Return to Writing Hub

CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN
Ted Srinathadas Czukor
July 26, 2002

Once Upon a Time there was a group of men who decided to conquer the tallest mountain in the land. Due to other obligations, these friends agreed to give themselves a deadline of one month in which to accomplish their goal. They prepared extensively, purchasing many days’ worth of food and water, and packing oxygen tanks for the elevations where the air would be very thin.

They began their assault on the mountain with enormous energy and focus, resolved to keep pushing themselves until the summit was attained. But halfway up they found that, due to their over-zealous effort, exhaustion was beginning to set in. Every day they would break camp and fling themselves at the next elevation, only to make less and less headway. They used up more food than they had planned on, and the water began to run low. Some of them tried hunting the small animals which they occasionally saw, but the rodents and mountain goats were too fast for them. The oxygen, too, had to be used sooner than they had calculated; and they were weighed-down by the heavy tents and parkas which they had brought to protect themselves against the icy cold at the top. Finally, long before attaining the summit, they had to admit defeat and return home.

“That peak is a real bear,” they told their families when they got back. “You’d have to have a lot more equipment and supplies, and a lot more money behind you, to ever reach the top.”

The same week that these men began their climb, a lone Yogi – a traveling Sadhu, or holy hermit – came to the base of the mountain. This man had been walking for many years, meditating often and observing nature, himself, and his fellow creatures. He was used to taking his time, having no particular place to get to and being in no particular hurry to get there. His was an Inner journey, the trappings of the outside world being only a metaphor for what he was learning about his own consciousness.

He was not a particularly robust individual, having a body type reminiscent of Gandhi. He carried only a walking staff and a begging bowl. He had no extra clothes or food, and certainly did not posses any tanks of oxygen.

“What a lovely spot,” he thought. “A good place to sit and meditate.” This he did, for several hours. Then his natural curiosity drew him to pick his way up the mountain for a few feet, at which point he rested and meditated again.

In this way, he began to gradually develop a personal relationship with the mountain. He would stay for several weeks or months at one elevation, exploring the entire level and glorying in the wonderful ways in which the view changed. In this way he became acclimated to the thinner air, just like the animals who lived there.

He was a gentle soul who never ate meat. Sensing this, the animals showed him where to find vegetation among the rocks, and the places where pure water trickled down from the glacier above.

The cold temperatures at the higher levels did not bother him, due to his Yogic training. He simply used Pranayama breathing techniques to raise his body temperature.

After a time that you and I would call two years and a day but which had no significance for him, the Yogi found himself, one fine afternoon, standing at the very top of the highest mountain in the land and gazing down upon the magnificent panorama below.

“What a lovely spot,” he thought. “A good place to sit and meditate.”

The first group of men had decided that conquering the mountain would be a difficult challenge. That very decision, and the way in which they prepared themselves for it and limited their time to do it, created a self-fulfilling prophecy. The task turned out to be extraordinarily difficult indeed.

The Yogi had no concept whatsoever of having to conquer anything at all, except perhaps the wandering thoughts of his own mind. He was content to take each day at a time – in fact, each hour and minute at a time, fully enjoying the miracles that he saw around and within him. He had no concern for the morrow, because he knew that for a devotee of God, God would provide everything that was necessary.

He had also learned a long time ago that whatever was not provided, was not really needed. And whatever was not accomplished, either did not need to be or would be finished at a better time.

And yet this seemingly frail, wandering Sadhu had achieved what the well-outfitted mountain climbers could not.

The mountain climbers had believed that they had to be the doers of the work.

The Yogi knew that the only doer of everything is God.

Return to Writing Hub

Return To Top

OM SHANTI, SHANTI, SHANTI
[Peace, Peace, Peace]