Opening CreditsAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 00:24
DedicationAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 00:12
IntroductionAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:51
01_Pot of ClayAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 00:45
02_Struggle Against EvilAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:13
03_Coming of AgeAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:01
04_Striving for the RightAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:33
05_On First Apprehending the Vision of aAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:31
06_Vain ExertionAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:57
07_Something of ValueAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:48
08_Elegy for the FallenAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:30
09_On the Origin and Fate of Love and DeAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:00
10_Nocturnal AscentAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:25
11_Mountain of Our DreamsAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:48
12_Festering EmbittermentAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:13
13_Pain My TeacherAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:26
14_True GloryAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:56
15_On The Nature of ChallengeAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 03:25
16_On The Nature of SpeechAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:04
17_Lost RedemptionAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:12
18_Precarious Ice Climbing in Ouray's BoAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:19
19_Parlous TomorrowAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:17
20_Broken ThingAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:10
21_The Melody of the MountainsAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:27
22_Fated ConditionAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:14
23 Journey to the Extremity of the Mundane....Alan V. GoldmanAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:15
24 Toward Insight....Alan V. GoldmanAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 04:59
25 My Self Struggle...Alan V. GoldmanAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:18
26 Moment of Clarity...Alan V. GoldmanAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 03:12
27 Distant Shores...Alan V. GoldmanAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:43
28 Incident Report...Alan V. GoldmanAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 01:56


Wild Structure

 By Alan V. Goldman


A boom, a crack, whoosh --

The echo of rolling thunder

Resonates inside my body;

All these are harbingers


Of the trembling, crushing

Naked power of the powdery

White death that flattens all

Before it, without discrimination,


And then transforms into

A sliding slurry that

Engulfs and swallows all


Hapless objects in its path

Before congealing into a

Cement-like sludge


Indiscriminately poured

Into an amorphous mold:


So, too, flow my uncorralled thoughts

Around, above, below, and through

The twisted paths inside my mind,


Into the liminal horizons

Lurking in-between the

Thoughts that careen about

The ill-defined boundaries

Barely structuring my ideas,


One from another, 'till

They merge into an amalgam

That has an internal coherence,

Not unlike the residue of an avalanche,

Existing for good or ill --


Its very being, however ill-formed,

Serving as its own rationale.

The Winds Speak

By Alan V. Goldman

Swirling about the silent slabs,

The mountain winds speak with

The ineffable wisdom borne of

Hearing the cries and confessions

Of all the lost and forgotten who

Regret having chosen a desultory path:


A way studded by fortuitous rewards gained through

Haphazard actions, not earned through merit,

But littered by random circumstances and serendipity.


O, how they yearn to have chosen the way

Of pursuing success by risking failure and

Exposure to peril in search of

Self-knowledge about the limits of frightful

Human endurance.


For in these climbers' defeats are untold glories

That far surpass any ignoble victories claimed by

Those who think they have found a plan to cheat fate.

And the winds continue to twirl about and about.


Paean to Being

By Alan V. Goldman

Slicing through the open sky
Your features give form to
Where there had been only
A devoid expanse without
Character or direction:

Vacant space no more,
Now imbued with design,
Further magnified by suffusion
With the purposeful intent imparted

To your skeletal features by
The climber's many storied travails.

O, if only your features could speak,
They would tell of the desperate
Ventured on your extended flanks,
Imparting human meaning to your Otherwise silent stone.

So your framework has rescued us
from the
bleak environs by furnishing the mise-

for climbers to act out their human
In the blank sky, no longer a desolate
void of
Airy nothingness, but the backdrop
for an active
Part of nature's being.



29 Eye Of The Beholder...Alan V. GoldmanAlan V. Goldman
00:00 / 02:14

Striving for the Top

 By Alan V. Goldman


Alluring like a majestic throne,

Its imposing summit always tauntingly

Visible while climbing beneath

Its maze of pathways below;


I wondered at its singular situation --

Passively awaiting its conquerors,

While silently watching them evade

Or overcome its defenses: its castle-like

Moats or bergschrunds;

Its trap doors or hidden crevasses

Its crenalations or jagged rockwalls,

Which seem so like ramparts or battlements

Challenging only those who would dare,

To win, as the motto goes.


Win what? The satisfaction of sitting

In the throne -- a symbol of both physical

Mastery and psychological dominion.


By Alan V. Goldman

Each time I review

The massive wall anew

Rejuvenation does ensue

While my spirit can pursue

All that is within my purview.


And what does my demesne encompass?

Is it all that I can possess?

Or only that which I can bless

By my having duly venerated it

Through subjecting myself to its fickle whims,


Thereby renewing my right to occupy its

Throne without having desecrated it.


Likewise, I have thus not denigrated

My own sphere of action that

I have so carefully aggregated


By not having deviously manipulated

My unalienable right to explore

My own view of happiness.


And this is the essence

Of the spirit of effervescence

That animates my quest

For the essay that will

Manifest the path to all seekers

after the Freedom of the Hills.

Into the Realm of the Mountain Gods

By Alan V. Goldman

Insolent, you self-exculpate yourself by having to furnish no alibi,

For you are always "there" -- a presence looming above underlings

Who scrape at the sky when they brazenly dare to seek your summit;


Little do they know that they are entering a different realm of being or reality

Where one's mind is captured by dwelling in the space of abstract ideas:

The very concept of a summit corrupts the life of their mind by not having

Given fair warning that they are trespassing into the plane of perfection,


Of archetypal representations of a perfection that doesn't exist on earth,

And are not meant to be comprehended by mortals whose very presence was not

Foreseen in this wilderness devoid of sentient beings, nor welcome in this

Parnassus of poetic composition.


Disappointment at failure to gain the summit is so easily transposed into

Self-castigation for "failure" to achieve mundane goals that are so trivial

In the grand scheme of things that climbing should not be undertaken with

Any expectation of success; indeed, it is the very uncertainty of the outcome

That is the draw of adventure, which must unfold in its own fashion.


And the concept of ideal perfection in the mountain realm, existing only outside the mind, remains pristine.

Enduring Love and The Human Condition

By Alan V. Goldman


Why do you arouse me with nothing more than the crossing of your legs?


Why do you provoke me with nothing more than the sotte voce purr of your throat?


Why do you spur me to a feverish pitch with nothing more than the sway of your hips to and fro?


How can I fail to alert you to my impulsive urge to lurch for your stimulating figure?


And how can I suppress my urgent attraction to your form without alerting your attention to my ceaseless longing,


As I also furtively struggled to conceal my would-be innocent, but deceitful glance at the dance floor -- without being caught in the very act of doing so?




Only by cultivating some genuine familiarity on the basis of shared interests

That might deactivate your finely-tuned protective radar, which otherwise would

Unmask the course of my campaign driven by my over-heated vision of your pulsating sway?


It's sometimes said that relationships founded on a shared intense experience,

E.g., of a mutual danger [like an accident on a mountain], don't survive the "test of time," but shrivel as the shock of

The shared trauma, without more, inevitably  recedes into oblivion.


If that's so, then how much less can a relationship founded merely on some shared

Abstract or vicarious experience of imagined intensity survive, where one based on an actual,

Disastrous life-event inevitably retreats into the recesses of memory?


So a lasting relationship must be based not only on superficial attraction, for as we

All have heard, "beauty fades" -- but love must also be based on some shared sense of enduring values

That will ultimately outlast the heat of passion.