Knowledge         Roped together, our rest steps and pressure breaths propel our forward motion like synchronized swimmers through the subzero, supraglacial abyss

Each step a kiss, intercourse of crampons gently penetrating snow, it's no

Wonder our goggles are fogged,

Pendular swing of ice axes guides our steps to the summit of ecstasy upon which we pivot on an axis of depleted oxygen molecules

At the apex, it is like we are baptized in mid-air above the earth, but submersed in the precipitation of concentrated ultraviolet, blessed in the purple haze our ancestors' royal garb

Together we spin 360 degrees enveloped by the panoramic backdrop of cumulus comforters and ice sheets

Each time we spin, each time we spin, each time we spin

The sum of each rotation impregnates our minds for 9 seconds, giving birth to renewed thoughts of love

Will our offspring be nurtured? . . . .

Wisdom             Within minutes, as if breastfed by a diet of apathy and neglect, withering bodies of love are whisked from our circumference and wisped into cirrus

                        Other bodies plop limp on the ice beneath our feet, creating miniature vibrations to shift our tectonic plates

                        I violently shake, my vision becomes blurred, my legs are now glaciated appendages of towering ice falls ready to collapse and . . .

                        Everything is still, silent. So silent that I can hear the increased blood flow through my veins and arteries like raging rivers as my heart pumps faster and my lungs try to gulp atoms of oxygen

                        So silent that I can hear synaptic firings in my brain like gun shots, each bullet an individual realization that I am alone, the end of my rope . . . drifting . . . in space

                        Cold, suffocating and thick like beams of steel painfully squeezed through my tightened pores of flesh to crush bones

                        With despair, I accept my fate, resigned to for_ever_rest, to for_ ever_rest in the death zone, fetally positioned next to frozen bodies of love . . . .

Understanding    As my eyes close, my chest seems to rumble quietly, as if a muffled voice speaking from my soul seeks to deliver a departing soliloquy

                        I listen closely and hear what appear to be words interspersed by or punctuated with white noise

                        I reach for my chest to read the vibrations like my hand was a Rosetta stone and I was interpreting an ancient script of my past life, only to realize that . . . it is only my radio. They must be calling from base camp.

                        Half-conscious, I pull the device from my inside parka pocket, and tune the frequency to listen to the transmissions.

                        "Yo, veda36, this is J-Matic, man. You gotta get out of that zone and come back down, man. We're. . . [static, garbled transmission]. Yo, sun, this is E-Solo, we gotta talk. Don't fade out. You. . . [static, garbled transmission]. Hey, Mr. B, this is Black Cloud. Let me know if you need to. . . [static, garbled transmission]. D, this is Bill. Once you get your legs moving. . . [static, garbled transmission]. D-Shot, this is Will. Man, you gotta get back on that. . . [static, garbled transmission]."

                        As the transmissions stream from the radio, shadows seem to dance around the sun, simultaneously eclipsing the light, and drowning out the voices with every step

                        Then . . . an odd thing occurs. As if emerging from a cocoon, the frozen bodies of love slowly begin to wriggle to life, feeding off the hertz frequency.

                        Using the end of my rope, and lifting with all of their combined strength, they pull me to my feet and begin leading me down the mountain

One resting on my shoulder whispering in my ear, others bridging crevasses and supporting the precariously perched chunks of ice, while guiding my every step

When I see their strength, I realize that . . . love conceived can never be aborted, love born can never be destroyed, only recycled and nurtured

It is with that conviction that I stumble to the base of the mountain, spin and collapse backwards, my vision affixed to the summit. The bodies of love begin to amputate the frostbitten tips of my heart, my vision affixed to the summit. My thoughts intrepidly traverse every glaciated kilometer of the mountain, my vision affixed to the summit

With labored breath, I declare the intention to once again float above Everest

Will I, Ever_rest?

This poem is dedicated to all those who helped me safely navigate down the mountain, and who have invested their love in helping me return home.