Mountain Refuge

“That stupid old fool and his delusions!”

The young man’s words were drowned out by the pouring rain and thrashing winds. He was still at the base of the mountain, just beginning to make his way up. His hair and robes were already soaked; a storm was brewing.

“Still holding on to his fairy tales and fantasies! Can’t he see how high this peak is? There’s nothing that’ll come close to touching it; there’s nothing that’s ever come close before.” He shook his head as he spoke, dumbfounded by his denial of something so obvious. “The stubbornness of the old and ignorant, that’s what it is. People hold on to what sounds nice over what’s true. And what if one tries to tell them they’re wrong, educate them in some small way? No chance! Irrational, totally and utterly irrational!” A flash of lightning cut through the heavens and lit the earth below like a flame in a cave. He could now see the path uphill clearly laid out before him, free of any debris, and this gave him extra strength as well as something else: a way in which to interpret this trek upwards. “Every step I take is a step forward; the further up I climb, the better. That is his issue! He thinks that the valley holds all that we need, that the roots of a tree will always be solid and firm, that there’s no need to go up, and that I’m a fool for doing so. That’s why the poor and lowly find refuge with him, since they have no desire or ability to advance. They lie to themselves and think their laziness a virtue, calling it ‘gratefulness’ or ‘contentment’ or any other useless word. I am not them! I make my company with the elites and take my refuge in the mountains! I yearn to be a master of this world while they proudly call themselves ‘slaves!’ Their cowardice will lead to their death, but am I to be stuck with them? Progress knows no delays; if they’ll be left behind, so be it. I don’t care to be pinned down by the scared and superstitious, nor by the self-righteous and self-proclaimed prophets, even if they be my own father!”

And as he reached the zenith of the mountain with a near-indestructible feeling of self-assurance, the very mountain itself began to violently jerk and shake under his feet. Holding on to a wayward branch to keep himself standing, he turned around to witness the full and terrible might and glory of the situation below: the whole land as far as the eye could see submerged in the most violent waters imaginable, with waves that rose like towers and fell like boulders. He then began to see his footprints left on the prior path filled with water as the flood scaled the lofty length of the mountainside like an ape climbing a tree. And as it began to wet his feet, he looked out a final time at the deluge and saw the ark of his father, Noah, afloat amid the chaos.

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