"Don't  worry,

~Bob Marley
Not so long ago high in a mountaintop village, surrounded in celestial 
light and pristine crystal cool air lived a young monk.  His life was filled 
with love, honor and respect for all things.  He was in love with 
everything and everyone he came into contact with.  It wasn’t 
something he thought about...it just was.  He was content and every 
breath was filled with ahh and splendor.  His days were filled with daily 
chores and play which he embraced knowing that there was duty and 
divinity in all that he did. 

The village consisted of an ancient sacred monastery, where he lived 
and worked, and various sacred homes that resembled small temples, 
where the villagers and their families lived.

Each person who lived in the village held a place in the very sacred 
whole...All realized their place and divinity with in this very sacred 
community.  Some were homemakers, some took care of the animals, 
some were carpenters, some were craftsmen and women and among 
these...some were weavers.
There was a timelessness and simplicity about this place.  Age was not 
something that was accounted for on an annual basis, it was more 
earned and honored here.  Among the villagers and monks, the weavers 
were of the most ancient.

They worked at the base of the most sacred mountaintop in the village. 
It was in a small clearing where the weavers sat and worked. This 
clearing was surrounded with fields of wild flowers electric with color, 
with beautiful trees spread around filled with amazing one-of-a-kind 
song birds and the landscape held goats and sheep with the most 
beautiful wool one could ever imagine.  These goats and sheep bore no 
ordinary wool.  They were of all colors of the rainbow and then some.  
Some with wool of the finest silk and yet others were of a metallic 
nature bearing the finest threads of silver and gold. 

One at a time the goats and sheep would come into the clearing where 
the weavers worked and offer their wool for the fine tapestries these 
weavers loomed.  Some of the weavers worked by hand, some with 
looms and others spinning wheels. All the while rocking back and forth 
in trance filling the crystal clear mountain air and surrounding village 
with angelic song and chant.  

Once every 30 days or so, if you could call it that, remember this was a 
very sacred place that had a certain timelessness about it, the village 
held an open-air market and travelers and passers-by would fill the 
village and visit the stands that held the fine tapestry purses and bags 
the weavers had so finely made.  

On market day the young monk would sit below one of the 
mountaintops above the village and watch the multiplied beauty and 
wonder of this place.  It was filled with such color, all the travelers, 
passer-bys and villagers were wrapped in the most gorgeous silks of 
golden yellows, oranges and saffrons, like those of the monks, bright 
hues of blues, aquas and turquoises, heart infused pinks, magentas and 
fuchsias, verdant greens like no others and the most inspiring plums and 
violet hues the eyes could hold.  

The movement of the comings and goings of the village filled the young monk’s senses and created a symphony of notes and tones unlike no others, it was as if hearing a masterpiece piano concerto or an angelic choir.  The motions were filled with grace and synchronicity.  Each motion flowed into the next and each was a note unto itself, flowing ever higher and higher into the next. It was more beauty than the young monk’s heart and eyes could hold...nevertheless he sat breathing it all in as his eyes welled with tears of joy and his heart overflowed with the purest beauty and love of this place. 

On one such market day, the young monk took to his usual vantage 
spot above the village and marketplace.  An old sage from the 
monastery walked towards him up the mountain.  The young monk 
greeted the old sage.  The old sage offered his hand to the young monk 
and asked him to come with him to the marketplace. The young monk 
followed and had known earlier that morning that there was something 
different about this day.  

As he walked down the mountain with the old sage towards the village 
and marketplace, he took in with all his senses and heart the beauty of 
this place as if he knew it would be the last time for a while. His eyes 
and heart again welled with tears of joy.  He silently embraced his 
experience that was to come.  

Once in the village in the center of the marketplace there were a 
number of open stalls with the fine tapestry purses and bags of the 
weavers... all hanging from the stalls dangling and flowing with the 
crystal clear mountain breezes.  The old sage turned and said to the 
young monk, “It is your time to choose, take your time and choose 
from your heart”.  

The young monk tilted his head to the side a bit and looked at the old 
sage, he did not understand what the ancient one was asking of him.  
The old sage went on to explain to the young monk that he was here to 
choose his next life and each one of these fine tapestry purses and bags 
represented a life, each one extraordinary and divine. 

The young monk explained that he did not want to leave this place and 
the old sage went on to explain to him that he and many others were 
needed now, more that ever, to take with them the remembrance and 
sacredness of this place and to carry it with them in their hearts into a 
world that was in upheaval.  “Just be there...for a while...‘til the change 
is made and peace is restored”, said the old sage.

The old sage looked at the young monk with a deep sense of knowing, 
his eyes overflowing with love and told him it was a mission of honor 
and courage that he was about to set out on, as are all lives, nonetheless 
he had to choose one.  

The young monk walked up to one of the stalls mesmerized by the 
beauty and intricacy of each finely woven tapestry purse and bag 
hanging from the stall.  He asked the old sage how it could be that 
someone could choose between these finely woven bags, each one so 
unique and more beautiful than the next.  The old sage said, “It is easy 
if you if you choose with your heart”.  

The young monk then explained to the old sage that he would like to 
experience just an ordinary life and asked how he would go about 
making such a choice.  The old sage smiled with a deep inner knowing 
and again looked at the young monk, his eyes overflowing with love 
and said, “My dear boy, there is no such thing as an ordinary life...each 
one takes courage and each one is filled with the divine, each one is 
unique and infused with lessons to learn.  Each one is a gift”. 

And the old sage went on to say, “You will not remember this 
conversation once you are there, yet there will always be a deep inner 
knowing that you will carry with you in your heart...if you follow it, it 
will not allow you to stray too far off the path...and if you follow your 
heart you will find a bit of this place in all that you do and one day you 
will come back to this place and you will have earned a little age and 
your soul will be laced with finely woven wisdom. Each thread 
imprinted with your courage, each as divine and filled with honor, love 
and compassion as the next. You will come to understand why in this 
place of timelessness, it is not time that ages the wise ones, but lives, 
each wrinkle and crease a reminder of one of the finely woven tapestry 
purses and bags chosen”. 

And if you learn your lessons well and follow your heart, you will 
return here and each time you return you will appear a little more aged 
and a little more wiser and one day it may be you who stays here and 
sits in this mountain top village following the guidance from above and 
weaves the lives we choose.

So the young monk carefully inspected each purse and bag, beholding 
the intrinsic beauty and uniqueness in each one and chose.  He lifted it 
off the stall and held it to his heart and drifted into a most peaceful and 
beautiful dream...knowing he would return one day.


***The above story was inspired by a dear friend and a wise sage.
The Young Monk and The Mountaintop Village 

by Carrie Moore

A story about your divine nature and 
following your heart
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