I am living high on my mountain, and everything lies beneath my feet. I can almost reach up and touch the stars. In this high place, I am king of my mountain. I do not need anyone or anything. I dangle my feet over the edge, and watch the little ones below me scrambling about.
“How small and insignificant they appear to me,” I think. “I am the lucky one to be on this mountain. Poor little ones, they will never be as high as I am,” I sneer in great self-satisfaction.
I do not answer to anyone in my heavenly existence. I am my own task master. No one tells me what to do. I am too high on this mountain to care about what happens below. I cannot hear the ramblings of the little ones. I do not have time, nor do I want to listen. My eyes are fixed on my state of being, and nothing else matters. Poor little ones down below, I could stomp on you with one big foot. I laugh to myself. In an instant, I could crush them. They would never know what happened.
I scream as loud as I can, and my voice echoes back to my ears. What wonderful sounds my own words make! My voice is like sweet honey. I savor every word that comes out.
“Hey you little ones down there,” I cry! “Look at me!” I pound my chest and scoff at their very being.
The wind begins to blow as I am standing tall, on the edge of this mountain. I scream at the wind!
“Who are you to think you can push me off this mountain edge?”
The wind seems to stir in greater anger; and in one great burst of air, it pushes me hard. I cannot hold on. The wind pushes me over the edge, and I start to descend. I tried to grab onto anything as I continue to fall on a downward spiral.
As I am falling, I remember I once hid some precious green in the crevice of a rock in the mountain. “I cannot lose my money,” I’m thinking. I can see it below in my secret hiding place, and grab it quickly. I soon realize that if I were to hold onto this glorious green, then my hands would not be free. I would not be able to save myself from falling. I decide to let go of my precious green. I watch as it flies out into the wind. I cry bitterly for my riches.
I am falling fast and scream out to the little ones below, but they can neither see nor hear me. They do not look up, as they are busy below with their insignificant scrambling. My heart is beating fast, and I know the end will come soon unless I find a way to save myself.
I remember a cave that is hidden near the bottom of the mountain. In earlier days, I covered the cave in underbrush so the little ones would not know it was there. If I can land on this underbrush, I believe, it will certainly cushion my fall. In the cave are all my treasures. There is precious green, gold, silver, and a title that says I am owner of this mountain. I will land on this underbrush and it will save me, I declare with much confidence. I will have all my treasures, and I will climb back up to my mountain.
The wind grows stronger and begins to pull me off course. “Stop wind!” I cry, but the wind is angry, and I can feel its strong grip as I am being swept far from my mountain. I cry out to God, but my voice is flat and I can barely hear my own words. God does not answer me. My body is whipped around like an old rag doll. My patent leathers fall off, and my suit is tattered. I land hard in the middle of this desert place. I open my eyes to find myself surrounded by the little ones. I cannot speak. My body is badly broken and bruised. They pick me up and carry me to safety.
They wash my wounds, offer me food and drink. They speak kindness in my ears. I can see my mountain in the distance, but my spirit no longer wants to climb. The descending fall is the catalyst that brought me to my present place. I am no longer king of the mountain. I am one of the little ones.