The path, initially at least,
seems clear, the skier at first
skis dotted lines turns,
traverses, schusses & finally learns
something called technique, only then
can he discover snow & begin
to carve out real runs from this white
& yielding medium: there isnt any right
or wrong in such descents
& for a while skiing makes sense.
But with enough time, with no
more fear & a calm mind, the snow
itself begins to change: more & more
ice resembles powder. As before
we return to abstractions & find
the mountain has its own lines,
planes, shapes & curves: go back
to skiing dotted lines a black
on white pattern of movement & form,
pure form a new world is born.
But were still not there, behind
even this intersection of mountain & mind
we sense something always simpler, skiing
not as metaphor but synonym of being.