The Never Really I Was

         
I never really thought that I had been trying to find myself, but when you're out there, and again you're out there, basking in that eternal glory, the rapture that comes when life slaps you in the face like a storm wave and sends vibrations tingling down your spine from your cranium to your balls, and you've died so many times and yet still you wake up the next day, the sun still willing to warm your face, the air still carrying the scent of your farts, then you do start to notice how you were there all along, and how it seems like you haven't even lost a tiny piece of that kid you were who was never afraid to take a bite of raw earth, to reach out and grab the ladybird which sat upon the leaf of the stinging nettle, to chase the ducks without worrying how far down the path you might stray, to make a new home just right about anywhere, as long as there is someone to share it with. I guess right at the beginning we were all wide awake, and somehow the dozery of life lulled us into some deep slumber which we cling to like the grumpus-mumbus, the ever-dreamer, as we use our imagination for acts of mind-masturbation.

Waking up from whatever kind of sleep you're dreaming up is always worth a celebration, never forget that.

Sometimes its the crows that help you to rise, as early as 5 am, the squawk like the wives of witches, and you can hear them laughing and pointing at you and gossiping like devils as they unruffle their feathers and line up on the branches high up overhead, waiting their turn to peck at the black bags that conceal human food waste or just plain old morning worms who have only popped up for a dash of respite from the cold mother earth. And that noise goes on and on, those old birds who don't care for your sleep, they're saying, "Mind the morning, gonna get me some munchy yum yums this dawn, and haves a looks at old riffle-fathers, she's-a looks a beaky old burd this morning, waggle me neck neck gonna get me some hunger-nouts, osh yar, don't that sun beams feel woopy." And you really hear the words almost as if you can see their very lips moving and its quite a relief when your pal Joseph says, "Oh man, those birds are so noisy!" and a few minutes later the crows all jeer as you crawl out of the tent, "We got a couple'em up already, crow-crows! Got some!"

After some nice hot tea, though at that time you're still ignorant of what tea really tastes like 'cos you haven't been to China yet, really great coffee too, and some beans and bread for breakfast early its time to set off, and for half an hour, forty-five minutes we're like children, Jo, Joseph and I, with her parents just behind, and we're singing some Incubus and Chili Peppers and calling out to the trees and the birds with nice big crispy morning voices, making the whole woods pleased to meet us from root to leaf, and its not long before we bid farewell to the parents behind us and say, "See you up there, slow-coaches!" with cheery voices and set off following the trail markers at our own youthful pace, no longer able to keep that invisible leash which had fastened us compassionately to the older folk. And soon we're scrambling up and over boulders, real rough and tumble like, and I'm thinking to myself, "I'm a real mountain climber!" when before I was just a hiker. And every time I reached up with my hands, it was like putting them into a touch and feel box in a museum, when you know there isn't going to be a snake, but there might be.

A few hours in and its time for lunch, and we're already feeling quite proud of our young selves, for the height we've gained, for our speed and clamberings, and for the feel of rock on knee. We sit on a big flat rock, our feet not quite dangling over the cliff edge and we can look across that great big forest surrounding the Flinders, and not see a speck of humanity anywhere from our eyes to the horizon, and the awe is the kind of awe that can only be interrupted by the sudden realisation of hunger in your belly, and food in your packpack, and for me the feeling is also accompanied by a kind of dread. And my worst fears are confirmed, the majority of my lunch is ham sandwich and I hate ham.The banans and granola bar go down a treat, and I make a sacrifice of my shame, flinging the sandwich down below and hope that some forest fox catches a wiff of piggy wiggy and nods its silent appreciation up to the humans on the mountain, and perhaps baby rabbit will also be appreciative too, or the ants.

Back on trail and the climb becomes ever more solemn, as green's all gone for grey, the path too becomes harder, soft red earth all but forgotten as there are slight returns of dancing over rocks, rhythmically and bravely, as if too much caution here would offend the stones benath our feet and slow our hike to a halt.

And halt it did, as in front of us stands a tall flat-face, nearly two of me tall, and there's a big white arrow scratched upon it like the outsteched index finger of a Skeletor incarnate. Like standing in front of an ancient crypt doorway, this rock compels us to stop and wonder aloud, "Do we really want to go that way? Up... there?" and at this time there's no one else around, and we can't see any other blue trail markers, and we're transformed suddenly into 3 kids in a coming of age movie so we just go for it, and I've soon been boosted up and I'm saying, "There's a path, come on up!" and I'm reaching down to pull up Jo, and next we're both reaching down to help up long arms, Joseph, who manages to get up without a boost.

The path here is different from before, narrow and twisted, like the rags on a white bone skeleton still whirling and winding in the wind, and for the next half an hour we are walking right along the edge of the mountain, with mere nothing between us and nothing else, except the long drop to the tiny trees below, and we can't say much at this point except, "woah!" and, "Be careful, fall down there and you're dead meat." And careful we are, and steady on our feet too, somewhat like some ancient pilgrims seeking out a lost temple that's not on any map. Its not long before another flat-face is staring at us, unmarked this time, a door within a door, and it seems to be daring us, taunting us. As I stand with my nose almost touching the rock, just two steps behind me is the edge we've been walking along, and beyond the edge more nothing, and from here its either go up or go back.

"It's pretty high again."
"Do you need a boost?"
"I think so. Maybe not."
"Look, we're so high."
"And its so narrow..."
"Gotta be real careful."
"You go up first."
"We can make it."
"Be careful!"

And I'm up and standing on a nice big plateaux, and l feel exhilirated by the amount of space up here, and after we're all up safely we indulge in a few minutes of rest and admiration, of the sky, of space and distance, of the mountain, and of all the people.we can see on the trail below, and soon we can see Karla and Neil, and we exchange waves, then we wonder aloud:

"Why is everyone going that way?"
"Is that this way?"
"Why's no one else coming this way?"
"We can't go back that way..."
"Its so close to the edge,"
"What if we stumble, we'll tumble."