understands it, one knows it, even when turned to stone. Towards the unknown. Rivers. If he should become anything after this, he will never be the same as before.
He relaxes his muscles at last. His body loses the tension that was turning him to stone. He opens his mouth, but checks what he was about to say. His fingers, itching with the desire to grasp the rope, fumble for crevices to bear him during the climb down. His hands change handholds, his feet change clefts for standing in. Then there are no clefts, and he slides down the last little stub of smooth rock to the road.
Above him hangs the loop as before. No difference in colour or shape.
*
The fire is raging in the young man. A fire in the depths. And experiences have passed through him like dark logs on the rivers. They are still doing so.
He is back on the old, neglected road in front of the rock with the loop. He makes no attempt to look up at it. Shrinking from it, he walks instead across the road, out to the edge above the giddy precipice. There is a blue haze downwards and outwards. Far below he can see a cluster of human dwellings on the bank of a foaming river. He is looking straight down at the roofs of the houses. He sees cars speeding along the highway like small beetles. He sees people walking without moving from the spot, tiny as ants.
He looks at it thirstily. He is thirsty for it at this moment. He has become so now. At this moment, now that something seems to have been moved out of the way. When the thought passed through him that the way ahead was open.
The rivers passed into the unknown. He knows no more than that. He has found no certainty. He stands at the outermost edge of the road, where the warm gusts of heavy valley air dance towards him from the slopes below.
Standing and standing. It is a different person standing here. Different in a flash. Different because of things one refuses to think about. Fire in the depths.
There had been fire before. That was what had driven him upwards, that had brought about the encounter. Fire met fire. Then the way became open. It cannot be explained, itâs a riddle, but the way is somehow open in this daze.
Burnt and free, is that what he is? He stands looking down into the valley at the others. There they are, side by side. At his witâs end he stands looking down at them. On fire. The way open.
What is this open way buzzing around him? He cannot shout about it to the people down there, if he does go back to them in a while. The things he must say are spoken silently to himself for lack of courage.
He was driven into this, afraid, but going straight towards it. Now he suddenly feels lonely.
Side by sideâdoes it mean that I can never experience that any more after this?
Was that what burnt up?
*
The hot rock stands, housing and hushing up secrets, the things a young person feels in himself and longs for. He who rushes away, burnt and giddy, has nothing to tell. We met and caught fireâsuch things cannot be told, for fear of ridicule.
It is his fire, but he has become lonely. He did not know this. Lonely in an instant maybe.
There are the shadows and the ascents and the rock crevices and the hiding places. And what one does not name. There are the graves too, for the things no one knows, when what can happen up in the mountain is already accomplished. He who stands thus does not shout about these things; he must not after the fire in the depths. Perhaps he may some time, but not now. He stands repeating to himself with trembling voice: Met and caught fire.
What did meet is hidden from the man who stands here trembling.
*
Side by side.
One must be side by side.
Certainly not in order to talk about it. Absolutely nothing must be told. But to avoid the loneliness after the fire.
What was that about the open way? Was it a moment of fantasy?
The winds from the valley rise in gusts against his face, from the dells, from the banks, from the knolls below. Beneath flows the river
He relaxes his muscles at last. His body loses the tension that was turning him to stone. He opens his mouth, but checks what he was about to say. His fingers, itching with the desire to grasp the rope, fumble for crevices to bear him during the climb down. His hands change handholds, his feet change clefts for standing in. Then there are no clefts, and he slides down the last little stub of smooth rock to the road.
Above him hangs the loop as before. No difference in colour or shape.
*
The fire is raging in the young man. A fire in the depths. And experiences have passed through him like dark logs on the rivers. They are still doing so.
He is back on the old, neglected road in front of the rock with the loop. He makes no attempt to look up at it. Shrinking from it, he walks instead across the road, out to the edge above the giddy precipice. There is a blue haze downwards and outwards. Far below he can see a cluster of human dwellings on the bank of a foaming river. He is looking straight down at the roofs of the houses. He sees cars speeding along the highway like small beetles. He sees people walking without moving from the spot, tiny as ants.
He looks at it thirstily. He is thirsty for it at this moment. He has become so now. At this moment, now that something seems to have been moved out of the way. When the thought passed through him that the way ahead was open.
The rivers passed into the unknown. He knows no more than that. He has found no certainty. He stands at the outermost edge of the road, where the warm gusts of heavy valley air dance towards him from the slopes below.
Standing and standing. It is a different person standing here. Different in a flash. Different because of things one refuses to think about. Fire in the depths.
There had been fire before. That was what had driven him upwards, that had brought about the encounter. Fire met fire. Then the way became open. It cannot be explained, itâs a riddle, but the way is somehow open in this daze.
Burnt and free, is that what he is? He stands looking down into the valley at the others. There they are, side by side. At his witâs end he stands looking down at them. On fire. The way open.
What is this open way buzzing around him? He cannot shout about it to the people down there, if he does go back to them in a while. The things he must say are spoken silently to himself for lack of courage.
He was driven into this, afraid, but going straight towards it. Now he suddenly feels lonely.
Side by sideâdoes it mean that I can never experience that any more after this?
Was that what burnt up?
*
The hot rock stands, housing and hushing up secrets, the things a young person feels in himself and longs for. He who rushes away, burnt and giddy, has nothing to tell. We met and caught fireâsuch things cannot be told, for fear of ridicule.
It is his fire, but he has become lonely. He did not know this. Lonely in an instant maybe.
There are the shadows and the ascents and the rock crevices and the hiding places. And what one does not name. There are the graves too, for the things no one knows, when what can happen up in the mountain is already accomplished. He who stands thus does not shout about these things; he must not after the fire in the depths. Perhaps he may some time, but not now. He stands repeating to himself with trembling voice: Met and caught fire.
What did meet is hidden from the man who stands here trembling.
*
Side by side.
One must be side by side.
Certainly not in order to talk about it. Absolutely nothing must be told. But to avoid the loneliness after the fire.
What was that about the open way? Was it a moment of fantasy?
The winds from the valley rise in gusts against his face, from the dells, from the banks, from the knolls below. Beneath flows the river
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