This normative hilllike all othersis transparently accessible,out thereand in the mind,not to be missedexcept in peril of one's life.
Do not muse on itfrom a distance:it's not remotefor the view only,it's for the sportof climbing.
What the hill demandsis a manwith forces floweringas from the crevicesof rocks and rough surfaceswild flowersforce themselves towards the sunand burnfor a moment.
How often must Isay to myselfwhat I say to others:trust your nerves—in conversation or in bedthe rhythm comes.
And once you beginhang on for life.
What is survival?
What is existence?
I am not talking aboutpoetry.
I amtalking aboutperishingoutrageouslyand calling itactivity.
I say: be done with it.
I say:you've got to love that hill.
Be wrathful, be impatientthat you are noton the hill.
Do not forgiveyourself or other,though charityis all very well.
Do not restin irony or acceptance.
Man should not laughwhen he is dying.
In decent deathyou flow into another kind of timewhich is the hillyou always thought you knew.
