Mountains are extremists. They elicit the need to pick a side. I like to verge on the edge of extremes. I crave conclusions. The culminating explanations that remain stagnant and consistent….There, I am at peace? ….There, like the mountains, I remain unbothered?

To verge on an extreme, I am so locked in, so far away from opposition. Extremes secure me as they engulf me in their polarization. It is not until the creeping in of contradiction, that I begin to doubt, lose confidence, and wonder if maybe I should completely sway the other way.  Contradiction forces me constantly into motion, leaving me in a whirlwind of confusion, scattered somewhere in the middle of the extremes I desire. I am bombarded with the moment to moment array of varying and nonsensical feelings that feel like fragments; nothing is stagnant because soon they are gone….replaced, contradicted, sunken. It is impossible to settle simply in one extreme. Extremes seem to be tremendous and grand, an enlightened objective, but really extremes are stunted and small, limiting and rigid.

Mountains are extremists. For a moment, all is still. But then, the wind blows snow about the peaks and waves about the shore. I suppose all is bothered.