Pole Pole, One Breath at a Time

 I climbed a mountain,

but the higher I went,
the more I realized—
the real ascent was inside me.

Between Arusha’s blur and Moshi’s song,
I shed politeness like an old skin.
Strangers became philosophers,
altitude turned us into children of honesty.

At Gilman’s Point,
my body staged a rebellion.
Not defeat—
but wisdom,
whispering:
Sometimes, you conquer by turning back.

Now, off the trail,
I feel the same altitude rising in my mind.
Detachment,
visions ahead of their time,
synchronicities dancing like hidden guides.

I ask:
Am I rewired,
or simply awake?

Books speak through me—
Jung’s shadows,
Marcus’s stillness,
Gibran’s fire.
Each word a river,
each page a mirror.

I crave solitude—
mountains, hills, silence—
because only in aloneness
do the voices in me
sing instead of scream.

And I want it all—
joy and grief,
birth and death,
music and silence,
truth so raw it cuts through pretense.

For life is a construct,
a stream of passing waters,
and I—
I am the watcher,
the feeler,
the healer,
the broken,
the reborn.

So here I stand,
between confusion and clarity,
between peak and valley,
between song and silence.

One day at a time.
One note at a time.
One breath at a time.

Pole pole—
the mountain whispers.
And I listen.