The Travelers

There was a wide country with a tall mountain in the middle. Deep lush forests lay to the north of the mountain, barren desert to the south. All the areas between held much variety of landscapes and scenery, climate and culture. The people born in this country came from the same place, a source of light, a place where they knew love complete and whole. Being born in this lower place they held only a whisper of where they had come from. They couldn’t put it into words or explain it, but they felt like there was so much more. To each one there came a day when they lifted their eyes, looked through the mist, fog, or dust in the air and spotted the mountain. Something called to them. It sounded like home; it rang the bell of remembrance deep inside and they knew they had to go. They did not understand why, just knew that once they reached the top of that mountain they would be more happy than they’d ever been since they were born. And so, from the north, south, east, and west, they started toward the mountain top. It was a long road for each of them, and there were twists and turns. Sometimes they weren’t sure if they were coming or going. They met many others on the way, at intersections or wayside rest stops, passing them on the road, speaking a word to some of them. Some became their friends, and they journeyed day after day together with those. They would help each other on the way. They got closer to the mountain and began to climb. The call from the top came clearer now. They could hear the echoes of the music and feel the vibration of love that would be their reality when they finally summitted. As they continued to climb, the began to notice other roads merging with theirs. There were people on these other roads. But they looked strange. Their clothing was different. They talked in a language that was strange. As they walked side by side, the differences were starkly obvious. The travelers halted and looked each other over suspiciously. “You look different. That thing you’re doing, I think that’s wrong. I could have never done that and gotten this high on the mountain. There wasn’t room for that on my road. How did you get here anyway? You have no right to be here. Go down and find the right road, the road I came on. Could you just smile? Why do you think you have to wear that certain clothing to be on this road? I’ve climbed all this way, and I never have had to do that to get this far!” As the noise got louder with all the confusion, the travelers began to circle the mountain. They did not notice that the roads were going around and around, never taking them higher. The echoes of music were lost in the noise and distraction. Their hearts felt only the angst and frustration of meeting someone on the same journey they were on but who seemed like from a different planet altogether. They kept telling each one they met about where the right road was and how to get on it - they would have to go back to the bottom of the mountain and start at that one gate 5 degrees to the west of due north, or the one on the south side that began right after the red bridge that crossed the tumbling river. Everyone had their own right road that they had taken to get to this point on the mountain and everyone thought theirs was the right one, because it had worked, right? And the rest of these travelers might get to the top only to realize their road ends in a deep sinkhole, they’ll step off the end and fall into a deep and dark abyss and never find their way out. So it was only the right thing to do to save them help them onto the right road so they would be able to really make it to where they were wanting to go, right? That was love after all. And so they shouted louder. They thought maybe if they made it miserable for all the travelers on the wrong road, then maybe they’d go back to where they could actually start on the right road and get things straightened out. They needed to go back to where they could realize and understand that that piece of clothing or that hairstyle didn’t belong on this road. That was the very thing that would make them fall into the pit at the end. Oh my, it was just too awful to imagine. They wanted no one to be lost down in that pit!! When all the shouting and trying to convince them they were wrong didn’t work, they decided to quit talking to them. Maybe that would get their attention. Maybe if they ignored them and made them uncomfortable they would give in and go down and look for the right road. The whole crowd circled and circled the mountain, just a little ways down from the summit. They walked and walked but as much as they tried, they couldn’t gain altitude. It began to be stormy and dark. The path disappeared. They were confused and disoriented. Their hearts felt empty and cold. And the fear… It was paralyzing. Here they were high on the mountain and didn’t know where to go. As each one came to the end of their ability to keep going, one by one they stopped. They closed their eyes and became really still. They plugged their ears to keep out the cries of confusion. They didn’t really care who was on their road now. They just wanted to go home. They wanted to be free of this awful fear of maybe not getting it right and all the shouting and opinions about which road was right. They decided to dump out all their ideas right there. Because, had those ideas worked? Had they been helping to get them higher on the mountain? Had they led them to complete peace and freedom from fear? As they knelt there, they began to hear again the soft call of the music, coming from the top of the mountain. They stayed, listening, letting it grow louder. When it was sounding as a clear bell, and they could plainly feel the direction where it was coming from, they got up and began walking, up, up, up. They began to smile again. The trees along the pathway seemed to reach out and pat their shoulders as they walked along. They noticed their old fears were getting less and less, and all the rules and guidelines they had for themselves as guideposts for the path seemed a distant memory. How foolish the guidelines had been, but at the same time they realized that they had been part of their journey, and they loved them. As the travelers kept climbing, they noticed fellow travelers, and each one shone like a light. Some smiled quietly, some whistled a tune. There were some with deep scars, now healed. The closer they got to the top they noticed that the only thing they really saw and felt in their fellow travelers was their soul, the unique beauty of who they really were underneath all the clothing and things that had distracted them further down the mountain. They began to feel one with each other and soon could see no difference between them. The last few steps to the top of the mountain were so joyous, so lighthearted, so free of burdens and fear, and they realized that at the summit they would completely lose their individual identity. They would dissolve into the bright light that always shone from the top of the mountain. They would become a note in the symphony they had heard for so long beckoning them onward. All the travelers from the north, south, east, west, desert and plain, forest and hills would all melt into one. Customs and cultures had disappeared somewhere down on the mountain. Now they were all one, like little points of light coming together into one. Many unique notes of a song uniting into a giant symphony that called across the ages. “Come here, and when you get here, you will be home. But you will realize it is not about you anymore. For we are all one.”

This is the story of life on earth - the great forgetting. Where we are born into darkness, get all wrapped up in our experience and what we are taught and how we understand things. One day we’ll emerge into oneness and light - only after we have dropped the false stories of who we think we are and what is right and what is wrong. Unless we can see each person we meet as if we are “seeing” them with our eyes closed, we cannot reach the top of the mountain.

There are many roads to God, and for that statement I might become unpopular… One thing I know is where you find God, you find love, and sometimes you can see, feel, hear, and experience love best with your eyes closed. I love you all so much.

RCY