Man on a Cliff
He made it.
It is a miracle that he did. Standing at the edge of a cliff expressionless but full of emotion is the obscure human. You may or may not know him. It could be the man you pray for or the woman you try to encourage. It could be the woman you detest because of her lack of faith or the man no one seems to understand. It could be your neighbour who you think simply needs to hope or your colleague who you reckon just has to believe. To openly generalise, it is a human who merely reached an inevitable milestone of human life. It could be you. No one is immune to life. That he came thus far is a miracle in the eyes of some but only a prelude to it for others.
Most don’t care.
He has travelled a long way. The memory of his journey is magnified by the depth of the valley inches away from him. He was not there by accident though the set up looks like it. Not just where he was but the entire journey to that point seemed to stem from one wrong move. He might even be lost. But then there is no way to tell. For it is life.
Many miles ago, he stood before two roads that forked before him. Ah! The sharp shooting pain and gut wrenching nausea of choice! One of them was the right path. It was widely travelled (sometimes under the pain of death), extensively documented and a sure shot to a better place. He chose what the ‘Narrowists’ call the narrow path. He saw and read about individuals who took this particular path. People personally invited him to take the first step. They told him that that was all he needed to do. They always do. What they didn’t tell him was how many steps would follow the first one and what the dynamics of those steps would be. Based on earlier reports, fondly called testimonies, he gathered he was going to have a bit of a difficult ride ahead of him, only difficult but not entirely impossible was what was preached to him. So when he started he drew a mental image of the journey ahead of him because he thought he knew how it is going to be.
People always think they do.
He reckoned he could get the energy required for the journey from the soulful stories he read, tearful testimonies he witnessed and the blitzkrieg sermons he heard ever so often so he grabbed a handful of each of those and stuffed them in his pouch. He then continued his journey in the path he chose or in other words started on a clean slate.
As he strolled, breathing the fresh air and basking in the warm sun, he sub-consciously believed he was impervious, untouchable, unstoppable, can-do-all, secure, safe…until it rained. He remembered the natural process of evaporation, condensation and precipitation. But was he not supernatural now? He was surprised! He also recalled that it rains on the wicked and the righteous alike and he wondered what he was. At the back of his mind he began to think that not all things have changed since his choice.
Everything had been okay until he began to tire and wonder how long and how far the journey was going to be. He was only nineteen so he guessed it was going to take a while. Just then, without a moment’s notice, the road became harsher. It seldom even looked like a road. The way twisted and turned, rose and fell, forked and confused. Yet it was the path he chose. There were enough and more opportunities and even more number of good reasons to give up along the way. But he kept pacing, limping and crawling on all fours forward; wherever the way led to must be a beautiful place.
His perilous journey must be for a reward.
But gradually his ‘energy-pouch’ was running out. He used the healing story when he had the flu. He scooped out the only prosperity testament he knew when he was short on money for the house rent. He used the power of the word to get his computer to work again. And soon his little wineskin was empty. Inspirational stories are not designed to help in every situation, he realised, it seemed like those testifers deceived him. He was now left with only the not-necessarily-happily-ending-anecdotes tucked in a small pocket of his bag.
After an uneventful stretch of mediocrity, the circumstances of his life became way too dissimilar to the ones he heard about from his friends, community members, T.V teaching stars etc. So he reluctantly started using the anecdotes. He thought of Somalia when his burger tasted bad. It was his only meal for the day but it could get worse, he pondered. He thought of the man without legs when he wanted a new pair of formals for his job. I have legs, don’t I? He reasoned but lost his job. He recalled the millions living without companionship when he felt lonely. It occurred to him that the thousands of miles ahead of him would be spent in the company of an invisible, supernatural lover.
Invisible.
The path abruptly ended at the foot of a mountain. Ended? No. It only wore a new terrain. Recalling a particularly spicy and fiery sermon, he positively sought to move the mountain with the mustard he found in his pocket. The seed wouldn’t work. Confused, he noticed the sign erected nearby.
‘CAUTION: MOUNTAIN FOR CLIMBING PURPOSES ONLY. KINDLY DO NOT TRY TO MOVE. MOVERS WILL DIE TRYING’
That was fine with him. After all this was the kind of stuff he signed up for so he started the trek. The journey called life was now so 180 degrees that he began to doubt. Life was, for lack of a better word, shit. Of course he heard about that phase when it gets a little dark and one might have to pass a few tests and one might get a few burns here and there but it did not match the actual experience in the least. The waters of the river didn’t drown him but he came face to face with death when they were at his mouth. The fire didn’t consume him but it scorched most of his body.
The promises remained fulfilled but his faith shattered.
The complexity of the path only glorifies the destiny he thought and kept at it.
Soon he began to understand how foolish he was when he thought about the mental image he made at the beginning of the journey. He doubted his choice when the tenth job application was rejected; she did the same when she heard her father’s name called out at Dachau; he dismissed the testimonies after the earthquake; she did the same after the final diagnosis of her son. He deliberately tried to forget the sermons he was taught when he was wrongfully put in jail to serve fifteen years; she did the same when she saw her family hacked to death before her eyes. It was not simple anymore. It was real.
The open grave was nice to hear about but the Dolorosa behind it was too much.
He was given timely rest of course. Rest came in irregularly irregular intervals with varying degrees of repose. At one point he was a man without a job who needed rest. But soon he was a man without a job and a malignant tumour who needed rest. His mileage had given him some experience and the cumulative effect of a typical human life was taking its toll. Why not stop wherever he was? Why take the trouble of finishing the task? He made the right choice, wasn’t that enough? Besides would he be willing to take the risk of another surprise set of trials? Embarrassment, debt and divorce were way too cosy compared to the horrors yet to come. But somehow the man decided to pull ahead.
On the way he noticed others who were taking the same passage. These people have had their bad times...dark nights and lack of self-esteem, illness and debts, only small lands in a city and depression, lack of a good job and bad tasting food, bad wedding dress and even worse coffee makers etc. Now every time the obscure man tried to chat up these people, who seemed quite charismatic, they were seldom on the same page. The extremely difficult period of severe anxiety when one has to choose from which fried chicken outlet to order from and the relatively common and often experienced debilitating illness hardly made for a good encouraging conversation.
So the man wonders if the concept of ‘Parallel Universes’ is compatible with his faith because only an atheist friendly physics theory could make it impossible for such persons to not understand the obscure man.
At a distance he saw the cliff. It could be the death of a child for some, abuse for others. Whatever it is, it always comes after a long and hazardous journey, one that you wished you never took. The worst part is that apparently the cliff is not the end. The other road he never chose was no different from this one. Only this way was right, one with promises and dreams. Above all with hope. Hope gave him enough strength to walk until the exact point where hope would self-destruct beyond recognition. He would want to give up but lo and behold, a new refill of hope and the suffering continues. It is called hope for a reason. Not for the reason one might think but because it is for one to keep moving.
The man draws closer to the cliff to see the fresh hell prepared for him. Oh yes it is steep! He can see the rocks at the bottom waiting to impale his dropping body. He remains still. This is it (spoiler alert: but it is not). There is more. There is always more. But hey! There is hope, isn’t there? Ask the one who is at the edge of probable death. What magic could he use now? What would happen if he steps forward? Does he believe in ‘the Way’ enough to dare move ahead? He may survive or he may not. There is only one way to know but would he do it? Again, like in the beginning he is left with a choice. Should he choose to live on with the man who does not hesitate to baptise him in the lake of fire on a regular basis, allows the earth beneath her to shake, allows the cells in his body to fail, allows her cup of gall to overflow and at the end still asks to choose him? Or should he just knot, slit or overdose?
The man makes his choice.
-Sam
It is a miracle that he did. Standing at the edge of a cliff expressionless but full of emotion is the obscure human. You may or may not know him. It could be the man you pray for or the woman you try to encourage. It could be the woman you detest because of her lack of faith or the man no one seems to understand. It could be your neighbour who you think simply needs to hope or your colleague who you reckon just has to believe. To openly generalise, it is a human who merely reached an inevitable milestone of human life. It could be you. No one is immune to life. That he came thus far is a miracle in the eyes of some but only a prelude to it for others.
Most don’t care.
He has travelled a long way. The memory of his journey is magnified by the depth of the valley inches away from him. He was not there by accident though the set up looks like it. Not just where he was but the entire journey to that point seemed to stem from one wrong move. He might even be lost. But then there is no way to tell. For it is life.
Many miles ago, he stood before two roads that forked before him. Ah! The sharp shooting pain and gut wrenching nausea of choice! One of them was the right path. It was widely travelled (sometimes under the pain of death), extensively documented and a sure shot to a better place. He chose what the ‘Narrowists’ call the narrow path. He saw and read about individuals who took this particular path. People personally invited him to take the first step. They told him that that was all he needed to do. They always do. What they didn’t tell him was how many steps would follow the first one and what the dynamics of those steps would be. Based on earlier reports, fondly called testimonies, he gathered he was going to have a bit of a difficult ride ahead of him, only difficult but not entirely impossible was what was preached to him. So when he started he drew a mental image of the journey ahead of him because he thought he knew how it is going to be.
People always think they do.
He reckoned he could get the energy required for the journey from the soulful stories he read, tearful testimonies he witnessed and the blitzkrieg sermons he heard ever so often so he grabbed a handful of each of those and stuffed them in his pouch. He then continued his journey in the path he chose or in other words started on a clean slate.
As he strolled, breathing the fresh air and basking in the warm sun, he sub-consciously believed he was impervious, untouchable, unstoppable, can-do-all, secure, safe…until it rained. He remembered the natural process of evaporation, condensation and precipitation. But was he not supernatural now? He was surprised! He also recalled that it rains on the wicked and the righteous alike and he wondered what he was. At the back of his mind he began to think that not all things have changed since his choice.
Everything had been okay until he began to tire and wonder how long and how far the journey was going to be. He was only nineteen so he guessed it was going to take a while. Just then, without a moment’s notice, the road became harsher. It seldom even looked like a road. The way twisted and turned, rose and fell, forked and confused. Yet it was the path he chose. There were enough and more opportunities and even more number of good reasons to give up along the way. But he kept pacing, limping and crawling on all fours forward; wherever the way led to must be a beautiful place.
His perilous journey must be for a reward.
But gradually his ‘energy-pouch’ was running out. He used the healing story when he had the flu. He scooped out the only prosperity testament he knew when he was short on money for the house rent. He used the power of the word to get his computer to work again. And soon his little wineskin was empty. Inspirational stories are not designed to help in every situation, he realised, it seemed like those testifers deceived him. He was now left with only the not-necessarily-happily-ending-anecdotes tucked in a small pocket of his bag.
After an uneventful stretch of mediocrity, the circumstances of his life became way too dissimilar to the ones he heard about from his friends, community members, T.V teaching stars etc. So he reluctantly started using the anecdotes. He thought of Somalia when his burger tasted bad. It was his only meal for the day but it could get worse, he pondered. He thought of the man without legs when he wanted a new pair of formals for his job. I have legs, don’t I? He reasoned but lost his job. He recalled the millions living without companionship when he felt lonely. It occurred to him that the thousands of miles ahead of him would be spent in the company of an invisible, supernatural lover.
Invisible.
The path abruptly ended at the foot of a mountain. Ended? No. It only wore a new terrain. Recalling a particularly spicy and fiery sermon, he positively sought to move the mountain with the mustard he found in his pocket. The seed wouldn’t work. Confused, he noticed the sign erected nearby.
‘CAUTION: MOUNTAIN FOR CLIMBING PURPOSES ONLY. KINDLY DO NOT TRY TO MOVE. MOVERS WILL DIE TRYING’
That was fine with him. After all this was the kind of stuff he signed up for so he started the trek. The journey called life was now so 180 degrees that he began to doubt. Life was, for lack of a better word, shit. Of course he heard about that phase when it gets a little dark and one might have to pass a few tests and one might get a few burns here and there but it did not match the actual experience in the least. The waters of the river didn’t drown him but he came face to face with death when they were at his mouth. The fire didn’t consume him but it scorched most of his body.
The promises remained fulfilled but his faith shattered.
The complexity of the path only glorifies the destiny he thought and kept at it.
Soon he began to understand how foolish he was when he thought about the mental image he made at the beginning of the journey. He doubted his choice when the tenth job application was rejected; she did the same when she heard her father’s name called out at Dachau; he dismissed the testimonies after the earthquake; she did the same after the final diagnosis of her son. He deliberately tried to forget the sermons he was taught when he was wrongfully put in jail to serve fifteen years; she did the same when she saw her family hacked to death before her eyes. It was not simple anymore. It was real.
The open grave was nice to hear about but the Dolorosa behind it was too much.
He was given timely rest of course. Rest came in irregularly irregular intervals with varying degrees of repose. At one point he was a man without a job who needed rest. But soon he was a man without a job and a malignant tumour who needed rest. His mileage had given him some experience and the cumulative effect of a typical human life was taking its toll. Why not stop wherever he was? Why take the trouble of finishing the task? He made the right choice, wasn’t that enough? Besides would he be willing to take the risk of another surprise set of trials? Embarrassment, debt and divorce were way too cosy compared to the horrors yet to come. But somehow the man decided to pull ahead.
On the way he noticed others who were taking the same passage. These people have had their bad times...dark nights and lack of self-esteem, illness and debts, only small lands in a city and depression, lack of a good job and bad tasting food, bad wedding dress and even worse coffee makers etc. Now every time the obscure man tried to chat up these people, who seemed quite charismatic, they were seldom on the same page. The extremely difficult period of severe anxiety when one has to choose from which fried chicken outlet to order from and the relatively common and often experienced debilitating illness hardly made for a good encouraging conversation.
So the man wonders if the concept of ‘Parallel Universes’ is compatible with his faith because only an atheist friendly physics theory could make it impossible for such persons to not understand the obscure man.
At a distance he saw the cliff. It could be the death of a child for some, abuse for others. Whatever it is, it always comes after a long and hazardous journey, one that you wished you never took. The worst part is that apparently the cliff is not the end. The other road he never chose was no different from this one. Only this way was right, one with promises and dreams. Above all with hope. Hope gave him enough strength to walk until the exact point where hope would self-destruct beyond recognition. He would want to give up but lo and behold, a new refill of hope and the suffering continues. It is called hope for a reason. Not for the reason one might think but because it is for one to keep moving.
The man draws closer to the cliff to see the fresh hell prepared for him. Oh yes it is steep! He can see the rocks at the bottom waiting to impale his dropping body. He remains still. This is it (spoiler alert: but it is not). There is more. There is always more. But hey! There is hope, isn’t there? Ask the one who is at the edge of probable death. What magic could he use now? What would happen if he steps forward? Does he believe in ‘the Way’ enough to dare move ahead? He may survive or he may not. There is only one way to know but would he do it? Again, like in the beginning he is left with a choice. Should he choose to live on with the man who does not hesitate to baptise him in the lake of fire on a regular basis, allows the earth beneath her to shake, allows the cells in his body to fail, allows her cup of gall to overflow and at the end still asks to choose him? Or should he just knot, slit or overdose?
The man makes his choice.
-Sam
Hey Sam. That's a wonderful writeup. It kept me gripped throughout. Really liked the part about hope and refill of hope. I really do hope that he continues on the Journey and brings out some more awesome articles like this!
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