|The Snows Of My Everest
© Copyright 2004 by Tahir
The perception of reality amongst human beings can simply be defined through the principal that in the transitory existence that we are inadvertently bound to, we crave a feeling of immortality that will ultimately define life in this world and the next. The history of humanity tries to defy the odds we are pitted against constantly as is evident through the repetition and recycling of intuition and personal integrity that have allowed mankind to defy fate and place it into manual override. Yet to think that the Transcendentalists held the scope of a purposeful existence within the simplicity of living through a gap in history that is often overlooked; it may be rejected because of its overt optimism, but in any instance Transcendentalism seeks a reliance on intuition and the conscience to transcend the limits of physical existence and reason in order to acquire a higher truth on the meaning of life. Although Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau submitted into a belief that human beings were innately good and perfected from within, it was their means to acquire this holistic sense of being that truly defined the American identity and alienated the conformity of life that reverted human nature into an indistinct original sin of nullity. Yet the pallor of the sky became of curious importance one late December in the year 2002, and although at the time Transcendentalism was an entity unknown to my open vessel, it still governed much of my experience in actualizing the hue of my complexion. At a glance perhaps this very void appeared nothing short of peculiar, since it seemed to have merely retained the vestiges of some merry rain cloud vainly assuming that its contents would submerge its underlings in a watery delight. This instance could have easily occurred because of the menacing hover of this rain cloud and its boisterous comrades, except for the mere principal of the atmospheric conditions that would forbid any such affair from commencing. With an absolute wind skinning everything in existence and transfixing an ultimatum with a draught of cold, the rain cloud and its boisterous comrades were succumbed to the ever enchanting powdery delight of its brethren snow. At the time of this occurrence, I was making callous observations of the snow as I attempted at honing my art as a poet by deriving my linguistic pleasures from a general sarcasm and a pessimistic attitude towards the prospects of humanity: especially towards my own kin. Well in truth my new found talent for dismal poetry developed into a greater fuel for fire as I entered a post-adolescence idealistic phase in my teen years that insinuated a perpetual Armageddon towards the very foundation of my family that made it virtually impossible for anyone to live with me. The parental units of my family often sought a path of least resistance, and in attempts to force feed my share of humble pie, I was thrust out into the wintry delight that wafted the fumes of Hades’ blizzard in my condensed mass of thought. Therefore I gathered all of my warm attire and, oddly enough, my brother, and we trekked out into the white kingdom part of the dynasty of weather. Although the outcomes may have eventually turned out different, our purpose in the snow was very much the same: to find ourselves. My brother would find himself having fun in the snow, and I would find myself understanding the capacity of human intellect to utterly preserve and destroy. This is that journey into the very heart of climbing my personal Mount Everest of sanity that would define the content of my character in the months to follow.
Upon reflection, at the time my demeanor seemed to not have been characterized by a general arrogance, but rather I faced an ultimate Achilles’ heal that was hindering any personal self-growth that could be attained. Suffering from an intolerable codependency that was derived through the existence that was bred from an ambition for academic perfection while facing the turmoil of adolescent pressure, I was succumbed to a harrowing consistence in which life was defined by not other world than a nurturing environment at home and a stigmatizing environment at school. Compelled by a distinct inferiority that undermined the true expanse and capacity that I retained as an individual, it became apparent that my solidarity amongst the nature of this snow that blanketed and isolated myself from the reality actually delineated the constant influence of religious overtones and the impending doom of being dictated by the theology of school. As a person perhaps an accentuation could have been made that “the beauty of the snow inspired me to be a better person”, but as can be noted through my sarcasm, it was not the essential core of the slicing snow as physical nature that changed my temperament, but rather the individual and solitary nature of existence that was created from the entrapment provided by the infatuation of this overly marketed bit of nature. This individuality can seem so insignificant and gradually float away in the terms of the greater expanse of existence, yet it simultaneously can reappear as a revelation that turns into something grander that could provide a hope in changing the monotony of life. The Transcendentalists themselves insisted upon intense individuality, but did they realize that it was not by seeking a transcendental experience alone could one be found, but by analyzing humanity as a whole and observing the variances that allows a meshing of civilization and the Oversoul to thrive? Perhaps it was through viewing human behavior in the nature of conformity and solidarity that could necessitate the change to live purely. I am knowledgeable of the fact that whilst I gallivanted through the snow, this general metaphor developed between by thoughts and the snow. It seemed relevant that solidarity allowed for my thoughts to be as untainted as the snow; however, although the snow was not purely white, since it contained the pastels of the color spectrum, it still retained a visage of honor and clarity in that it was not tainted by the thoughts of mankind as it descended into a realm of the physical world. My newfound freedom of thought enticed to pondering over a philosophy I developed over whether it was when I learned I understood or when I understood I learned. The concepts seemed to be mutually exclusive, but at the same time I was befuddled in such a manner that I took to questioning my sanity once more. Yet then it seemed probable that insanity was more or less in the eye of the beholder, for if humanity changed its perception on the accepted statue quo then the completion of the antithesis would seem highly unfitting and would be viewed as psychotic. Yet the clarity of the situation emerged that it was not hypocrisy for human beings to change perception constantly, but rather the constant change was what kept us organic and that I myself must allow for change in my environment to keep me alive. Part of the fault within my lack of individuality in the past was due to my inability to accept adaptation, and I forced my environment to be stabilized at all costs; if eternal bliss was not ensued, then my impending temperament did. Yet it became impossible for me to endure any stability swaying with the pseudo-Arctic wind when perceiving before my very eyes the inconsistency of the pattern of snow and my very life.
Perhaps a time comes where a new dawn must be forsaken in order to embrace the wisdom of the aged moon, and it is at this time where individuality can lead to vulnerability and seclusion. After moments of standing and pondering the fate of my lone freedom, I grew into a state of jubilation that completely countered my moody behavior of an early date, and I collapsed into the cold cream silk of the ground while staring at the gray masses churning more of their powder. Lying in the snow, feeling its blood pulse through my own body, I was being buried by the snow, but it solidified my skin and became a part of my physical form as well as spiritual. Yet being in this snow allotted a greater means of understanding that both I, as a vessel of mankind, and the snow, as a vessel of nature, had a symbiotic relationship that influence each other. My imprint on nature could destroy the very fabric and beauty of its environment, but it could also destroy the environment I carefully crafted for myself. In truth I was breathing in the very essence of existence that the perfection of life is not found by mere knowledge, but the understanding that physical nature is in fact a metaphor for human nature. Humans can be as detrimental to themselves as they are helpful, but in living close to nature as the Transcendentalists administered in order to find their transcendence beyond their physical state, I realized that my development as a person required a closer relationship to human nature. To comprehend the immense flaws and imperfections of even my sheltered childhood in essence became the undoing of my regression into immaturity, but living close to the simplicity of physical nature inadvertently forged a realization on the importance of inner respect far beyond the materialistic impulses of society. Yet it seemed upsetting that my own kin of a Third World country were lapsed into the epitome of desolation while facing conflict in acquiring and maintaining the quintessential commodities of water that are overlooked in my New World idealisms. It seemed treacherous and traitorous of me to find myself willing to encompass an idealistic state of being and renounce all the comfort of physical existence that I was fortunate to acquire when there were those who could only make what they can of themselves from their bare hands because they are forced into that condition. Yet moreover it seemed that a physical existence could not be truly renounced as evil for it is through this existence that we can place an immaculate hold over the spiritual and thus further create a better world for ourselves at present until the afterlife must transpire and absorb us into its portent.
However, the wisdom that I garnered from my slumber in the snow became masked with malice and dread in the moments to follow. This incredible vulnerability uprooted the very foundation of my jubilation because at once I encompassed the realization that I was insignificant in the whole scheme of creation. It seemed at once in the vast expanse of white that I had wasted perhaps half of my life on satisfying materialistic impulses that ordained some form of attractiveness, but it became apparent from my solitude that behind the façade of industrialism, there was nothing. Watching from a distance as my brother fell and even in observing the snow fall, a realization erupted within my very flesh and bones that I was not eternal and that I would fade away and die. The Ancient Romans held to a dear philosophy that in order to quell the fear of being lost into a nonexistence by those that outlived you, the most effective way to create a lasting impression was through the funeral that was held in your honor. Yet, I did not want to follow the path of the Ancient Romans and be remembered only after I died because I never wanted to face the inevitable end to life that death brings, and rather I always assumed that I would live for all of eternity. This was not a happy thought indeed, but it seemed that my life was the ultimate construction site for an eventual conclusion, and that I would have to face that conclusion alone. Once more was that I saw this snow fall into the ground in its entire splendor, but I overlooked its lethal injection upon the life that was present before its arrival. The snow not only murdered what existed, but it was eternal because even after it would melt, the snow would live on in spirit within the vegetation that would suck the marrow of life dry. Yet then something incredible happened for as my brother rose from the duvet cover that the snow provided, a revelation was instigated within me that it was the spirit of the snow that was eternal not the snow itself. My legacy could be retained through my own spirit, and through what I made of my life. At last I could fathom death as an eventual occurrence, but I also obtained this confidence and instinct that created my own mode of mental happiness. The fact that I realized I could control my own fate stabilized my ability to embrace God without an embodiment, and I seemed to not be entirely alone, since I had the constant relationship and presence of God. This truly defined my ability to have a spiritual living as the Transcendentalists sported, but I also could elevate myself beyond the materialism that created an empty shell for my life.
A life tested by unthinkable cruelty can only be rich with a faith and love that serve as a testament to honor that life and its legacy; alas, life falls into deterioration from the fact that we constrict it to the very leech of nullity that harbors our transparency. I came out of the festival winter that my front yard harbored understanding that half of what I desired from life was fueled by decisions that came out of society’s status quo, and rather then amend the devastation of being lived through, I allowed it to mold my personality. The powder of the snow was the very soft nature of the moral fabric that curbed society, but in rejecting the vulgar prosperity that compels us, the ultimate burial of greed that creates an empty shell of life and reverts our instincts to original sin and evil can transpire, so at once we can reject society’s resolution for happiness through a physical existence. Life in itself obtains such brevity that it offers no need to be occupied by the nullity of consumerism. Although my initial purpose was to find myself through my venture into the complexion of the snow, it was my solidarity that led my behavior to revolutionize from the idealistic nature of youth into an intrepid maturity that began a second part of my life. In general my personality could constitute any positive or negative energy that I acquired into a passive state of being, but rather than be emotionless, I harnessed an instinct that could keep my sanity far beyond the years of my life. Scarlet O’Hara was able to retain her vitality through the very land of Tara, and although I cannot compare in her passion for living, my sustenance can be derived from an ability to ascend the insurmountable limits of the human mind that can be detrimental to existence.
Sara Tahir has had quite an interesting writing career thus far in her life. At the age of six, she wrote her first story entitled "Nina the Witch," and since then has continued to write numerous poems and stories.
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