A Mountain Story . . .

 

Story: The Land of the Mighty Mountain

 

 

There was once a country famed far and wide for its holy mountain.  People from all over the world had heard about the holy mountain, but the strange thing was, the people who actually lived in that country had a habit of walking around with their eyes always focused on the ground.  They never lifted their heads. And if you asked them what they were doing, they would tell you: ‘We are searching for the holy mountain, of course. Why don’t you join us in the search? This is where you must look.’

And so they lived their lives, restless, moving round in circles, walking up and down the many lanes and alleyways of their country, poring over their maps and arguing with each other about where, exactly, the holy mountain was to be found.

Meanwhile, the holy mountain soared to the skies, waiting patiently for the people to discover its beauty and its power, and saddened to watch them picking their way through the world and never stopping to look up.

In one part of the country, there was a large lake, with water as smooth as glass. The mountain was reflected in this lake, and many of the people of that country would gather around the lake, point to the reflection and claim that they had discovered the mountain.  Some of them jumped into the lake and were drowned. Others thought that the mountain had an evil influence, and turned away from the lake. Others decided that, after all, there was no such thing as a holy mountain.

Then one day, amid all the hustle and bustle of the people’s desperate search for the mountain, one of them fell over, and was almost trampled to death by the milling feet all around him. He lay there, flat on his back, thinking that his end must surely be close, when to his amazement; he looked up and saw the holy mountain towering serenely above him. He tried to tell everyone what he had seen, but no one believed him, so he set off alone to seek out the path that would lead him to the mountain.

It was a hard journey, for the path was sometimes steep and perilous, and he kept losing sight of his goal. Many times he fell in his journeying, and every time he fell, he would see, once more, the mountain he was searching for, and be encouraged to keep on walking.  And as he walked, he noticed that the only other people on the path to the mountain were disabled or sick, or were carrying some great load that had made them topple over in their need.  He realized that only those who had fallen were ever able to see the mountain, and only those who knew the full meaning of the word ‘down’ could ever look up. (Source Unknown)