A mountain always spoils one of self-importance and gives the human being the due proportion in comparison to the staggering vastness we call Nature. Mountains are always present in our lives, both the stony ones and the ones made of challenges, grief, suffering and obstacles. Either of them has to be climbed while learning the paths, the perils, the wonder and the beauty of this kind of journey. What awaits us on their top is far more worth than all the fear and struggle of arriving up there.
One day, when Time knew no hours, and space was put in front of people only to be discovered, an old shaman took the unknown paths of a mountain. It called him, and he was wise enough to listen when signs were talking. His many years slowed his pace, but the burden he carried was in his heart. With the passing of time, he gathered inside it plenty of suffering and grief: his own and of his fellows. Even his knowledge weighed too much in his soul. When he started doubting himself, how could he share wisdom and seed hope in the hearts of those in need?
He trod for three days on the dark paths of the mountain, through the thick forest, hearing only the cries of the animals and the voice of the winds. When he arrived on the top, a sudden feeling of peace wrapped his heart. Silence reigned, and the grass was twinkling green in the light of the sun. He had never seen such a neat mountain peak and all covered in grass!
He tilted his head backwards, closing his eyes and letting the sun rays caress his weathered face. He took a deep breath, for then to open his eyes and notice a steep in front of him. He approached its rim and looked down at what seemed to be a round lake. The whole sky mirrored its face in the clear, tranquil waters. He turned around wanting to sit on the grass, when a thundering voice startled him.
“Where are you?”
“On the top of a mountain.” he answered.
“You’re on the crater of a volcano.”
“That’s why I saw that round lake.” the shaman mumbled to himself.
“Go and look at it again! And pay attention!”
The shaman did as he was said. When stepping on the rim of the crater, the mountain seemed to move, making him slip towards the abyss. Fear made him fall on his knees, grasping the tufts of grass tightly. He always feared heights, but that fear seemed to have vanished when he had arrived there. Now, it came back with a force that dragged him downwards. He turned, never letting loose the tufts of grass, and on his knees, he started crawling up to the top.
“Do you fear falling, shaman?” asked the thundering voice.
“Yes, I dread heights!”
“I ask you again: where are you?”
Arriving back on its peak, the shaman looked around. Everything told him that he was on a mountain, but inside he felt the darkness of the abyss. He had already fallen!
“Should I have told you that you’re in a garden, would you have thought that what you saw down there was a pond?” continued the voice.
Somehow, lately, he kept forgetting listening to his intuition, and he felt those words like a thunder carving through his heart. He was ashamed and lost.
“Reality is what we think of it. I know!” said the shaman.
“And if you know, why do you believe other voices than the one that is most important: your heart’s?”
“Because reality also offered me a lot of pain and grief when I least expected. My thoughts didn’t make a difference, and I still suffered.”
“The mountain shook, but you’re still on its top. How come, you, old shaman?”
“I found a way of getting back up, even if on my knees.”
The shaman stopped. In life, it did not matter what was the resort behind his taking another step. Fear, will, strength—if they all made him move and find a way of dealing with challenges, if they all made him want to walk his journey up to his mountain top, then they were all good and equal. He had his visions and knew beforehand that certain things would happen, yet, life remained the greatest mystery, and like any mystery, it loved to unfold in unpredictable ways, sometimes. These situations made him angry and doubt his wisdom and power.
“I ask you one last time, shaman: where are you?” thundered the voice.
The old man, while trying to stand up, noticed some dark shapes that cut through the grass. They seemed like lightings fallen on earth. Then he remembered the lake that mirrored the sky and the strangeness of that green mountain peak.
“I’m here, in the sky with you. I have a vision, and you are…”
“Don’t say it! My name is only for those who are willing to listen. So, you still haven’t answered.”
“I’m only an old shaman lying on the green grass of the fields behind his village and watching the stormy sky. I’m almost on the top of my mountain, but still wandering on its paths in search of a way of getting up there and feeling the peace of the sun rays caressing my old face. I know I’ll find again that path, which I strove to make my own for all my life, and doubt of having my own trail to walk will never show its face again. I’m sure I’ll doubt many other things, but not that this is my path. And when I get on the top of the mountain, I’d love to look back and see that I’ve left behind a little bit of tranquillity like the still waters of that lake, a little bit of light like the short, intense flare of the lightning and a little bit of strength and kindness like the grass that welcomed and helped me in climbing. I am where I'm supposed to be: immersed in my life, with doubts and fears, but also with will and strength to overcome them.”
© Copyright 2011 Irina Serban. All rights reserved.
