A Mountain to Climb

Creativity, intuition, genius, prophet: these words describe a dark and mysterious force that has lent itself a certain kind of magic  to some people, a magic that we envy and worship. It is often in the categories of music, drama, athletics, and academics that we bestow upon people such words: think of the musical genius of Beethoven and Mozart; we admire the talent of our favorite actor or actress; we are enchanted and mesmerized by the dancer’s movement; we worship the creative intuition of famous writers, such as Hemingway, Austen and Poe; we marvel at the prophet, the epitome of genius itself, in Albert Einstein. We believe these people have something extra we don’t have, a kind of divinity. It’s likely, however, that it is all of the things these people didn’t have weighing them down that gave them the magical ability to fly above the rest.

                    excursion-machupicchu                                                (Image taken from Creative Commons)


How many thoughts do you have each day which are truly your own? And of those thoughts, which are positively influencing your life, giving you a richer understanding of all that is happening to you? Have you thought about where your thinking actually comes from? Ever think about how much baggage, baggage that isn’t even yours, you might be carrying around?

“I’m putting your patience to the test.
I’m putting your body on the line, for less.
Didn’t you know there was a choice?
It’s never yours but someone else’s voice.”

Very few, if any, of our thoughts are original; that is, the majority of what goes on in our brain is a complex, interwoven reflection of our external environment. The general impressions of what happened that day, the random facts from twitter, facebook and other social media or news feeds, and incomplete thought-reactions towards external stimuli: all of these inputs whip and zing and buzz in a kind of boomerang-bounce-around dance in our head, with no real goal other than adding to the almost constant noise of the world. Then we go to sleep at night and can’t understand why we have the strangest dreams…

“Selling your body to the street.
I’m selling your girlfriends to the night, for cheap.
Wearing a jacket made of meat,
Sealing a letter made with horses’ feet

And now you’ve heard that…”

We wake up with caffeine and more news. Then, we proceed to work or school to tell our friends or coworkers about our strange dream. They reply with, “Yeah, I had a weird dream too! And did you hear about so and so….” All the while adding to the mass of information we already hold in our heads, increasing the amount of noise to even greater levels. This builds up over the years, and, over time, we forget who we are…

“Waves turn to grey, life in the shade.
A violent crime, and that’s the USA
Platinum’s on the rise, Playboy’s in disguise
I’m just trying’ to find
A mountain I can climb.”

We spend most of our time doing things we don’t want to do; and, really, it’s no one’s fault but our own, because we have forgotten what we actually like to do, what we must do. In our free time, we just want to forget about all of the unfulfilling things we have been doing. We want to get away…

“I wish that I could fly

Into the sky

So very high

Just like a dragonfly

I’d fly above the trees

Over the seas

In all degrees

To anywhere I please

Oh, I want to get away

I want to fly away

Yeah, yeah, yeah….”

However, for all of our wanting to get away, we never give ourselves a real rest from anything; we never truly unwind and decompress from all that we have encountered during the day, and at a more rapid rate. Additionally, our technologies make it increasingly possible to encounter larger amounts of stimuli throughout the day. Both our technology, and our negligence when it comes to the health of our minds, have lead to a mass endemic of souls that can’t hear themselves, their true selves, think and feel! We are numb and dumb, not do to lack of potential, which is nearly infinite, but due to lack of discipline. Our dyspeptic consumption of information and other stimuli will never make us truly happy because we take no time to digest any of it!

“I’m putting your patience to the test.
I’m putting your body on the line, for less.
And didn’t you know there was a choice?
It’s never yours but someone else’s voice.

And now you’ve seen that…

Blondes turn to grey, life in the shade
 A violent crime, And that’s on USA.
Porn’s on the rise. Psychos in disguise.
I’m just tryin’ to find
A mountain I can climb.”

If we ever want happiness – true happiness – and peace with ourselves, we have to ask the right questions: What do I really want? Who am I? What do I want my life to be about?…

The kicker is that it what you want, who you are and what your life is about, all will change with time and experience. Other than your name, most of what we call you is completely different when we compare birth to death (and, still, many names have changed over the course of a life). The only consistent thing about a human life is consciousness itself.

Everyone asks, and everyone has been asked, that awful question, “So, what do you want to do?” And this is such a loaded, bullshit question that we ask due to lack of creativity.

“How do you mean? Do you mean, ‘What do I want to do right now?’ Or, ‘What do I want my profession to be?’ ‘What do I want to do about the violence on TV?’… What do you mean do?”

It’s unfortunate that we limit our answer to what path we will take in college and how it will apply to our profession. But, is that really what your life is about? I mean really, you want the cumulation of your life to be _____ (doctor, lawyer, teacher, etc.)?

No. No, I don’t buy it. Sure, that might be a part of it, but that’s not who you are. You’re bigger than that, and you’re certainly better than that question you’ve been asked. We’d do better if we asked each other questions like, “What have you gotten into recently? What are your interests? What do you find yourself thinking about lately?” Then we might have a real conversation that leads itself into the mystery of life, and love, and wonder. Oh, that might be uncomfortable though. Better bury our heads in our phones now.

The question remains, then: What do we do when there is too much to do and we don’t actually know what we want to do?

First and foremost, we have to turn down the volume; we have to decrease the external noise first, if we are ever to hear the music inside. Then, we can dance a little, and wonder about those questions that really matter.

“Who am I?”

“What do I really want?”

“What is my life about?”

If we begin to ask ourselves questions such as these, we might find that we don’t wonder what we should wear today, we know. When we open our eyes, something directs them to the perfect outfit for the day. Our step is lighter, and we might hum on our way to the car. On our way to work, we actually feel the car on the road, and the hills and the trees look beautiful. And when it rains, we hear the smallest, most subtle splash beneath the drone of the water dropping. Maybe Heaven is on earth. Maybe everything is alright.

And then we hear that sound. You know, that sound.

Better check it!

And, then, we’re gone; having forgotten all that we have just seen, felt and heard, it’s back to the noise.

The problem isn’t technology. The problem isn’t information. The problem is that we have come to let that which is external rule our internal compass. We don’t feel and rely on intuition, we buy into things other people tell us, even though deep down it doesn’t sit with our deepest being; for instance, we even eat foods we dislike because, “It’s healthy!”


“Darlin’, ain’t nobody gonna tell us?
They’re gonna be oh so jealous?
We’re gonna be oh so silent, they’re gonna be stoned in silence… 

I didn’t want to ask you baby. I didn’t wanna have to ask anybody baby, is anyone asking maybe…

Can anybody even hear me?

Why are you waiting by the door?

Life turns to dust, and rain turns to rust.
Gossip is a truth, and money pays for the lies we trust.
Your love is a surprise, homeless saints are in disguise.  
I’m just tryin’ to find
A nice place for you and I.”

Who is running the show? Who is writing the story? What character are you playing?

Whether the stimulus is external or internal, we can never be creative, nor can we utilize our deepest genius, unless it is the breath of our own intuition that guides ours sails. 


Lyrics taken from:


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