The Projections: Signs of Nature

Last Updated on December 18, 2017 by Patrick

When you go in search of honey you must expect to be stung by bees.
Joseph Joubert.

I have a confession to make: my physical endurance in the mountains is weakened for some time now. I’ve gained some weight and I feel I have to struggle to reach the high peaks of the massives. This slows me down a lot but I keep going, but for my state of mind, my spirit, my sense of gratitude and awe when I would have reached the tops. This isn’t an egotistical desire to conquer and win, but a way of faith, of diligence and joy of living. I do like challenges, yes, but above all, I like to forge my soul and my spirit to reach higher levels so I can continue to inspire or inspire in a superior way. It feels good, isn’t it?! Those who enjoy challenging themselves know what I say.

The wind is of a slow breeze before the high peaks of the mountains. Having exited the forests for the alpine meadows, I see a sprinkle of wind and water on the ranges in forms of snow scattered or predominant where I walk and step. They carve the physiognomy of the land so I can see. There is a language here much like the ancient hieroglyphs, but similar to the ones of yore and lore of our ancestors. Bones have been shattered here only to nurture the future comes. Breaths have been whiffed away from the place I stand and stare at the land and sky towards of make belief. But who am I to wonder of such things? Why do I smell the past before I see? I feel it is the odor in the air that makes me turn my head and look as a sign of nature that was before I was born. And thus, I can finally see the hues of the cover of the world. More than a projection.

When we look into the past we see history. This is the word we were told to use in such cases. But I see memory and thus, use this word to describe what the mind of the world has in store for us. Lots of information gathered to keep track of our deeds and to help us understand what we do and why we do it. It is like looking in the world with owl’s eyes: wide opened and prepared to see, to inspect and to acknowledge – our granny’s eyes of wisdom, the wisdom of the ages.

I have reached some places in this period of time, this winter, in such mountains that are low peaked but very wild and untamed somehow. I like to explore and I like adventure, especially into uncharted places, into uncharted woods. Note to self: never underestimate such hilly ranges, for they hold some secrets that can shudder, make you feel tremor or bung your body, mind and soul in such way that you will fear it for a long time just by triggering your memory from a slight cool breeze when you go out of the house. It is not for the faint of heart nor for those who are comfortable in their lives. One must be prepared to: never knead about it. Nothing bad ever happens to you. It is a training you voluntarily signed for. Endure it!

It can make me sweat underneath my clothes and the cold, freezing wind above would cover my warm emanations with hoar-frost just to stiff my mind and enter my soul. I feel discomfort firsthand but continue on trail nonetheless. I strained my rectus femoris, at its hip end, while climbing the trail stepping in slippery mud which drew me back a few metres. I thought I was going to slip and fall in the mud. I wasn’t quite prepared. Tractors went on that trail earlier and left a mess. Some timber was exploited in those regions once called “The Trail of the King”, which covered a great deal of some of the most low peaked mountains, almost hill-like, from our lands. There, ancient people herded their livestock in the warm seasons and returned them to the hibernation mangers in the plains. It is called transhumance. I remembered them, my ancestors who lived on those plains and to the south of the Danube, and to the north of the Adriatic Sea, called the Taurisci, or the taurish people, when I saw a patch of snow looking like the skull of a bull. Very curious, this one! I thought the wind was playing tricks on me. But no. It was a memory. Also, this so called skull looked like a shield, with its pointed tip down. Much like a gem, it looked. A kind of rhomboid gem attached to a large patch of grass, seemingly like dripping from it, which looked like the hair on the byson’s head. It was a fun memory which made me smile and lifted my spirit.

I love to study history. I love to study the past. Some say that he who does not know his or her own past is bound to repeat it. I agree totally and give my full support to lead on the future while repeating a great, glorious past. Victory is, thus, assured, I grant you. Otherwise, mistakes would be made and people would suffer and the like.

It seamed that the space and time finally met that day. It was a day in which our last king had his funeral ceremony in his natal town in the mountains. A day of the dead it was. A day of the past. And God, it hurt so much! I know not why it hurt the reminiscing of the past, that day. I only can tell of the feeling that brought memories of beautiful, simple days of simple people, normal and kind people living on those ranges. The grass was cut not by the wind, but by sheeps grazing last summer. Also, it was covered in snow here and there, but not everywhere. It seemed that the thawing ocurred mostly where the sun warmed the land the most. It is a case of selective light and heat, it seems. May it be a delay of winter? It usually snows now in the last part of winter, the most. Initially, our winter looks like a prolonged autumn.

But enough of the weather. We are here to talk about life, not about death or some passings. The demise of someone could be the beginning of others. Starting over is not an option, it is destiny, it seams. It encompasses what I did that day of mountain trekking. It mirrored my life in its entirety, along with its future. Findind the trail on my return was not easy. I had to guide myself down through the forest without a compass but only with a map that showed mostly possibilities and temporary trails along the level curves of the foot of the mountain. It was getting dark very quick, for the days of winter are short especially in the first half. Descending the mountain, thus, was not easy and it required me to pay attention to where I put my feet on, and to guide myself through the clearings of the woods. I simply slided through the undergrowth. It was all wet and moist earth and humus. Before entering the woods there were still trails of snow from the ranges. Wind gusted fiercely sometimes, just to blow me into the trees. I kept my ground and walked on. But, to my surprise, the snow was very soft and couldn’t keep me on it. I know, I have some weight, but nevertheless. I sank into the snow many times and my leg hurt very much because of the strained muscle earlier on. I struggled, yes, but the vista was of awe. The landscape surely was magnificent across the valley into the distant mountains. Great view I had that day!

This journey was for me to reevaluate my strengths. Could it be done otherwise? I do not know. I cannot do this while sitting on a chair and read. The intellect has nothing to do with actions only with accumulating, while sitting comfortably, information about what other did. But I do feel and know that venturing into the wild is, especially during winter, utterly powerful in a sense like life creeping within my mind and soul. I feel alive again in such a way that, first, something has to die within me so I can be reborn. It inspires me to see, to learn and to create. It inspires me to also make my way into the world, into the Universe. Then, I finally understand what part of this Earth am I and what or who am I to the Universe. I’m a part of it that only I can accomplish. We are all unique. My job cannot be done by another.

Descending into the valley, in the darkness of the late winter evening I acknowledged that I successfully guide myself and thus, guide others. Fear not of your own guidance! Fear not at all!