee sends me away
While I'm off to make more tea
As if her charms would turn to sapphires
That's when it always strikes me
That there's so much more I have yet to know
Walking away from the car
They key is under the seat
The door is unlocked and the windows are all open
I'll be the one who makes the getaway
Walking beyond the cactuses
Up the dry creek bed to stand and breathe low
Here in the wee hours of the morning
Where I have found my peace
I've set aside a world to calm me
To stray along my mind for once
To go beyond that voice of force and reason
To the dark and restless thoughts that I call home
-bushman
12/30/2016
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Potato Chips Lips
Restless thought
Tells me things are not
Always as the poets say
Verse store-bought
Very often is fraught
With words which do not convey
What is meant
And so they prevent
Me from having my say
Ecoutez Bill
Whose sentences will
Help make your new year gay
--MFM
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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The Strangeling Child
Descending from the forest rests
To an elvish lullaby of hope
The music of the woodland folk
Had lifted downturned spirits once
Their saw harps and armonicas
Did carry me to my home
Consoling and indemnifying
All lost to hardship and to woe
But this was just the prelude to
The looking glass into my dreams
More scurrilous than I would care
When I fell through the rabbit hole
Past book laden mahogany shelves
Where up was down and down was up
To first set eyes on the strangeling child
With his wild blue eyes and mane of brown
That door ajar to autumns breeze
Did let him enter as we slept
As he clipped a lock of puppies hair
Then out the door with stealth he slipped
Disappearing into the riverbank
To an earthen blind there made his bed
What wild and wolfish ways were his
When next I saw him in a dream
This strangeling child who was like me
Some wild and willful as they often are
Through blasted stone and furnace fire
Walking the labyrinthine scaffolds edge
The strangeling lived within me then
Yet the child long gone is still my friend
I'm not alone the spheres have spoken
Though I am grown the dream goes on
-bushman
01/05/2017
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Bushman
climber
The state of quantum flux
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Jan 23, 2017 - 09:30pm PT
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The Arrow Direct
On one fine day as I hiked the falls trail
With a friend of mine by the name of Blair
The Arrow Direct was to be our goal
'Twas nineteen ninety six the year
We rapped to the notch to fix the lines
And jugged the rim by alpine light
To stumble by dusk the way back down
I dreamt of mists all through the night
Rest day we racked and packed the bag
Near Lower Falls lot in the dirt and sand
At dawn we groveled on up the slabs
To morning's light first tier was grand
But my old injuries had come to roost
Those barometer knees forecasted rain
The bad ankle hated the munge pad stairs
But starting the route then I felt no pain
About pitch four we had hit our groove
With bolts protecting an awkward offwidth
The aid was easy and the free to five eight
As the climbing was uneventful and swift
Second Error by dusk was a luxury bivy
The falls nearby swirled to the abyss
At dawn we scarfed and set to our work
As the mists rose up from the roar and hiss
The notch came along with a rude surprise
Where the water we stowed was MIA
We had hoped someone put it to good use
For our's was depleted the rest of the way
The spire was next and a lofty perch
As we worked our way to the outside face
The last pitch was airy with antique mank
O'er the falls that drifted out into space
Some Jolly Ranchers and a spot of cheese
Two sips of agua served to toast success
We set our ropes taught across to the rim
As my partner cast off I turned to the west
Taking in with reverence this time suspended
As the Valley shone bright in the August light
A moment transfixed there in paradise
The falls crashing down with thunderous might
I set off to tyrolean and halfway there
A raven cried out as it flew below
Through that notch and out of my life
As I knew my climbing days would go
Somber at the thought of it
This wreckless lifestyle had taken its toll
No longer the bright eyed dreamer
We packed up and hit the trail to go
Twenty some years ago I hung up my rack
'Twas to be my last wall since when you know
With a special place inside my minds eye
In what some might say is a part of my soul
Epilogue,
I hope if you are a climber
The Arrow is on your list to go
I climbed twenty four years to get there
It was worth the wait I'll have you know
-bushman
01/23/2016
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Jan 24, 2017 - 12:10am PT
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Lynne Leichtfuss, Trad climber, Will know soon, Jan 22, 2017 - 02:44pm PT
ST, land of the best one liners I've ever heard. :) As well as some pretty darn good, solid advice.
So,
Sitting here watching the rain whip the trees; dark clouds outlining the rocky hills and thinking about life and why Cosmic started his original thread.
I have my health, but will never be the climber Cosmic is (not enough time left on the planet for that). Dwain has a bum back and knee but has a wonderful lifetime of climbing memories and friends to match those memories....and perhaps a few climbs left in you my friend.
Cosmic has a wonderful wife, I have no husband.
Having a life partner can be a blessing; aloneness can be a different kind of blessing.
I guess sometimes we wish things could be better or different, I sure have. But the trick is to make the most out of what we have. To love hugely, to enjoy to the brim the day and to share it all with others. Jess sayin'.
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