It seems to me that a mountain is an image of the soul as it lifts itself up in contemplation. For in the same manner as the mountain towers above the valleys and lowlands at its foot, so does the soul of the one who prays mount into the higher regions up to God like an eagle taking wing.
My soul is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
It neithr sleeps, nor dreams, but watches,
its eyes wide open, sees
far-off things, and listens
at the shore of the great silence.