When I was young, a mountain spoke to me.

It was a totally unexpected and unsolicited experience. Blake Fell sits on the seaward edge of the English Lake District, its eastern face turned towards the wild and untouched lake of Loweswater. I was standing alone at its feet, looking back up to the summit after a strenuous climb, and suddenly felt an intense heat rising from the ground through the soles of my feet. It was the voice of the mountain – I knew it absolutely. It was touching me in a somatic way rather than through words or images.

I also knew that it was looking for a response, a reciprocation ...

 

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