Timothy Lawton

8/1/1997
Once, a long, long time ago, a man ascended a mountain
But not the great mountain that stood to the east of town
No, he conquered a greater mountain
A mountain it takes more than legs and arms to climb
An edifice higher than the sky, one that cannot be seen, but only felt
Deep in his soul he felt the rocks, the rocks of want
And for years he felt those rocks, he felt them at the base of the mountain
With each rock he encountered he sought to see if he could pass, and if he could he walked on
But if he could not, he tried to find those cracks and crevices upon which he could climb
And in this way he ascended, conquered each step of the great mountain he had inside
Deep within his soul
Yes, deep within his soul he felt the boulders multiples and times larger than the rocks
It took him so many years to conquer the boulders of granite, hardened with pride, amplified with self-confidence
By now when he looked back he could see the valley below him
The wind whipped past his face blowing with impunity on the bare side of the mountain’s middle
Then he would look up the steep and treacherous terrain ahead with determination, examining each of these massive obstacles that obstructed his path for some way around
And if he could not walk he sought those cracks and crevices, or other means, by which he might ascend
Moving slowly in the thinning air, but steadily higher and higher, until that day he passed the trials of the boulders deep within his soul
Yes, deep within his soul he felt that icy peak of doubt
Cold and obscured by clouds except on those bright sunny days of honesty when the truth of the light revealed in a glistening white sheen his final impediments
Now he looked back and the valley below him was but one of many
And the wind whipped at him in a ferocious attempt to throw him back down from whence he came

Then he looked up and saw the sky, and his path there was blocked by on more set of steep and slippery terrain
Planning each step, every placement of his hand, persistently orchestrating each move of his grueling ascent, until that day he finally set foot as high as he could go
Resting safely on the pinnacle of faith
Though he slipped occasionally, and had to climb his way back up, he spent most of the days of the rest of his life above the rock ridge and ice of this mountain in the depths of his soul
Yes the depths of his soul
All the townspeople with which he lived regarded him as a saint, but he said no
That they were just climbing and that he still fought to keep his balance and not fall down
Yet, upon his death they sought a way to remember him
A way to remind themselves of his journey, and theirs’ also
High up, high on the icy peak to the east of town, they erected a cross of gold and it shone brightly in the sun, always bringing the townspeople to recall his journey, and their own, as well
Years and years passed, and one day the townspeople decided that such a large cross of gold was a waste as a simple reminder, no less when they could only see it on sunny bright clear days
Why not cast one of silver and place it on the middle of the Mountain?
Then they could use the extra money to build a theatre, fountains, or some other monuments to brighten up the town
The one’s they had were just not up with the current style and they seemed so poor compared to the other villages around
So they set about their plan to retrieve the gold cross and replace it with the cross of silver
Then later, many more years passed and the townspeople felt belittled in the reflections of the silver cross’ rays beaming from the middle of the mountain
Had not each of them conquered their own mountain
Had they not each, in their own way, conquered the pinnacle of faith
As they sipped from the golden goblets their forefathers had forged from the golden cross
So, it was decided that they should take down the silver cross and make practical use of it as had been done with the cross that had gone before

And to keep with tradition they would add a wooden cross to replace it, but when they tried to ascend    the slope they kept slipping on the rocks and couldn’t even get up to the boulders carrying this cross
So, this time they just placed it where they stood
Just a little lower than the steeple in town
Then years later, the townspeople thought the cross was a symbol of a bygone age
Only charlatans and fools believed in faith
So, they walked up to the mountains’ base looked up in despair at what had become just two wooden stakes
And the townspeople had a Sunday cookout with the boards they set ablaze