Falling Upwards
A saint lived in a city by the ocean but, as is often the case,
almost no one knew of his existence. With many friends of God, often
times the only ones who know about them are other, like-hearted
friends, and, sometimes, Divinity even keeps some of these hidden
from view, much like a rich connoisseur of art locks away the most
precious pieces of workmanship in a vault that is never open to the
public.
Sometimes, people gather together just to spend time recounting
the amazing stories of these companions because of the sense of awe,
peace, hope, inspiration, and happiness that hearing about the lives
of such marvelous exemplars of human potential bring to one’s soul.
For example, one story making the rounds with respect to the
aforementioned, relatively unknown saint involved the time that a
man, who was in search of truth concerning the purpose of life, had
been told by someone that if one wished to learn the secret of life then
one should try to locate a particular person who lived in a certain
city, and, fortunately for this story, the person for whom the man
was told to go in search of was none other than the saint about whom
we are talking.
Following some hard work, the seeker after truth finally tracked
down the saint about whom he had been told. He found the sought-
for man sitting in a small garden, just off the main square of town.
The saint appeared to be meditating on something or engaged in
some other silent form of remembering the Friend, for his eyes were
closed. Although there seemed to be an aura of peaceful contentment
about him, at the same time the countenance of the saint seemed to
glow with a sense of focus and concentration that radiated outward
from whatever was going on within the saint’s consciousness.
The man who had been looking for the saint sat down on a bench
across from the penultimate dimension of his quest. Knowing
something about the etiquette observed by the friends of God, he sat
in respectful silence, waiting for an opportunity to address the saint.
Morning turned into afternoon, and the afternoon began to
merge with the evening. Still, the saint had not moved, nor opened his
eyes – at least, as far as the truth seeker knew, none of this happened,
because, there were a few times when the visitor had grown weary of
sitting or had become hungry or had to answer another of the calls
of nature and, therefore, took a few short breaks before returning to
the garden and resuming the vigil once more.
Finally, as night began to prevail and the town lights had been
turned on, the truth seeker noticed a slight change in the body
language of the saint. Shortly thereafter, the saint’s eyes opened.
He rubbed his calves a bit, as if to restore a little circulation or
to let them know they hadn’t been entirely forgotten and glanced
over at the man on the bench. “How are you?” the saint asked.
The man smiled and nodded his head, and, then, said: “Good,
thank you. And you?”
“Wonderful!” he replied, “just wonderful.”
The saint scratched his head slightly and inquired: “So, what
brings you to our fair city?”
“You,” the man said. “I have been told you know how to realize
the purpose of life, and judging by the great concentration I have
been witnessing in you throughout the day, I would say what I have
been told about you may be correct. Where did you learn to
concentrate like that?”
“My cat taught me,” the saint replied. “One day I was watching
him and I was amazed that her eyes never left a mouse hole for hours
on end, and, suddenly, I understood what needed to be done if I were
ever to have even the faintest hope of discovering Divinity.”
The foregoing vignette is actually only a prelude to something
else and helps to establish a context of sorts. More specifically, there
was a time when the saint was returning home from his place of
employment, and the hour was rather late.
The streets were fairly deserted. The saint had a bag of groceries
in his arms and had just turned a corner, ready to head down a long
set of steps leading down the hill to his house, when he was
surrounded by three thugs demanding his money.
Because he had spent what little money he had on the groceries
which he was carrying, his wallet and pockets were empty. When the
thieves found out the man had no cash or valuables, they became
enraged by the man’s poverty and began to beat him.
Eventually, their anger subsided somewhat, but before coming
back under complete control, they gave the saint one last shove, and
the saint lost his balance and started to fall down the stairs which
were nearby. Head over heel he went down the long flight of steps.
Scared by either the turn of events or the racket it was making,
the would-be robbers ran from the scene. Lights began coming on in
different houses in the neighborhood, and people looked out of
windows and doorways to try to figure out what was going on.
The saint was now at the bottom of the stairs. Someone who had
been walking in the street near where the saint lay rushed over to
him.
“Are you all right?” the passer-by asked.
The saint was conscious, and he blinked a few times, as if to
reassure himself that he was still among the living. His eyes focused
in on the woman who was standing above him.
He smiled and said: “Yes, I believe God has pulled me through
this in remarkably good shape. In fact, I’m sorry there weren’t more
stairs.”
A worried look spread across the woman’s face. Undoubtedly, in
view of the man’s comment, such possibilities as concussion or head
injury were dancing through her mind.
She gave the man on the ground a reassuring smile. She looked
up saw a neighbor standing in the doorway, asked her to call for
medical assistance, and the neighbor raised her hand in
acknowledgment before disappearing into her home.
Returning her attention to the saint, the woman kneeled down
and began trying to comfort the man as best she could. Hoping to
gain further information which she might be able to pass on to the
emergency team when they arrived, she inquired: “What did you
mean when you said you wished there had been more stairs?”
The saint struggled to rise to a sitting position despite the
woman’s counsel that, perhaps, he should remain in a prone position
until the medical people got there. He patted the woman on the
shoulder and said: “No, really, I don’t believe there is anything
seriously wrong with me, but I will wait for the emergency people
and let them look me over.”
He was quiet for a moment, as if acclimating himself somewhat
and regaining a degree of physical equilibrium. He looked at the
woman and responded to her question: “Believe it or not, as I was
falling down, each time my head hit one of the stairs, God elevated
my spiritual condition and showed me a new realm of Being. By the
time I reached the bottom, what I was being shown through these
states was so incredibly beautiful and filling with such joy and awe,
I was wishing there were more stairs left on which to hit my head.”
The woman’s gaze froze on the man in a ‘Houston, we’ve got a
problem’ look. Surely, the man was suffering from hallucinations or
something similar.
The woman chose not to believe what she was being told. But, the
friends of God know otherwise.
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