“The Summit”, a poem about seeing

This poem is was written in prose, and is actually part of a much longer piece. These lines hang near my desk at home, though. They were recited to me on the John Muir Trail, by a grandfatherly pastor whose worldview was not mine but his manner was an inspiration. It was written by Rene Daumel.

You cannot stay on the summit forever, so why bother to climb in the first place? Just this: What is above, knows what is below. But what is below does not know what is above.

One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer.

But one has seen. There is an art of conducting one’s self in the Lower regions by the memory of what one has seen higher up. And when one can no longer see, one can at least know.

Of course, those of us who love the mountains know that there is something special about standing on the top of something. But I don’t think that’s really what he’s talking about. He’s talking about the unique challenge of attaining, and retaining, wisdom — from those fleeting moments of clarity that show the world as what it is. That’s what looking from above feels like, wherever it’s found.

This picture is from the top of Glen Pass on the JMT, looking north.