The Art of Moving

There was once a Kingdom in the Valley, a Beautiful Mountain and a Whispering Boy. And all of the beautiful stories worth sharing that one only has got a courage to imagine.

For centuries the Kingdom was well and the Valley blossomed resting peacefully at the feet of the Mountain. It’s woods, animals and the people. The Queen was gentle and strong and so was the King by her side. Wise were their counselors too.

Nothing seemed to bother the happiness rising over the meadows and though they say the happiness is not meant to last, somehow in the Valley, more than anywhere else, it was likely to happen.

Maybe it’s been an exception of the rule? Maybe the new rule was being written there? Or perhaps the rules are made when we are not able to imagine that another ways of telling our stories are just as possible?

Everything and everyone seemed to know their place in this magnificent tapestry. If one thread had been missing, the beauty would have been incomplete. And missing was none.

Everything vibrated. Everything shined. Everything giggled.

Until one spring. When it stopped to rain. It didn’t rain in the summer either. Nor in the autumn. No snow came in the winter. Nor in the seasons that followed. The land was dying and so was the happiness.

Are the rules not meant to be changed but respected? Are the new ways that difficult to write? Is happiness after all not meant to last?

– There’s still hope – started his speech one of the brightest minds in the Kingdom while stretching the plans in front of the royal couple – We’ve worked hard over the past months. There’s a river in the east that is rich in waters. Our engineers prepared the plans to build the channels that would bring the water back to the Valley. The only thing we didn’t figure out yet is how to pass the Mountain.

And so the seasons followed, the water supplies were running short and yet there seemed to be no way to move the Mountain. Birds left. No flowers could be found.

– We need to leave the Valley – said finally the Gentle and Strong King standing next to the Gentle and Strong Queen. And he fell silent. And just as silent were the people of the Valley.

Leave the Valley? The Valley that had been a mother to their mothers and grandmothers? The place where they had watched their children being born and their grandfathers passing by? Where they had worked, laughed and loved? Where happiness had seemed to be finding new ways and brighter meanings.

And then the speechless sadness was gently touched by a quiet voice of the Whispering Boy. People knew his smile without many words and liked to spend time with him although no one had ever imagined that he might be someone who could change their fate. You see, silence is often underestimated.

– Let me try – said the Boy who preferred to whisper – Give me three days.

– You? – asked sadly the King – Our brightest people worked together not being able to find a solution and you still believe that you, alone, are able to move the Mountain?

– We choose what we want to believe, don’t we? – whispered the Boy – I have enough faith left for the next three days.

The King fell silent. He looked at the Queen as she gently stood out and embraced the Boy firmly. It was just as difficult for them to leave the Valley as it was for anyone else. They hardly had any hope left but since three days made no difference they welcomed the possibility of staying for a while longer, just like lovers welcome a few more minutes before the light of the day separates their embraces.

– I grant you three days – the King finally said to the Boy – And all of you – he turned to the people – Do whatever you need to do to say goodbye to the Valley. There’re many unknown horizons waiting for us.

The Boy bowed, adjusted his little bag with a few memories he possessed and turned his feet towards the Mountain.

He could still feel the warmth of the Queen’s arms, gentle and strong. No one else blessed him for the way, as all the blessings, they felt, would be much needed for later.

It wasn’t far to the Mountain – it raised like a crown over the Valley and one could feel its presence in its every corner. The Boy reached it in the afternoon of the same day.

He got to a little meadow he knew and sat down leaning against the tree, not really sure what he should do. Unlike engineers had he no good plan and little knowledge that could be found in the books. It was a feeling that made him stand out in front of the Queen and the King, it was the feeling that brought him here. A gentle, loving feeling. For the Valley, for the Mountain, for all that he might have to leave behind very soon.

He sat there for many hours listening to the wind and admiring the light changing over the Mountain ridge. And as the sun was hiding behind the horizon he finally whispered:

– I’ve been here uncountable amount of times. It was my mother that pointed my little eyes towards your majesty. I played and laughed in your forests. I fell many times running down your slopes and wore my bruises with pride. I will have to leave soon. We all will. And you well know why. You know us all, perhaps better than we know ourselves. The Valley has been suffering from the draught for far too long. Even your paths are bruised and you became grayer. The wisest people tried to find a way to solve the problem and they found none. They even tried to make plans to move you. But Mountains aren’t made to be moved, are they?

And the Mountain listened. And the Boy fell asleep.

All following day the Boy spend wandering on the slopes of the Mountain. He even found some wild strawberries that somehow survived the draught. Sad he felt and grateful, touched again by the beauty of the Mountain. He stopped many times to listen, look and draw.

When there was just enough light of the day left to see, he reached to his little bag taking out a loose pile of papers.

– Good heavens! You’re beautiful! – the Boy whispered to the Mountain – I’ve painted you endless times. Just look here! Here you are blushing in the morning light! And here shining with the dark sky rumoring over your top! And look here – how silent you are in the winter snow…

And the Mountain looked and smiled. At the drawings. At the Man falling asleep upon its slopes.

The next day the Man woke up early, he wanted to get to the top of the Mountain before the nightfall. It was a long and challenging path but he knew it well. Little water did he still have left and in the evening, when he finally stood at its top, he was exhausted. He sat there for a long while embracing the Valley with his loving eyes. And then out of the blue he smiled looking at the picture brought back by his memory:

– Do you remember when I first came here with her? Do you rememberer her beautiful feet and the way she giggled? And how she blushed when we first kissed? She loved you. She loved coming here. I’ve got her portrait somewhere here…

It was the only thing the Wise Man was able to whisper holding a picture of the Smiling Girl in front of him. He fell silent. He loved the silence even more than the whispers.

The last of the three days he was granted by the King was coming to an end. He was now wise enough to believe in fairy tales. And wise enough to know that it’s not possible to move the Mountain.

He suddenly felt very old and tired. Wet salty drops of gratitude, beauty and love wandered down his cheeks gently touching the drawings and the Mountain’s heart. The Wise Old Man fell asleep. Stars playing their lullabies.

And the Mountain? Felt the beauty of his every falling tear.

It was deeply touched. And it opened. Letting the endless life giving streams flow joyfully towards the Valley.

There was no longer need to build the channels. There was no need to move any Mountain.

The Mountain was moved. He moved it. With all the Beauty he dared to share.