I’ve been here before. Definitely. Not literally, but maybe in another life? If that is possible to believe? I remember these places. It’s a simple case of deja vu, and if you have ever watched the movie The Matrix you know that deja vu symbolizes a glitch in the matrix itself. So is there some type of glitch going on inside my brain, or am I truly a recast spirit entering the body again and searching out what my past life threw forth for me?
It is safe to say that I am not a religious man. My days of worship have always taken place in the mountains of our world. For some uncanny reason I have never responded to the ocean, to the plains, or to the cities. I have sought out the mountains since age fourteen, coincidentally when I began skiing. I quickly added mountain biking to the list of sport pursuits to keep me in the mountains during summer months. To this day, over three decades later, I still long to return to those mountains. Any mountains. It doesn’t matter. I have lived in the Southern Alps of France, skied and biked the monster peaks of Alaska, and explored most of the ranges in the Continental U.S.
I can’t really explain what spending so much of my life in the layers of peaks does for me. There is a calm that appears. Tranquility. Stress disappears. Even during the most severe of situations that any peak can throw at the inexperienced. I stay fast. Positioning myself and those with me in a state of perpetual slow motion. A safe zone. I always see a way out during what most would see as a moment of crisis. I can’t really explain that either. Avalanches, whiteouts, and injury are all processed with a severe decisiveness that most find, odd. It all heads back to my opening thought. I’ve been here before.
Do you dispel my emotions? Do you think I am full of the proverbially chalice from which I drink? Possibly, but I know what I know and mountains mesh with me. Even in their angriest, coldest, most strenuous situations, I still have zero distaste. I long for more and always feel like I’ve been here before.
The people that I surround myself with during my explorations all seem to be there at those given moments because they too have that similar emotion. Though they may not feel as if they have noticed a glitch in their subconscious, I feel as if I have traveled with their souls before. And if it is their first time here, I find a way of giving them the introductions necessary to pass safely and often with me. I may be a fool for this entire process.
It is as I stand on the windy step looking deep into the heart of what will be the next two weeks of my life that I experience that fuzzy multi-colored frequency change of an old TV screen. A tuning moment. Again and again upon every composition that I visualize. I am standing at the base of 7-9000 meter peaks, that I have only envisioned in my wildest dreams. Looking for lines of weakness in which I would love to descend on skis or bike with monstrous spinning wheels. I have just entered Patagonia. Whether my conscious and subconscious are wrong or right, crossing streams or not. I’ve been here before. Unequivocally.