The road was long, bumpy and full of potholes. It was hot outside and I wanted to go home. I was tired of the journey. I was weary of the same scenery. Nothing seemed to change. It was all desert. Here and there would be a small stream, but it was never enough. It was only enough to keep me moving, to keep me pressing on.

 

There were ones that I had heard about that had made it to the hilltop. Some of those were even traveling in our caravan. They spoke of the inside of the mountain. The inside! Most people who travel only travel to see the view from the top, yet I was traveling here, on this long, bumpy road, to see the INSIDE of the mountain. I didn’t want to see the view from the top. I didn’t want to just see the things that were marvelous and splendorous when I took in the view – I wanted to see inside of them! I wanted to see where they came from.

 

Actually, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I wasn’t sure what I would find in the mountain. I just knew that I was tired of the view, even from the top.

Everyday there were people who would turn and go back down the hillside. The heat would get to them. Their feet were tired. They had too much to carry and their backs were aching with each step. I had found early on that with each turn in the road I had to leave something by the way side. I had too much baggage, too much luggage to carry up the hill. Some were precious mementoes. Some were childhood things, some were things that comforted me, some were things that I was even ashamed to take out of my suitcase – I didn’t want others to see what I had. Yet, I left them on the side. My desire to reach the top of the mountain had replaced my desire for what was in my luggage and baggage that I so carefully carried.

 

The higher up I went the worse it got. The view would only get better, yet I stumbled more often. I noticed that my feet were more sore than they had been on the valley floor. The higher we climbed the hotter it got. Temperatures would rise to a level beyond what anyone should have to endure.

 

We all wore layers of clothing. Socks, sweaters, jeans and sweats, hats, etc. The more we climbed the more I found that I began to shed the layers of clothing. A sweater here. Another pair of wool socks there. The more I took off the more vulnerable I became to the suns rays. It felt like I was exposed before the mountain. I could hide nothing.

Yet, there was something in me that compelled me to keep going.

 

Every time something changed on my outward appearance, it seemed something unknown changed on the inside….The inside.  I just wanted to reach the inside.  If only I could get inside the mountain.  If only I could get to the source of it all…..