Yes, padodes, there is always more to a mountain than meets the eye, ergo this passionate debate on the iconic Irish mountain. That one has appeared indifferent, poetically or otherwise, toward mountains, hills and bumps or created the notion that a mountain is capable or incapable of being indifferent, surprises. Not the mountain though, it continues to not give two hoots consideration. I’ve confused, obviously. What Irish mountain could be considered the best embodiment of that Idea or Ideal of ‘mountain-ness’, you ask?
The one that has all the millions of little bits of 'mountainess' whirling around and doing intricate mountainy convolutions best, inside the mountain, I guess. It is defining it that causes the problem. ‘A quintessential expression (a ‘paradigm’ or ‘icon’) of what makes a perfect mountain and of which all our visible mountains are but partial and imperfect embodiments’ to quote yourself. So lets sheathe our dagger definitions for a minute, and allow me re-iterate that recommendation to immerse oneself in the range on offer as given by the likes of those mountainy men, Kirk, Beighton, and of course our own simon, pdtempan, wicklore, ahendroff, C.Murphy, dbloke, to name just a few, to get an inkling of how difficult a task it may be, to select the Iconic Mountain of Ireland.
In all likelihood, there may be countless opinions, including Patrick Kavanagh’s, and no definitive one isolated, because we cannot rule out the eye of the beholder, or his head and heart in relation to ‘iconic mountain’, but that is only my opinion. The fun lies in the consideration. In answer to the question, which one would I chose for the flag? Personally I would run with one of those interesting Platonic invisible ones mentioned, or the beautifully mathematical precision of the Tetractys, so that one includes the range as well as the singular, and the poetic, but I jest. Quote ‘In the end, no artistic magnification of a pebble can give you the same vertigo as an encounter with the symmetry of a soaring, sky-scraping, scintillating colossus of rock.’ Un-quote. Well….maybe…. unless it’s the magnitude of that specific little round pebble, dancing its intricate mountainy convolutions, down the side of scintillation, alongside its brother pebbles, under a sheet of sliding shale, under both ones feet while making one’s way down a- Devils- Coach- Road- like of descent. To whom then does one's heart cry out to, the colossus to stop soaring or the little pebble to stop sliding in its blessed indifference? In the end? Yes, very possibly.