Can Faith Really Move Mountains?

I was happily minding my own business, dancing in the street, twirling and leaping, enjoying the music of my community and skipping along my life’s journey feeling pretty good about things. All things.

And then suddenly, I found myself at the foot of a mountain. Wait. What!? What happened? Did I make a wrong turn? How did I not see it in the distance? How did my eagle-eye vision miss this in the planning of my journey?

I fell into angry reprimands and self-loathing. You fool! The internal lectures were cruel and agonizing. Though I knew such self-talk was futile, I also knew that the self-encouragement was insincere. Devastation and disappointment washed over me. I paced. I cried the ugly tears. And I screamed until I was completely spent. And then, in exhaustion, I finally found stillness. Eyes closed, body curled into a ball of defeat, the sounds of my agony now gone, just me, this mountain, and stillness.

Impossible

Ugh. This mountain. Grand and majestic, I am keenly aware of its strength, it’s power. It has a steadfast resolve to BE there. It is so much more than my will, my hopes and dreams, bigger and stronger than I could ever be. A rough and rugged terrain is a truth I don’t want to see. The rocks of its formation are huge; they aren’t even rocks; they are boulders.

Eyeing it from my position, I can see clearly that the spaces between the boulders are farther than my height. I would never be able to reach up to grasp onto anything to begin the climb. And even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to hoist my body upward. Panic returns and overwhelm consumes me. Again, I collapse as if not looking, not standing will somehow make it go away. It doesn’t.

I listen and hear nothing. My ears ache from the effort to hear something. The silence penetrates into my head making it feel heavy. I didn’t know that silence could hurt, but it does.

Oh, and the sun. it is hot. Its heat is harsh and unrelenting. Its heat is heavy, and it feels like burning lava slowing covering me, burning into my flesh. I feel like my soul is turning to ash.

The landscape is barren. There is nothing, nothing but me, and this mountain. I feel isolated. Loneliness makes my bones ache. Tears well up but do not even moisten my eyes.

Where can I go?

What should I do?

Which way is home?

Again, I scream into the absence of wind.

Again, I collapse.

I lie in a heap of failed humanity for what seems like forever. The silence. The heat. The emptiness. The loneliness. Fear. Failure. I can’t stop the chatter in my brain: SILENCE. HEAT. EMPTINESS. LONELINESS. FEAR. FAILUIRE. Over and over, these things run on autoplay in my head. Periodically I know that I either have to get to the other side or die. It’s that simple: conquer this mountain or die. 

SILENCE. HEAT. EMPTINESS. LONELINESS. FEAR. FAILUIRE. CONQUER OR DIE. CONQUER OR DIE. CONQUER OR DIE.

The frenzied agony of my mind is subtly interrupted by a soft, nearly silent sound. I listen. Am I imagining this? I listen with the alertness of a tiger in prey mode. I have matched the silence of my environment. Even my mind is silent as I focus on a distant presence.

 It is a voice. It is coming from the other side of the mountain. I remain still and alert as I wait for understanding. I recognize beauty though I know I cannot identify the voice. This voice, it’s alluring. I feel drawn. I feel my heart reaching toward the voice, willing to leave even me for the sound of this voice. I place my hands over my heart, as if to keep it inside my body. I wonder if I am dying and then I hear the voice say “no, you are alive, very much alive.”

The voice is melodic, gentle, and yet barely audible. Finally, I hear the sound of my name.

I stand. I listen. I wait. I listen. Yes, that voice is calling me.

My eyes again focus on the mountain, and I acknowledge that this time, I am standing, not a ball of failed humanity as I was only moments earlier. I feel my heart begin to slow. I notice that my mind is no longer racing. The voice is barely a whisper, but I am aware that it awaits me. I notice a pull within me to move, and I notice the absence of panic and overwhelm. I feel a longing to be there and the knowledge that the journey will be difficult. And that all feels OK somehow.

I begin to assess the mountain again:

Could I go around the mountain instead of attempting the climb?

No, there is no pathway around it.

Can I find a sturdy stick? A strong vine? What is available to help me climb? Still nothing.

And still I stand.

And still I listen.

There are no directions to guide me, only a calling, a luring sound that convinces me I cannot and will not die.

But what should I do?!

Nothing.

For a brief moment, I remember anger, frustration, overwhelm. I am conditioned to DO something.

Listen. Wait. Be IN faith.

I do just that. And it feels OK somehow.

Staring at the mountain, I begin to notice that some of the boulders have grooves, knots, protrusions. Places for my feet to push against and places for my hands to grip and pull. I don’t yet begin to climb though. I continue to be IN faith. I allow myself to know that I cannot and will not die, and that means that my journey over the mountain must be available. Yes, I know that the journey is available even though I am aware that it hasn’t yet been revealed.

Revealed. That requires trust.

Faith.

It requires the “inner knowing” that I am always talking about. Ugh. My words come back to me; I must heed my own advice.

I understand that the pathway isn’t whatever my logical brain can conjure and manage. The pathway is in the gentle pull of the voice, the knowing.

Shit. The requirement to be IN faith. This demand of me is every bit as relentless as the heat, the silence, the ache of the loneliness.

I remain standing in the calm stillness of my own body.

For now, this is what I should do.

IN Faith