The Mountain in the Sea

There’s a mountain in the sea. I feel the roots running through mine and strengthening me, but the people are different. They walk upon the surface of the earth and know not the life this mountain brings. Messengers have come from the mountain in the dead of night, brining news of day, but the people slept in disbelief. Now that the sun has risen for days, months, years, the villagers no longer suffer from the night. They go on with their lives as if night will not last because the coming of dawn is all they know.

Few do know of this mountain though, and they travel years to see it. They gaze out across the ocean into the mist. Mist covers the mountain from head to foot, at least that’s what they believe. Indeed, no man can tell where the mountain begins and ends. They know not how much of the mist it occupies. Does the mountain come to the very edge of the mist? Does it only rise like a tiny hill out of the sea? What really lies there?

They stand on the shore and ask themselves while seagulls fly overhead. Some stare up at the sky and study the flight of the gulls. They translate the patterns and cries into human language and share it with each other.

“One day, the mist will rise,” they say to each other, “We will look out into the sea, and instead of a vague mist showing only the location of a mountain, we shall see a mountain. And this mountain is unlike others. This mountain is the King of mountains, and all other mountains are mere imitations. This mountain lives and moves and has its being, while all other mountain must draw life from far below the surface of the earth. This mountain does not take life. It is life itself and gives life to all.”

Some scoff at these words and turn away. “There is no mountain,” they say to themselves. "If there were some mighty mountain in the sea, I would not have suffered so. The mountain does not give life, because there is no mountain.” And they walk away from the shore, refusing to look behind one last time in hope.

But others stay. They stay and stare at the mist in wonder as it shifts and transforms around the mountain. They watch it expand and shrink, all the time hoping to catch a glimpse.

“What will happen when we see it?” They wonder.

“I will tell you,” comes a voice they did not expect. How could they expect an answer to a question they did not voice? “I will tell you what lies beyond the mist. I will tell you what will happen.

“On the last day, the mist will roll back and lift up. It will shrink and consolidate into clouds until the fog lifts. Yes, then. Then, light shall stream forth unlike any you have known, for this light is the light of life. It is the power behind breath, behind heartbeats, behind sight and sound. It is the power beyond all power. On that day, light will stream forth and illuminate the world for the first time. Dawn knows this day is coming, and as she peeks up over the horizon, she blushes with shame as she tries to imitate the light of the mountain. On that day, souls will stand forth from their bodies and men and women will look at each other with wonder. They will know what is dark and what is not. They will know who has lived hoping for this day, and who has shunned the very thought. They will know.”