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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-12-11 | |
Last night
new waves of emigrants backpacked the borders into neighboring countries; most politicians were shaking hands at the world summit, others were touring troubled territories preaching permanent peace. I was with my spouse, and a few hundred folks on The Queen Mary, when we hit the deck at sea. For the inconvenience they gave us a bonus: a field day in the longest known cave. I couldn’t be more thrilled as I had always a hitch to explore. Now I’m not a climber because it’s easy to foresee the peak, and since the sky’s the limit you can go no higher. But caving is different: you never know to where you go, your routes twist and turn in darkness, with neither view nor progress except what you imagine in your mind. And when you reach the end it’s just another place, often a small one, barely large enough to contain your body. Yet there is no end, it’s you, you cannot go on caving. You may have missed a tiny hole that goes on. But if you make it, there is nothing like emerging into the starry night.(Samsara?) This morning during breakfast I had one of my apocalyptical insights: the only probable salvation for all those left out is to wave the bat population at the entrance to Mammoth Cave.
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