(Trough Creek State Park, PA. 2007. © Robin)
Mountains should be climbed with as little effort as possible and without desire. The reality of your own nature should determine the speed. If you become restless, speed up. If you become winded, slow down. You climb the mountain in an equilibrium between restlessness and exhaustion. Then, when you’re no longer thinking ahead, each footstep isn’t just a means to an end but a unique event in itself. This leaf has jagged edges. This rock looks loose. From this place the snow is less visible, even though closer. These are things you should notice anyway. To live only for some future goal is shallow. It’s the sides of the mountain which sustain life, not the top. Here’s where things grow.
~ Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
I have that book, the zen of motorcycle maintenance. What a great quote. Never read the book through… it turns out to be one of those I’ll just open to somewhere and read a bit then close. Walden by Thoreau, same thing.
Good quote. Funny thing about that book is that I read it three times (a long long time ago) but only up to about 2/3 of the way and everyone I know who has read the book had the same thing happen. One gets really involved and turning the pages and suddenly it all falls away…maybe like the side of a mountain?
I was thinking about that book the other day, sitting in the bathtub. I had it forever before finally reading it. When I read the quote (and the book), I walk away with an idea that there is no such thing enlightenment. That would be the lofty goal that we can never reach. There is only living this moment and this one. And this one.
Every moment is another foot forward up the mountain.
What a beautiful shot, Robin. And thanks for the reminder for the book, too. I’d love to read it again.
We’re always so harried (and hurried) to stand on that mountain top. Perhaps we think we’ll see the whole world spread before us. But once we’ve gotten to the summit, the overall view is fine, but the detail is lost. Rather like living, but not quite remembering anything we’ve done. Some people say to stop and smell the roses. Umm, not me. I’d rather pick up a pebble, roll it in my palm, or chew on a blade of grass. Anything though, to involve. I think that’s the word I want. Involved.
The photo is very soothing, very nice. And the quote? Well, it took me on those travels in the first paragraph. Sometimes I just write the words that pop out. But thanks for the inspiration.
I’ve never read ‘Zen’ and I keep thinking I need something to read. Maybe that would be a good choice.
Loved the quote, too, and wouldn’t naturally have associated it with that book, but it does fit.
Zen and the Art … seems to me very much a period piece, to be something of its time. I remember what a big deal it was when it first came out. And I think it had a lot to say that people were ready to hear, but that much of that, too, has now been absorbed by our culture, and I can imagine someone looking at it now and wondering why it was such a big deal then.
I’ll have to pick it up again, when I can make the freakin’ time. (I’ve got a bunch of your blogs I’d like to visit, too …
A prof once told us about a student who complained that Shakespeare wrote with so many cliches. Zen might be a little like that. Now the notions are commonplace.
Sidenote: Pirsig’s son was killed in an assault or robbery on Haight street, 10 or 15 blocks from where I sit writing this. Pirsig writes about it in an afterword he added to later editions of the book, many years after writing the novel, and of then getting a letter his son had mailed before the robbery. What a tough envelope to open.
Awesome picture and a good quote. I think I was turned off of the book by the title. Maybe I’ll try it again some time.
I really love this part of the quote:
“This leaf has jagged edges. This rock looks loose. From this place the snow is less visible, even though closer. These are things you should notice anyway. To live only for some future goal is shallow.”
This book was one that I read so long ago, but remember well. It changed me to read it. He’s right about the mountain. We should be noticing all along. And when you hike like that, or make your way through life’s mountains, it’s really noticing and being awake to each moment that counts. The future is so uncertain.
When I get too far ahead of myself, I start to worry. I like to remember to stay put. And stay awake. Thanks for the reminder.
Thanks everyone for your visit, and all of your interesting comments.
Ombudsben: I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to open that envelope. It was likely a very bittersweet moment.
Curious about the accuracy of my own memory, I went looking for the book here at home. (This is no longer the easy task of my bachelor apartment days. I wandered rooms and almost gave up before finding it in an unexpected place — but onward.)
It’s in the William Morrow Quill paperback edition, and the afterword is written in 1984. His son Chris had just left the Zen Center when he was robbed and said things to his robbers which apparently provoked them, he was stabbed and died at Haight & Octavia. The letter he wrote said he didn’t expect to live to the age of 23 — he was two weeks shy when he died. It’s on p. 415. The afterword talks about the impact of Chris’s death on their family and its very direct effect on beginning another life; if the book ever had any impact for you, it’s worth finding.
I’ve read the book. And also climbed some real life mountains! Pretty sound advice on all counts - life as well as mountaineering, however, there are times when you’ve got to persevere even when it hurts (i.e. “if you become winded,[DON'T] slow down”).