White Mountain

I don’t know how I got here, but here I am. There’s a great view in most directions – I can see forests, lakes, rivers and other mountains. This isn’t the highest peak around here, I can see others that are at least equal, and likely more. They contain different minerals though, for they are mainly grey-brown. The mountain upon which I stand rises alone, shining white.

At the far end of the valley is a sharp black mountain. It too stands apart as if an opposite and equal to this one. Though it is dawn, with darkness disappearing, above the black mountain shines a red star which seems to be pulsing, like a child’s heart beating. I am drawn to that star.

There’s no food or shelter on the summit of this mountain and it is rather cold. I don’t remember the night before, how and why I slept upon this bare peak. There is no reason to be here. The only thing to do is to begin my descent.

The Valley below repels me for some reason. Have I been there before? A quote from the Bible comes to mind, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.”

Is there something to fear?

Who is with me?

It will take a full day to descend to the plain. There is snowy terrain initially; the footing is good but there are patches of ice that take careful negotiation, and some unexpected slides. Thankfully I don’t trigger an avalanche.

Lower down is bare rock; clean faces and loose stones. Brush begins appearing and then lone trees, and loose forests of fir and pine.

My descent is more rapid than expected, at least till I reach the bottom of the mountain. There is a marsh there with foul smelling swamp cabbage. I try to walk around it, but the marsh encircles the whole mountain, so I just wade through, grabbing at trees and bushes where possible.

Waist deep in water, I lose sight of the black mountain. I can no longer see my goal. I visualize its sharp peak with sub-peaks below and dark rock gullies. But is the mountain in my mind accurate? Is it the same as the real one, or am I now imagining something different, and likely to end up somewhere else?

Then I have the strangest thought. If I no longer see the dark mountain, does it still exist? We make assumptions but how do we know for sure? Maybe this world is one of awareness, created by our thoughts.

I haven’t been paying attention to where I’m going. I am lost, stuck in the marsh. I think of the pulsing red star, the child’s beating heart. Is it a call for help from someone?

My pounding man’s heart responds and I push through the mud.


2 Responses to “White Mountain”

  1. Great story! I hope there’s more.

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