The Mountain has always existed ...
As your people first arrive in this land, The Mountain is there.
As your people multiply and build a village, The Mountain is there.
As your mother labors to bring her child into the world, The Mountain is there.
And so you appear in the village and slowly grow into consciousness.
The Mountain is close and large throughout this time — so close and so large that, for many years, you cannot see it.
It is your parents who first point out The Mountain. They tell you that it watches over your people, and that your people respect The Mountain. They tell you that The Mountain will watch over you too, but that you must listen to The Mountain.
You grow up happy that The Mountain is watching over you, your family, your village, and your people.
As you get a little older, you begin to spend more time outside of your home. You start to notice the people of the village talk about The Mountain in a different way:
When good things happen, they say, "We have The Mountain to thank!"
When bad things happen, they say, "We have disappointed The Mountain!"
These people give you stern warnings about what you should and should not do to keep The Mountain from getting angry. You feel uncomfortable about this.
Then you notice most of the adults nod in agreement when people talk about angering The Mountain, but they don't seem to actually worry about it. You expect something bad to happen to them because of this, but there does not seem to be a connection between those who follow the rules and good or bad things happening. Both happen to everyone, and The Mountain seems to have nothing to do with it.
You decide to stop worrying about The Mountain.
One day when you are a little older, you are outside playing with the other children and you get the feeling you are being watched. You look up from your games and there is The Mountain. You feel as if The Mountain is staring at you. You do not feel afraid. You feel strangely calm before The Mountain. You feel curious about The Mountain, but do not know why. You stare back. You feel it is trying to speak to you. You cannot actually hear what The Mountain is saying, but you feel it. It is as if it wants something from you, and wants to give you something in return, but you don't know what. You are not sure what to do next, so you keep looking.
From that day forward, The Mountain is visible to you in a new way. You see it everywhere and you watch it as it watches you. It begins to appear even in your dreams. There is something mutely beckoning to you from The Mountain. It seems to want you to draw nearer and listen more intently, so you try.
In your heart you commit yourself to The Mountain. There is something there you feel you need to understand.
You grow older and stronger in the shadow of The Mountain. In your plans and aspirations you always hold a place for The Mountain. It is as if there is something The Mountain has called on you to do, some part it should play in your life, but you do not know what. At some point, you commit to a plan: One day you will climb The Mountain and you will hear its voice clearly from the top.
As you grow up, you continue to prepare for this journey. You listen eagerly whenever anyone has something to say about The Mountain and you ask many questions. Some people give you suggestions on how to proceed, but most people admonish you to give up on such folly. Occasionally, you meet someone who seems to neither encourage nor discourage, but instead asks you questions that do not seem to make sense. They want to know about your desire and its source. They want to know what you are looking for and why you think it is to be found there. You sense they know more than they are saying, but you do not know what it is and they won't tell you. You keep asking questions.
One day you begin to climb. You do not know if you are ready or not, but your path has finally brought you to the foot of The Mountain, and so you begin. As you climb you feel smaller and smaller as all you know drops away behind you and the goal looms ahead. It is a hard climb. You think about quitting, but once you start there is nothing to do but keep climbing, and so you keep on. The journey takes several days and, even though you have prepared, the climb is longer, harder, and colder than you ever imagined. Still, you press on with all you have.
Using all your strength, you reach the top.
The top of The Mountain is bare and empty. After years of thinking and dreaming, months of planning, and days of climbing, you stand on top of The Mountain that has so dominated your mind and heart. Looking out from The Mountain, all you see are more mountains, with deep valleys between them through which you can barely make out faint, interconnecting roads that connect dozens of villages just like your own. From each of these villages a faint, worn track winds up the side of The Mountain leading to the peak on which you stand. You stand on a desolate peak of ground that sits on top of the whole world, all of it disappearing into the endless blue mist of distant mountains merging into the endless blue of the sky. You look upward for a way to climb further, but there is none. You are at the very highest point, and there are no more steps upward. You have come to the end of the road, and so you stand, shivering in the cold wind of the summit, straining intently for a voice that never comes.
You feel nothing change while you stand at the summit: the wind blows, you shiver in the cold, your tired legs ache, your ears strain, your voice calls out, but nothing changes. Nothing happens. There is no flash of illumination. You know nothing now that you did not know before. You see nothing you could not see before. You have no greater strength than you had before. You feel a deep disappointment inside as your heart lets go of the only true goal you have ever had. You put your whole self into climbing The Mountain and now you are empty and there is nothing.
With a heavy heart, you realize you have no choice but to descend. Only, you don't want to go back the way you came. After telling your village of your plan to commune with The Mountain, you are too embarrassed and disappointed to return home, so you choose one of the other paths worn by the feet of disappointed pilgrims like yourself and set off, not caring where this road takes you.
After several days of walking you approach a village that looks much like your own. In a weak and weary state you come staggering along the road and a few people come out to meet you. They don't recognize you, but they know you have come from The Mountain. Some of the people are curious about you, some are scared, and some are indifferent. They ask you to tell them your story. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. The thoughts of The Mountain are large, as The Mountain itself is large. Your mouth, though, is the same size as before. So you speak of emotions. You speak in analogy. You try to explain how hard you have searched and how you did not find anything. Your words do not make sense and the people think you are crazy. You begin to wonder if you are crazy and if you can live in a village again.
You stagger through the town, trying to find a place that is welcoming, but now everyone seems to avoid you or mock you. In the town square you slump to the ground with hunger, fatigue and despair. You don't think you belong here. You don't think you belong anywhere, but you don't know where to go or what to do.
You are completely lost.
It is at this moment that someone approaches you and says, "Do not explain anything".
They help you up and walk with you to their home. There they give you a plate of food and a bed for the night. In the morning they give you work to do. You try to ask them what they know about The Mountain, but they won't speak of it. They just focus you on food, sleep and work. The next day is the same. And the next.
While you are working, you think about what has happened. You had thought nothing had changed when you were on The Mountain, but now that you are back in the village, you feel as if something is different, though you cannot put into words what it is. You are also aware it feels like a part of you is no longer with you. It remains on The Mountain. It does not watch you, but it continues to look outward into the distance. Somewhere deep within you, the connection to that piece remains, and you feel that high place, that empty space, that vision into the distance. It appears when you close your eyes at night. It appears in your dreams. It is as if you are still looking out into the distance, even when you are looking down at the dirt and mud beneath your feet.
You are not the person that you were. You have no idea what you are to do next, so you keep working. The change that came from climbing The Mountain makes the world look different, but it does not change your basic needs for food, clothing, shelter, and company. You find a place to live. You choose work to do. You become a part of the village and the people forget about your trip to The Mountain, but you don't forget — the part of you on top of The Mountain remains.
You work all day and then you sleep. You sleep all night and then you wake. You do this day after day, and you begin to get used to this new life. You return to the mundane business of living.
Eventually, you have your own place of work, near the town square. Occasionally you look up from your work to see someone coming into town who looks like they have come from The Mountain. You do not approach them at first, but watch them as you work. You see them try to explain what they've seen to anyone who will listen, but they stammer, as if unfamiliar with themselves and the process of making words. People jeer and make fun of them. When the crowd leaves and the traveler slumps down in frustration and weariness, you go out to them. You help them move along or get situated where they are. You don't tell them what you know, but you tell them what they need to do. They have questions, but you don't answer.
The truth is, you don't know what to tell them — you don't have any answers either, but you know what they must do to survive. They are grateful and they relax and start to get back to living in the valley.
You keep living.
One day a stranger approaches you. The stranger says he has heard you have climbed The Mountain and he says he has climbed too. He tells you that there is a group of people like you and that you must meet them. This group is in possession of deeper knowledge about The Mountain, and they have decided you are worthy to share in this knowledge. Eager to be with others who share your experience, you go with him. You hope you will finally have the understanding you have sought for so long.
At the appointed time you meet with a group of people in a secluded place where you can talk freely. There is much discussion and argument. People talk passionately about what they think The Mountain is and where they think its power comes from. They argue about what must be done with what they've learned. Some believe the group must tell everyone about The Mountain and bring others to it. Some insist the group should tell no one and keep others away from it. Some talk about worshipping The Mountain and the rules that must be followed. Some can only talk about their particular experience on The Mountain. Though they are talking about the same Mountain, everyone seems to have their own idea of what The Mountain means.
They want to know what you think. They want you to commit to their group. You feel uncertain.
The group continues its discussion and you hear many things, but the one thing you do not hear is The Mountain. Wanting to clear your head, you go outside and see the outline of The Mountain in the moonlight. Outside the room The Mountain is clear to see and clear to hear. You don't rejoin the group arguing about what The Mountain is. You stay outside and keep listening to The Mountain. There is no demand for allegiance or for changing others' minds — you must only listen.
You stop looking for others to tell you what The Mountain is saying and you keep listening for yourself.
The years go by and you meet a partner. You commit to each other, move into a home together, and start to build a family. Your hard work has earned you a position in the community. You have people you love and who love you. You are content in almost every way you can think of. You live your life, care for your people, and keep an eye out for those coming down from The Mountain. You wonder if there is more that The Mountain is asking you to do, but you don't know what it could be. You keep listening. You keep living. You keep doing your best.
One day, later in your life, you look toward The Mountain for some kind of message or inspiration and you realize something has happened — The Mountain has gone completely mute. You are not sure when or how this has happened, but something that sustained you has now deserted you, and you are very sad. You look to The Mountain for several days and earnestly plead for something, but there is only silence. You try speaking to The Mountain in every way you can think of. You apologize for everything you might have done wrong. You go over your life carefully for any place where you might have broken your commitment to The Mountain, but you cannot find anything to explain The Mountain's silence.
After many days of frustration, you give up. With no response from The Mountain, you turn away in despair and accept that you are alone. But in so doing you feel The Mountain looking at you once more — not from the distant rock above the village, but from someplace within you. You don't understand and think you are imagining things, but over the next few days you keep looking alternately at The Mountain and within yourself, and one is empty while the other is full. You don't know how this has happened, but somehow The Mountain now seems to be inside you.
Gradually you realize that what was talking to you was not The Mountain to begin with — it was something within you. Now you see more clearly, and you understand where the voice has been coming from all along. You are overjoyed to have The Mountain with you once more.
You grow still older and the voice of The Mountain within you becomes clearer, even as The Mountain above the town moves in and out of darkness, shadow and mist. You feel confident you are in tune with a rhythm and you stay quiet so you can always hear it in the background of your mind. The Mountain is with you always now.
You start to become known within the village for your wisdom and your knowledge of The Mountain. Sometimes young people seek you out to ask you about The Mountain. They remind you of yourself at a younger time, so eager and insistent. You tell them as much as you think they can handle. For some you speak at length. For some you ask hard questions. For some you offer encouragement. For some you just smile and say nothing. It is the voice of The Mountain within you that tells you how much to say to each, and you follow it.
Several more years go by. The voice of The Mountain that comes from within is your constant companion, and you are careful to always keep your ears sharp and listen for its voice. Despite your commitment to be vigilant, one day you strain to hear The Mountain, but once again it is gone. You are calmer this time, and you look and listen carefully within. You find you still feel The Mountain, but the voice is no longer there. You strain to hear something, but there is only silence. You are confused about what you could have done to lose the most valuable thing in your life and you grieve to think this voice that has guided you through your whole life might be gone forever. As you try to imagine what the voice within would say about this latest loss, you find that you already know what is happening. From somewhere within, it comes to you that the voice is no longer there because it is no longer necessary — The Mountain is now a part of you. Not hovering near you. Not speaking from somewhere within you. It is just ... part of you ... and you are part of it ... and you cannot explain what has happened, but you know that it has taken place. You have never felt so deeply peaceful and happy.
You no longer ponder what The Mountain wants you to do because you know. And each day you do the things you want to do. The both of you. The One of you. You continue living your life, and you are at peace.
You continue to live and work, but somehow the 'work' has ceased to be work. You feel you are doing what you want to and you know what to do now. When it is done, you know what to do next. There is no pushing from something more. There is no missing piece. You feel complete.
One day, many years after your birth, you are sick and cannot get out of bed. Your family gathers around you. On that day you lie in your bed and look through the window and there is The Mountain. As you gaze at The Mountain you feel the world around you. You feel your body lying on a bed in your home. You feel the valley in which the village sits. You feel the streams that run through the valley and the hills that rise above it. You feel The Mountain. You feel the other mountains around it. You feel the many villages, clinging to their flanks. You feel the people in each village. You feel those hills slope down to the sea, and you feel the endlessness of the ocean that stretches off to the horizon. You feel the great arc of the sky stretched out above your whole world and circling back to the opposite horizon before it curls back up the valley behind you in a great circle. You feel it all. It is a part of you. You are a part of it. It is as if there is no separation anymore — the land, sky, sea, and people all flow through you.
You feel that part of yourself that you left on top of The Mountain all those years ago. That part is with you too. And you are with it. In the village. On top of The Mountain. On the sea. In the air.
Everywhere.
With your eyes fixed on The Mountain, the life within you moves on.
Your body is carried from your home by your family and close friends. A crowd gathers to say goodbye as a noted person of the village is laid to rest within a small hill in the shadow of The Mountain. The people around your grave talk about you and tell stories of your life, and many of them refer to your love of The Mountain.
Some look toward The Mountain with curiosity.
Some look toward The Mountain with reverence.
Some look toward The Mountain with conviction.
Some look toward The Mountain with fear.
Some appear focused on something within themselves.
Some see nothing but a lifeless body and a lifeless rock.
You are no longer there, but The Mountain is.
The Mountain has always existed ...