What is your Dream ?
High on the slopes of Mt Olympus, a meeting is convened. A solitary human being, naked in the snow. Standing on a rock, addressing the sky, addressing infinity, addressing the mighty Zeus. My dear Mr Zeus, sir, it is my most humble request that you assist me on my quest.
The sky becomes dense and heavy, and seems to fill with a murmuring. It sounds like voices in muted conversation. Perhaps it is the sound of distant thunder. Perhaps it is the creaking of ice, perhaps it is the sound of continents and islands slowly shifting about.
Up there in the mountains Zeus has company. A band of gods together in conference. Some immortals, devas and devis and even a few of our own kind. Rishis and roshis, saints, sufis and sages, buddhas and bodhisattvas. They congregate there and confer amongst themselves. Requests such as this are quite uncommon in this modern age. That being so, such an unusual petition might gain credence that it might otherwise not readily receive.So the request is made. It stands as it has been received and will be duly considered. Ones aims and goals. Ones quest, ones intent. The heart which has made this supplication is what matters most. The humility, the simplicity, its content of raw truth. Kind sir, please bear with me as I elucidate my request. At that, isolating the quest from the other petty affairs of life, so as to have it stand-out, clear and untrammeled.
My quest, good sir, is simply that I may run like the wind. I might walk with you and your kind. I might walk through the halls of eternity. I might travel even beyond that. To find the greatest of good things, the very most that life bound in this human frame can manifest. Play music that melts the stoniest of hearts, and experience all that the human condition has to offer. To love with the lovingest. But ultimately my quest is to run. To run fast and long and well. Run so far and so fast as to move in your world and beyond. To run so fast that wind and shadow are both left far behind.
The heartfelt request is made and swallowed by the silence. Perhaps it is a mad person, up there on that rock, most completely exposed to the elements and raving inanely. Maybe an imbecile, a moron, someone lacking the full quota of sensibility. And yet maybe they are right. Perhaps they are aware of something that others are not aware of. Something that the common world lacks. Aware of it and working together with it.
Here in this high place there is a freshness that reaches into the heart and causes the cares of the world to fall away. Somewhere in the ascent breaking past that gravity that gathers around the world of cares and concerns. Passing beyond the thoughts and memories of those who might hold you back with their memories and thoughts. Passing beyond themselves. Passing the point where the humdrum concerns seem so trivial and trite.
Up in the fresh clear air, and exposed in ones entirety before Zeus. Before Zeus and much much more. The greatest of great, the nearest of near, the closest of close. Song of songs, the prime mover.
I have stated my case to the rock and that upon which it sits. To the sky and clouds and everything in it. To the moment of life and all that dwells in it. To the life of the universe. To a universe of life. To Zeus. To the self and the self of selves. The case has been stated, the quest outlined, the story told, and the path of destiny turned to face that direction. The rocks and sky and infinity and the great Zeus and all of the other hosts seem, for a moment, to acknowledge the request with the deepest silence that can be found. Then the wind returns with a gust, as does the sound of the ice creaking and the continents moving about.
All that must be said has been said. Nothing need be added to it, so it is time to return home. Having turned to face that way the spell of the encounter is broken, and the the power of the humdrum increases, and the magic on the periphery of life decreases. With each step towards the world of familiar habits, the habitual thoughts of the mind again take command, as do doubts arise as to the reality of the encounter that transpired.
It is as though a pall has descended that makes everything seem mundane, even if it never was. An atmosphere that reduces everything to the level of humdrum and maintains it in that position. After having walked in Zeus's world, although the weight of the atmosphere is keenly felt, it is still possible to savour the keen taste that is the spark of life.
Intent has been called, clarified and sharpened before awesome witnesses. The path seems clearer, and yet there it lies directly before us. The path that winds its way along the slopes of Mt Olympus, or any other path that one may find ones self on. Whatever path one travels, there it lies ahead. The journey up the slope following ones quest is a great struggle, and all of ones attention is required to get there. The journey down the slope seems much easier, ones gait may roll with ease. But one never never fully leaves the scene, for it is always there in the background. If not in presence, then in memory. A bit of it remains, to be found in all things. Maybe it only happened in the imagination. That and everything else that has ever happened on this planet.
Mt Olympus and every other mountain that can be named. Any mountain that we might care to call on. Growing on our planet like pimples on a teenagers chin. With each mountain its own residents. We might meet and absorb them one by one. Absorb them and be absorbed.
The time comes when we find ourselves at the end of the trail. The sun lies low and the sky presses itself down. Making itself visible as though it hadn't been visible before. We had just not noticed it for a while.
Zeus and Olympus lie silent before and behind us. The horizons become transparent and beyond its boundaries the other mountains of the world are to be seen in their places. The day is always theirs, and we can meet them anytime we so desire.