When I get to the top of the mountain, I always take a
break. That’s my reward. I set my pack down in the shade of a tree
that grows through a crack in the rock. The
mountain stone is hard, but that’s okay because I am used to it. Soon I find the right spot, and I lay down
gently, easing my spine one vertebra after another. In a short while, the stone does not seem so
hard anymore. The leaves overhead block
out most of the blaring sun, and the wind that is constantly blowing up here
feels cool and welcome. I feel sleepy.
But soon I have to move again. The stone is too hard on my back. There must be a better spot just a fraction
of an inch over, I think to myself, so I move.
And then I move again. It is a
dance I engage in frequently with the mountain, but today he is having none of
it.
“Why don’t you go away, stupid human!” the mountain
says. (Don’t worry. I am used to his gruffness.)
“I will eventually, but I am tired now and I need a rest,”
I tell him.
“I am tired, too, but resting is the last thing I want!”
“That is because you are so strong,” I offer, hoping to
appease his moodiness, but as I said, today he is having none of it.
“Strong? Pah!” he
says, but I fancy he secretly likes it when I say that. I have told him this before, you see, and he
always snorts appreciatively. You have
to know how to deal with these mountains, after all.
“I am feeling generous today. Let me tell you a secret, so listen closely
or you will miss it, as usual. You see,
stone is not powerful at all. Your flesh
is more powerful,” he said. Now it was
my turn to snort.
“Pah!” I said, trying very hard to sound as gruff and
grating as he always does.
“No, it’s quite true, I assure you.”
“How so?” I asked.
“You have been here for thousands of years before me, and you will be
here thousands of years after me. You
can withstand tremendous force, tremendous storms, tremendous calamities. You are impervious to the sun and the wind,
to the rain and the snow and the ice. From
where I sit, you are the very definition of strength.”
“That is because you are stupid, I already told you that
part. You see, you and the rest of the
animals have the one thing I do not have, and that is the ability to move, the
ability to act. It is true that your
lifespan is minuscule compared to my existence, but because you have mobility,
you have life. You can create more
humans. You can plan things and carry those
plans out. You can join with others in
an army of human will. You can do
anything that you are capable of imagining,” he said.
“But you have strength!” I protested. “I would give anything to have one smidgeon
of your strength. You endure, so you
must be patient. You are steadfast, so
you must be loyal. You are changeless,
so you must be faithful. You are
beautiful, so you must be awe-inspiring.
These are not bad traits.”
“But they are not chosen traits, either,” he said. “I endure because I cannot leave. I am steadfast because I cannot move. I am changeless because I am lifeless. But beautiful? Yes, I am beautiful. Each day, though, tiny portions of me blow
away into the wind like grains of sand, and one day I will be no more. It is true that you will be long gone by
then, but there will be more of ‘you’ around.
There will be no more of me. When
I am gone, I am gone. And all that I may
have stood for will be gone. But all
that you have stood for will still be here because you will have passed it
on. I cannot do that.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. For all my imperfections, for all my mistakes
and foolishness, for all my aches and pains and obviously human limitations, I was
strong in the eyes of the mountain. My flesh,
which seemed so weak a minute ago, felt supple and sure. I could get up and go anywhere I wanted. I could do anything I wanted. I could set the wheels in motion for things
to occur long after I was gone. I could
move mountains.
“I have to leave now,” I said, “but I’ll be back next
week.”
“I wish you wouldn’t come back,” he said.
“But you know I will.”
“Yes, I know you will.”
“We could be friends,” I offered.
“I am stone, and stone is strength, not love.”
“You’ll get used to me.
You’ll see. I’ll be here.”
“So will I,” he said sadly.
