Fact or Fiction #3 - Rock Paradox

As my hands grip the cold rock, I feel the burning chill penetrate through my skin. At this point I’m uncertain whether it’s the cold or the abrasions on my hands that are making them numb, but I welcome the numb.

My hands are no longer “hands”, but they must be tools… in this case – anchors. I shove my hand into a crack of the rock and make a fist, I twist my fist until it’s wedged in – wedged in tight. Tight enough that when I lean away from the cliff, as I push with my legs with all my might, my feet are forced flush to the stone surface. My legs are horizontal, the rock cliff is vertical, I shuffle my feet another few inches up… still leaning away… still pushing away… the paradox of pushing away from the rock to stay connected to the rock has long left my mind… all I know is that it’s working… keep pushing… keep learning away.

I shove my other hand into a higher crack, make a fist… twist that lump of meat until it’s wedged in tight… then lean away… push away. The cold has passed unbearable and has become nonexistent. I feel nothing, but hear everything. My breathing, the cloth of my shirt rubbing against my jacket, my boots as they inch their way up the plumb side of stone, my heart, the wind.

Then suddenly a sensation… nerve ending are stimulated… something colder then the bitter shroud that has engulfed me… on my face… something… wet.

A rain drop… a single drop of rain that was soon followed by others. I watched as they glided softly, quietly from heaven. They landed on the rocky surface and turned it white… solid… frozen. As more drops covered the rock, a layer of ice slowly formed. I was fascinated by the sight. I watched as the ice grew, I watched as it covered my arms and my legs, and as filled the crack.

My hand would no longer wedge into the crack. The ice had made residence there and my soft fleshy tools were no longer up to the task. The hand that was still wedged was slipping… sliding out… covered in ice. I was still leaning… pushing away… holding myself tight into the rock face. I start thinking about the paradox again, a situation where two facts/situations are opposite or contradictory, and a link between them can seem absurd, yet both can sometimes be true at the same time. Pushing away from the rock had kept me close to it. For nearly 200 vertical feet the paradox had worked. My hand is no longer in the crack. I’m puzzled how my hand can be so cut up and still not hurt… my feet are no longer hugging the rock. One of my laces is becoming untied. I hear the wind as it rushes by.