Thomas was a rather unassuming man, working quietly in the wood shop. He was bright and observant, and couldn't remember the last time he had had a bad day. There were disappointments, of course, but he accepted them as part of the progression of life. There were pleasing days and not so pleasing days, yet even the less pleasant days could not be called bad.
Working with wood was a seductive pursuit; on the one hand countless men had done so, yet Thomas realized that there was a deeper quality than grain and superficial appearance. There was the nature of wood, its softeness or hardness, its character, its hidden soul. Before a single cut was made there was a need to spend time quietly looking at the wood, touching it, teasing out its essence before deciding how best to use it. In this way he became a master craftsman, much sought after, though he was embarassed to admit so.
One night, laying in his single bed in the simple rooms he called home, Thomas had a vision. He was never able to recall whether he had fallen asleep or whether the images had come to him in another way. He was at the base of a mountain, knowing that it was his task to attain the summit. From his vantage point Thomas could not see the peak, and only knew that the path before him led in that direction. He knew not how long the path was, nor what he would encounter along the way. In his youth he had climbed a few mountains, and knew that there were natural rules to abide by, lest one succumb to elimination by ignorance of nature.
Thus Thomas set out, knowing only to appreciate the distance he could see before him and trust the ultimate attainment of the summit . At this low range he knew to carry a water bottle and a supply of food enough to get him up and back, and looked among the rocks for the cheerful rodents that chirped as he approached. There would be either streams or alpine ponds to refresh his water, he trusted.
It was an idyllic land, with flora of which he knew some and marvelled at others. There were defiant Indian paint brushes that brought red splashes to break the green monotony, and delicate columbines to please the aesthestic appreciation of what he had never asked for. Numerous other blossoms, unnamed in his awareness, variously combined to form a sweet blanket over the foot of the hill.
Beautiful though it was, climbing a mountain was a hard venture. In rarified air Thomas had to pause from time to time merely to catch a sufficient breath. Continually walking steeply uphill never is easy, and Thomas' calves and thighs began to hurt. In practiced fashion he moved steadily forward, not knowing how far he had to go and only focusing on what he could see of the path ahead. Every hour he would sit on a fallen tree for a small bite to eat and to rest. He paused at streams to refill his water, and let the sounds of birds near and far combine with the trickling or rushing water ease his mind and body.
Mountains have false summits, those points one can see from the path that look like the final goal but turn out to only be a rise far below more mountain ahead. They breed hope the closer one comes to attaining them, and Thomas had learned to merely smile when it turned out to be a premature end.
There were points where the path was so steep that it was only possible to place one foot inches in front of the other and lift the body one more time as breath was difficult and muscles complained. At these times it was not a good idea to look upward trying to gauge how much further one had to go; it was sufficient to merely look at the feet and congratulate them on another step.
At length Thomas left the range of trees and entered the land of rocks and lichen. From here on the rock was crumbly and treacherous; the established path was the only sure way to the top. Straying from the path was occasionally tempting but dangerous. Even if it was late summer there were patches of snow here and there; from below they had looked like tiny swatches, but up close they strayed hundreds of yards across. Perspective, Thomas knew from previous treks, was critical to understanding.
Step by step the summit grew closer. In the vision Thomas made his way slowly upward, every step knowing that he was nearly there. Nearing the summit an excitement occupied him; he knew by feeling that a secret was to be revealed. The mundane steps, one after another, were still necessary until he stood at the top, but the closer he came the more distance he could see to the foot from whence he had started and out to the entire range of mountains, and the more excited he became. Weariness was a fact but achievement drove him. Finally he was within range of the very top, the summit, and no amount of fatigue could have stopped him. Thomas climbed toward the verge of reverie.
(To be continued).
