The obstacle

“What are you doing here?” I said as he walked up unannounced—sitting in my exhausted frustration, nursing my cracked hands.

“I could ask the same of you,” the Teacher replied, kindness evident in his clear voice. “You have not progressed in your journey for some time.” 

“I wonder why?” I said, letting out a puff of air, shifting my dirty legs on the ground like a small child might who is prone to tantrums but trying to master self-control.

“It could have something to do with this huge boulder staring us in the face…” I finally added.

The Teacher said nothing, just looked at the boulder with a kind half-smile. 

“I mean, you’re the one who brought me this way in the first place. I don’t know what you expected of me.” I sat down among the dusty brush, pushing away some fallen limbs.

The Teacher did the same, opposite me on the craggy path. 

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Wanted–not expected.” 

“Sorry?”

“What I wanted for you–not what I expected of you.”

“And what is it that you wanted for me? Other than to be stuck here for ages?”

He bit his lip, anticipating my response. “You can only see further down.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate, because I won’t ever get to the magical land of Further Down. I’m sure it’s great…” 

He held his tongue—kicked his right foot gently in the dust, back and forth, ruffling up a small cloud. 

“What ways have you tried to get around it?” he asked, still kindly. 

“What ways have I tried? Every way! Every way imaginable.” He still looked at me.

“Up, down, around, over, sideways, backwards, on my tip toes–you name it, I’ve tried it. I’ve poured out every ounce of my energy, over and over. There is no way around this thing.”

He sat in the silence known to him. Comfortable. Patient. Unhurried.

“At some point I can only conclude that you wanted me to be stuck.” I finally added, looking his way for a response.

“Conclusions can be dangerous,” he said, one corner of his lip rising up. “Sometimes even impervious to facts.”

I said nothing in response to this, and we both let the moment settle. 

“There is one thing that you have yet to try, if you are willing to hear it…” he said, looking up into my eyes. 

“Please, do tell,” I said, my sarcasm at least somewhat eroded by genuine desire.

“Gratitude,” he finally said, letting the full weight of the word land.

I looked away from him. My insides turned, jumped. I struggled to fight back tears. 

“Gratitude?” I eventually said, and He made no reply. “For this? That’s quite an unorthodox solution for such a predicament.”

“Solutions are…solutions,” he stated, matter of factly. 

I felt a confused hardening start to spread deep inside of me.

“Surely this is not the remedy for everyone who finds themselves in such a painful place?”

“Do you see me talking to everyone?” he answered gently, turning his head as if looking around—then back to me. “I am talking to you.” 

I didn’t dare look at him—unwilling to show him the hot moisture building beneath my eyelids. The pressure built in my forehead, my body starting to realize the awful rightness of what he said—the precise weight of correction that presses and lifts at the same time.

My tears said one thing, but my mind still fought against it.

“It…” I said, clearing my throat. “…is so…heavy.” 

“I know,” he said. 

“And it has cost me so, very much.” 

“I know,” he replied, sitting in the kind of love that refuses to remove the hard things required of it.

“But,” he said. “There is no other way around it.” 

We sat for a bit, unsure of how much longer this might last. 

“Look,” he said. “There are many things I could tell you. About the glories further down. About the kind of person you will be—oh, I wish you could see. About the ways you will carry this with you. But I sense the most important thing I can tell you right now is simply…I know.” 

“You know?”

“I know. I know how hard it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that there is no other way.”

“I have a feeling,” I said, after a moment, “that if I ever do get past this, it won’t be a one-time experience. This thing will follow me, someway or somehow.” 

“That feeling might be correct,” he said. “But it will get smaller. Eventually. This type of boulder shrinks as you soften.” 

“And I’m still not sure how I can do what you’re saying. How I can manufacture…that…for this.” 

“Oh my friend,” he said, wrinkling his left cheek. “It cannot be manufactured. It can only be chosen through an act of great trust.”

“I don’t think I have the power.”

“That’s good,” he said.

A minute later, He got up and dusted himself off. 

He walked over to me, still sitting up against a rock, thinking. He bent at the knees, came down to my level, put his right hand onto my shoulder.

I looked up into his beaming eyes, searching for something I desperately lacked.

He smiled.