A mountain is serene and beautiful from afar and below. From a distance, it appears strong, uncontested, benevolent, and at ease from everywhere it can be seen. The actual condition of the high side of a mountain however, is unending exposure to wild, cold, strong forces that attack and wipe away all that is unessential the higher it reaches.
A mountain can reach no higher than the breadth of its' base allows.
The building of a mountain is always here, and again here, and again, right here, and nowhere else. It is, like the proverbial journey-of-a-thousand-miles, built through the re-occurring choice, now, and again now, and, again now, to work with present time and place.
Because mountains arise out of the certainty that no place and no time is better than right here, right now, they are able to lend a powerful quality of "place", of here-ness, of "home", to everywhere from which they can be viewed.
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