Poem: "The Mountain Kites" by Steven Benjamin To the quietude I was led, To my knees I sank In the deep I drank In the grit my nails scratched A roar from my lungs found escape in the dark I saw a face, in their eyes the night sky flickering Into those pools my gaze did reach Each crest mine or not to take To breathe until I break To wait for my chest to quake By a figure behind the lace and in that dark, a familiar face The twitching of my heart. Softly the mountain spoke Quietly dying in my path Not mine to take As the peak sank from sight The trail lost to unknown fate Forever knocking at my mind Like a taunting dancing distant kite. Not mine to hold Nor to summit A path held from me By arcane hands And a sleight voice whispering Some paths are not meant to be took Keep climbing, from your knees Beholding my familiar face In our quiet dark home go where I go Keep going, till you’re gone *** [Image credit: from PoemHunter.com]
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Short Story by Steven Benjamin Short fiction Genre: Drama "The Route of '81" There and back and gone, to a forgotten place…
I had to be somewhere, but I forget where. What I remember is standing on a stone or marble walkway looking out at the mountain vista thinking to myself ‘I mustn’t forget the scarf’ – why that scarf… because I bought it for her. She only wore it once, but she liked it. She liked it so much, enough to leave it behind on her seat at the restaurant that same evening. She only remembered it when we got back to the room. I went back for it. That’s what I did. What bothered me as I stood there on the walkway thinking back, was why I hadn’t noticed it was missing earlier. If not for that damn scarf, things might’ve turned out very differently… loose ends I suppose. And then, as if on cue, a stiffly breeze wafted across me, even raising the lapel of my coat. As I was looking down at the offending lapel I felt a tap on my right shoulder but when I looked, no one was there, so I looked left, and there she was, smiling at me, shaking her head that I fell for that silly trick again. ‘You ready to go?’ I checked the view again and shook my head, but my feet started walking. Her smile widened. As we strolled down the path, glancing back a silent goodbye at the mountain retreat, I said ‘This is where I ask you where we’re going? But I know you won’t answer me, not properly anyway.’ ‘Then don’t ask.’ ‘Okay, I haven’t. So now that you know that I haven’t asked what I wanted to ask, what would your response to my non question be.’ “Didn’t I just give it?” ‘No. You gave the response you would’ve given if I had asked. Or you responded to what my question would’ve been, not to what it is.” She thought for a moment, narrowed eyes, then shook her head at me being silly. “That, I’m proud of you,” she said as I opened the car door for her. And as she tucked her dress in and reached for the door handle she continued, “and concerned. You’re gonna drive yourself crazy thinking so much about what we don’t say… or say about what we haven’t said.” I closed the door and walked round to the driver side, stealing a last deep look at where we were, and the winding road through the narrow valley into which we were about to descend. I got behind the wheel beside her. “Drive myself crazy? You’re the one driving me crazy.” She was smiling broadly at that, clenching her thumb nail between her teeth, though her gaze was taken by the view out of her window. I took a deep breath as I watched her a moment, before starting the car… We drove in silence for a few minutes, punctuated only by the sounds of the old car, a faint creek from the rear suspension, the tires struggling to hold the road on the twisty hairpin bends. ‘That place is nice,’ I said, ‘but it needs an update. Still feels like its stuck in the 50’s.’ ‘That’s why I like it’ she said. ‘I hope it stays that way. I know it won’t, but I hope they keep a fair bit of it. It’ll never be like it used to.’ I stole a glance at her for as long as I could manage before the road tore back my attention. ‘That’s why I rented this car. I just pray it makes it down the mountain. She’s a beauty, but she needs a little love and affection to restore some of her tired parts.’ Silence again, as we negotiated a few more grand bends in the road, the joy of the drive made rather perilous by the sheer drops down into the valley below. A chill crept up my arm from my hand which was clutching the gear lever as I felt her cold hand upon mine. I glanced at her briefly. She was staring at our hands and then her gaze lifted to the road ahead. ‘We’re going to a friend. That’s all I can say. You don’t know her. I haven’t seen her in years, and if I’m honest, I don’t even know if she’s even there. She’s from before I met you.’ Her voice had changed, and I could sense there was more to come. ‘I’ll ask some things of you that will be difficult to understand, as I have done till now. Hopefully in time I’ll be able to explain it all.’ We drove, chatting about life, like most couples. Stopping at the rest stops, taking pictures with the windup Kodak camera I bought before the trip. My favourite photo was almost a throwaway shot, one taken in between all the smiles and posing, among all the spanning shots of the way we’d come, and the shadows that the clouds made upon the mountain slopes. No, my favourite was one where I’d just pulled the camera out as I scanned the landscape before me at the last lookout spot, before we’d merge with the valley below… but I didn’t take the shot. I peeked through the viewfinder and felt nothing for it, so I lowered the camera to my chest and turned to look back. She was leaning against the front end of the silver Sebring, holding her elbows, looking down as she leaned back on her heels so her toes were off the ground. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at her toes in her sandals or at the ground between her feet, thinking of something else. That’s when I took the shot. She didn’t hear the click as a slight breeze blew by the lookout, ruffling her hair a little. Her expression in that photo would forever remain as she was, elusive. Short Story. "Land of False Memory" - Fantasy - by Steven Benjamin * -
We’d been traveling for days, I don’t remember how many, before we found the old man. I only call him old because he was the oldest of us there, but it was mostly in his ways, capped off with his dark brown handlebar moustache. He sometimes wore an old woolen cap to keep away the chill from his greying sparsely-haired head. But he was strong; perhaps the strongest of us, because he’d lived in these lands and climbed these crags and mountains many times. But he needed help, help from us, to get him to a place where he’d remember. A day or two of aimless wondering through the cold wilderness followed, before we finally found a clearing. The old man led us to the far end of the clearing and then squinted up at the steep slope. He rubbed his arms and then grunted. He left us all behind, striding swiftly, hugging himself against the cold, his legs pumping as he climbed. He must’ve given his coat to one of the women in the team… all he had on was a dark trousers and an old pullover, tattered at the edges. We were left looking at each other, and then watching the figure move, without rest, up the slope with his hulking shoulders leaning into the breeze. Eventually we followed up after him. A while later we came up behind him. He was almost lying down on the ground, poking his head up over the jagged rocky ridge every now and then before hunching down again. He was busy. He felt us coming, hearing our footfalls behind him. “I need to draw it,” he said, scanning the landscape peeking over the ridge again. He’d spread a large white paper on the ground, pinned in the corners with rocks, and was sketching a fairly decent image of what he saw, using a piece of charcoal and dirt. Some time later, with the group huddled together for warmth, he got to his knees and squinted up at me, then back over the ridge, nodding. The sun was setting in the far horizon, the rays reaching below the cloud cover, casting his face in a burnt orange glow. “I remember now,” came his raspy voice. “I have to draw it to remember it.” He blew his warm breath onto his dirty fingers, rubbing his hands together and them tucking them under his arms as he got to his feet. I don’t remember much more of that night or the next morning... what I do remember is like a puzzle, the blank parts filling in as I think about it more, winding the clock back, seeing things I didn’t consciously notice when in the moment. I remember we’d descended into the valley, coming down from the dragon’s back-like ridge into the rising mist. By afternoon the mist had cleared and there was only this odd hazy steam. We found ourselves at the river’s edge, though it was scarcely a river as the water wasn’t moving. Maybe it was a river once upon a time, but now it was more like a stagnant toxic culvert. The ground and rocks at the edges of the slope, where the earth fell away to the steamy liquid below, was a scorched pale tan colour. In the fresh sunlight at certain angles the surface of some of the rocks reflected a rainbow colouring. The chemical rich liquid was undoubtedly heated by natural underground geysers. It was a strange place that looked dead, but felt dangerous and alive. A place that sought to claim those who ventured in. Between Summit and SkyJust a quick look at climbing, or perhaps a simplification of it, by what the so called experts say. To be honest though - and many purists will more than agree, they seem to live by the credo – climbing is very simple, anyone can do it. So when I say “experts” I actually just mean those men and women who live for it, those who’ve made this, their passion, also their profession. “Mountains are not Stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve, they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion.” A note on myself: I'm in the midst of several writing (1 designing) projects, so in considering my blog and wanting to put up a post on climbing, words kind of failed me at an inopportune time, but thankfully I'm not the first to arrive at this juncture - not for naught is the saying "I'm speechless" rendered so commonly whilst gazing at the horizon from a mountain summit. It is a space where words are not needed (and sometimes being short of breath is also a contributing factor). It's this silence that resonates loudest in the hearts of all climbers. Hence I've tossed in all these quotes because they say what needs to be said... I do have serious inclinations to take my climbing to new levels (pun intended) and take it more seriously (whether mountaineering or rock climbing), but its about the personal journey, and in short, the philosophy that conveniently stands above all is summed up well enough in the last quote of this post! Hopefully it will inspire you - "Writing about climbing is boring. I would rather go climbing." “For me, the value of a climb is the sum of three inseparable elements, all equally important: aesthetics, history, and ethics. Together they form the whole basis of my concept of alpinism. Some people see no more in climbing mountains than an escape from the harsh realities of modern times. This is not only uninformed but unfair. I don’t deny that there can be an element of escapism in mountaineering, but this should never overshadow its real essence, which is not escape but victory over your own human frailty.” I included the above film because I believe Messner's sentiments (From 36.00' - 39.00') about the invisible paths/lines on the mountains are so true of life. “...seen from above, landscapes are made up of mountains and watercourses. Just as a transparent model of the human body consists of a framework of bone and a network of arteries, the earth's crust is structured in mountain ridges, river, creeks, and gullies.” "The best climber in the world is the one who's having the most fun." [Image Credits: wall.alphacoders.com, alexbuisse.com] It may seem pointless to review an award winning film such as this, one that is part documentary, part tribute, part sports film and part ‘love letter to skiing’ – but it warrants a watch even from a neutral observer that has never seen snow in their entire life. Plainly stated, this offering from Sherpas Cinema is fine film all on its own and a complete feast for the eyes, and most of your other senses too. Up front it’s a record of the unparalleled power, majesty and inimitable call of nature and man’s unrelenting spirit, ever willing to answer that summons. Plot Yes there is a vague plot to this film despite it being a real-life sports film with no actors. Its divided into 12 chapters all chronicling various stages within the cycle of being a skier or simply an extreme sports adventurer, though many elements are quite relatable because it tackles issues on a human and even spiritual level. The plot line though is merely to have some kind of central mechanism around which to form the film, so that one doesn’t just have a bunch of random ski experts performing cool tricks and slaloms for over an hour. The true strength of this film however, lies in the truly spectacular cinematography and photography with an innovative cyclic theme running throughout, mastered with technical brilliance. Target This film is way more than a ski film, in fact it’s just so happens to ‘also’ be a ski film, because it transcends such conventions by delivering something artful and exhilarating; and in doing so, Sherpas Cinema have provided a window into the skiing world that appeals to anyone. I recommend this film to anyone. Bottom Line As a layman myself – having not skied once in my short life (which will soon be rectified) – I can say that what immediately appealed to me was the mountains and the climbing (featuring top climber Renan Ozturk – one of the few names I knew, along with photographer Jimmy Chin) and of course the crisp imagery, but soon I found myself lured by the notion of skiing. This of course is one of the goals, to draw more people to the sport, and it does so effortlessly. Another seemingly effortless achievement is the way they portrayed the link between the simplest of things, like old rattle toy, and how its likened to time, the turning clock, the spinning earth, the tides of the oceans, and even man – our cycle of living, dying and rebirth, whether spiritual rebirth or that which exists in nature. It does all this without too much though, but simply by connecting a stream of breathtaking images and footage, all amidst the multi-generational journeys undertaken on the slopes of many a snow covered mountain. Into the Mind is easily a technical achievement as much as it is an exciting and thrilling adventure sports film. For what felt like the first time, you actually feel like one of them as a few of the athletes wear head mounted cameras, waking up in a windswept tent, hiking up a frozen mountain and then waving at death as you ski down – made it all the more personal. There’s plenty of danger, and the tragic elements form a central focus, but it only serves to add another deeper dimension to this portrait, along with a stellar soundtrack. It makes for a well timed exploration of a rather exclusive sport, as the world is currently focussed on the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi – so that if you didn’t have an appreciation for it before, then you will after watching this film. Everyone, whether on a ski slope or in everyday life, goes on their own journey, but our paths are forever interlinked and entwined, it’s part of what makes us human – the personal connection, and another, perhaps final added dynamic to Into the Mind, is camaraderie between all these people, bound by a vision and similar passions, willing to go to extreme and often dangerous lengths to satisfy them… It’s also why (another Winter Olympic phenomenon) why all the athletes tend to get along so well – its more often not so much about the competition, as it is about the ride, or ski, itself. It’s about men and women, the spirit of freedom and adventure, and the endlessly varying echo of nature. (My rating, for what its worth: 90% ) *Apologies, due to technical difficulties beyond my control or prevention, this post is delayed by a week, so the Sochi ref would've made more sense then, but I left it there anyway... Russia has won, and congrats to them, for that and also owning that Olympic logo faux par.* Here's the second trailer for this breathtaking film. For the first trailer and my original preview of it in a post from last year, click here: "Mind Blowing - Into the Mind Film Teaser", along with a bonus trailer. [Image and trailer credits: Intothemindmovie.com] Today is a rather special day in the calendar of my family and I, perhaps not for the reason we would like, but it will remain a landmark day... eight years ago we lost a father, husband, brother and son. >> My Dad, Keith Benjamin. I was planning something else for today, but events led me to this post... I've never really made this blog personal as such, apart from one or two rare posts, and I'm not about to start, but for today I'll make a concession. A couple of weeks ago it was my Birthday - and how beautiful it was, with the rain and cloud disappearing for just that day, it seemed. It was a yet another reminder of how blessed I am. I've been counting my blessings of late - being alive for one, as I was involved in what could have been a very bad car accident in pouring rain, thankfully that too is behind me, just about. The times above is when you're most acutely aware of you're own mortality, conscious of your next breath, laughing with your family - it realigns your perspective, clears away the complications, of which there are many. So today I thought I'd take stock; this past year has been both big and small for me... one 'event' that passed by without much fuss was that this, my blog, turned one year old (in mid July), but more important than that milestone, is the journey I've been on in the interim. It's a strange thing, the spirit; to say that my spirit has grown so much in the past year can mean many great things, and yet for some, can mean absolutely nothing at all. You see, the world doesn't measure greatness, or success or even development by that thing called your spirit... It really is a strange thing, both ancient, and alien to us; for those who acknowledge it anyway. It's kind of like undertaking a long arduous journey, requiring great mental and physical fortitude (as I did along with some friends earlier this year, and last year as well). At the end of it though, what are you left with aside from memories? There is no material pay-off, only your mind feels enriched, your muscles feel weaker (for a little while immediately afterwards anyway) before healing. You may even feel older, or maybe just downright tired. And yet, the investment is there, in the spirit also. And so I'll say this - this past year has been big for me personally, and the next one will be even greater. To achieve the biggest arc and the highest heights, one must pull back the arrow the full length, till only the arrowhead remains in front of the bow - when the tension is at its greatest - and with it, its potential... I've been on a deep spiritual journey, discovering what it really takes to be a man - that journey is an on going affair, and its essential, especially considering the timing of it. My tree may not be bearing much fruit right now, but I assure you it will - as is always the case when leading a spirit led life. To everyone who has read this blog, commented and liked etc, I thank you. To all my friends, both personal and professional, you support has been invaluable. Thank you to my family for your endless support, without you I'd be living on the streets right, if not for the grace of God, and to wit, my biggest thank you of to my Lord and saviour, without you, I wouldn't be living at all. Lastly, I'd like to congratulate my friend for finding the woman of his heart. Wishing Vaughan and Monique all God's richest blessings. The wedding was beautiful - may it set the tone for your future, and may you strive to reflect God's love for one another. Much Love, dear friends! Steven To all married couples: "earthly marital unions were established by God to be a type and shadow of the greater marriage between God and man" A battle with Gravity - A return to the Wilderness, Part 2 On the way up it pulls you down with a whisper, then conversational advice, and then a scolding voice saying: 'don’t go, it’s too high, it’s too steep…' on the way down, it welcomes you, feeding your tired momentum as your brain has violent and bloody premonitions of you falling face first into the stone and gravel. Here, below, is a look at a truly grand weekend, tackling my toughest hike thus far. A great challenge it most definitely is, though the real test lies – knowing now what I went through – in going back and, having at it again. This was my first time (along with several others), but there were those in our team who were climbing this mountain for the 2nd, 3rd and even 5th time (our leader Ricky has made it a yearly pilgrimage for the last half a decade). I won’t regale you as to why we climb, why we brave freezing temperatures, or what compels us to wade through thick foliage or clamber up and over boulders on all fours… that’s for another day (or perhaps last week’s entry, but I will say that it is a deep and resolute compulsion… actually, it can be summed up in a simple way: it makes you come alive! For we were not made for offices, streets, suits and skyscrapers, we were made for the wild. It will not shout nor prance, it will appear to you as a subtle tap on the shoulder, a veritable whispered secret, in the way the sea calls to a sailor. Once you turn to answer, you'll keep going back for more... for ourselves, for closeness to God, for survival, a photo op, for passion, inspiration, or just, to escape. High Fives, slaps on the back and hugs to Lenoray, Ricky, Juwelin, Mama T, Nina, Quentin, Mike, Frank, Gavin, Nicole… and of course me. To great company, breathtaking views and sore limbs; Cheers! Till the next time... "To-morrow We Disappear Into The Unknown" "You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you'll discover will be wonderful. What you'll discover is yourself." Here’s some notes for those looking to give this hike a go, here are some vital bits of info… The Hut close to the summit sleeps about 20 so if your team is not big you will probably end up sharing the facilities with several teams. You will hence have to pre-book as there’s usually a waiting list (we somehow managed to squeeze in at the perfect time). Contact Megan for further arrangements and ironing out of details [email protected] The arrangements are as follows; you’ll drive to the “base” hut/house where your cars will be driven to a more secure location in the town of Robertson – where from you’ll be shuttled back to the house (facilities include beds/mattresses, kitchen, indoor braai, hot water, toilets etc… there is electricity). You’ll climb up to the hut on day one (also with warm water, mattresses braai place, so bring your own meat). You climb down on day 2 – brace yourself, it’s a B*t*h of a down climb! Call ahead on the way down for the shuttle, so you can collect your car/s. This hike is rated as SEVERE - and it lives up to it! Direction’s: From Worcester, enter Robertson (on main road/Voortrekker) Turn Left into Paul Kruger Street (just before KFC). Continue along this road for a while. It will feel as though you’re exiting Robertson as it bears/deviates slightly to the right. Eventually you’ll come to a four-way stop (with green fields ahead and to the right) Turn left into Paddy Street. (*Apologies, I was tired and didn’t count the number of streets you’ll pass to get this far). You’ll then pass through a small suburb. Drive straight; continue past the Dagbreek Primary School, and over the speed bumps. Eventually the road will turn to gravel and will bend toward the left. The road will wind up into the hills for a kilometer or 2 until you find the Dassishoek hut on your left (it has an open sided corrugated iron carport on one side. - Go in peace - God Bless! - |
[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
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