The Land of the Living

Face the west. Face the stone and turn your back on your chains. A wraith you arrived, but now life overflows with every ragged breath. Let your heart brim with resolve, your eyes with the mountain and wake from the dream. Your legs be your escape, fill them with your ambition. Bend the world on it’s side with your will and ascend Jacob’s Ladder. Gently kindle the cold flame of fear to lend your hand a mighty aspect, and squeeze life itself from the ancient stone. A hold secure -- your anchor to the living, relinquished reluctantly for another a little further up. Ascend till the mountain speaks: "No higher can I bear you mortal." "Take your prize and share this lonely view with me awhile." Pride swells as the turn of your head commands reality's scope. This is your Triumph. The summit -- your chariot. The wind -- your anthem. The mountain -- your charioteer, whispers: "Memento Mori." A few moments of freedom and then like the doppleganger of all western heroes, face the east, turn your back to the setting sun and descend. The journey is only half finished. Bear out your exhausted dounemount to it's conclusion and reluctantly leave the land of the living. Home is a place you can only visit between your slumbers. God preserve me in my sleep that I might wake once more.