Sometimes I grow weary of the days with all their fits and starts.
I want to climb some old grey mountain, slowly, taking
the rest of my life to do it, resting often, sleeping
under the pines or, above them, on the unclothed rocks.
I want to see how many stars are still in the sky
that we have smothered for years now, forgiving it all,
and peaceful, knowing the last thing there is to know.
All that urgency! Not what the earth is about!
How silent the trees, their poetry being of themselves only.
I want to take slow steps, and think appropriate thoughts.
In ten thousand years, maybe, a piece of the mountain will fall.
Mary Oliver, The Poet Dreams of the Mountain
Mindfulbalance 
great marriage of text and image
Thanks Thomas,
The mountain is a favorite of mine, in Yeats county Sligo, Ben Bulben.
Karl
I thought I recognised it! Sligo is a favourite place. And a great text – that sense of urgency is something I deal with constantly in my meditations – that need to be ‘up there’ in that vague somewhere of achievements as yet unachieved.
Sometimes, though, I wonder if it’s just the vibrational frequency of the energy of growth, a hope that keeps us growing, like plants and trees reaching for the sun… it never seems far away. We don’t have epochs to do it like the mountains have… only decades…