A man lives and that same man dies. Not much happens in his life and not much happens surrounding his death. He lives simply, he loves carefully, he plays heartily, he works tirelessly, and he dies naturally. Wife? Unimportant. Children? Does not matter. He lives, he dies. Like all of us will do. Like most of us dread doing. Like some of us look forward to.
Death really does not come as a surprise to him. He is conscious that he is dying and he is conscious that he is dead. This realization, or perhaps importance of this realization lasts but a split second, if measurement of time is needed. Soon new reality deserves full attention and his life and death become a part of his experience that has already happened, no longer in need of reflection. What stands before him now is, and that is a staircase. A massive stone staircase.
The stairs go so far right he cannot see the edge and so far left he cannot see the edge. They go so far up they disappear. Blue sky above, white sand below. Sand behind him as far as the eye can see. A stone staircase in front of him as far as the eye can see. He knows to start climbing the stairs.
His first step is slow and heavy, his second step clumsy, his third step as natural as if he was made to climb this staircase. He starts to wonder why a staircase? He did not expect a staircase. He had not given much thought to what death would be like but a staircase was definitely a surprise. A part of him did expect the pearly gates, white clouds, angel wings and harps. A part of him also expected his lights to just go out, to no longer be in existence. But a staircase?
There are quite a few similarities between life and death. He found it strange that he still had the ability to feel uncomfortable emotion. This was an unexpected trait of death. His emotions had haunted him all through life, should he now be haunted still? The more thought given to the subject of emotion the more he realized he was becoming angry. He realized that he was angry not because he was dead but because it was not what he had expected. He wanted bliss, he wanted the tortuous emotions of life to disappear. He wanted the perfect heaven promised to him in Sunday school, devoid of hardship and pain. The climbing of the staircase angered him. Had he not fulfilled some ceremony or sacrament? Did he not pray to the right bearded man while he was alive? Was he in heaven, hell, or purgatory? All questions no answers, only stairs. So he climbs.
Anger ceases. He becomes sad. Had he done something wrong? Where are all the loved ones who had passed before him? Was he not worthy of any company? Is this his fate to spend eternity lonely climbing stairs? So he climbs.
After his brush with sadness he finds himself scared. He notices that he is trapped. He knows not where he is, he knows not where he is going, he knows not where he comes from, he knows not how to change his situation. So he climbs.
And in his climb he finds strength. He climbs past the anger, he climbs past the sadness, he climbs past the fear. He is now climbing through strength. What more is there to do? So he climbs.
The more he climbs the more determined he becomes. He is determined to seek his destination wherever that may lead him. Determination. So he climbs.
He becomes silent. He quiets his thoughts, stopping his racing mind. He realizes that all he needs to do is lift one bare foot over the other, stepping on each stone step. He is not bored and he is not tired, he just is.
He starts to notice details of the stairs. He notices tiny cracks where grass is growing and small areas where the white sand has found its way onto the stairs. He notices the vivid coloring of the stairs, that the gray of the stone is rich and deep. The grass is a bright almost unnatural green and the sand is so white. He notices the sand. Each grain. He notices that with each climb each step becomes a little larger than the last, and with each step he notices snails, butterflies, caterpillars and grasshoppers. In fact he realizes that insects are all over the stairs. He soon realizes that he is quite enjoying his journey. He is taking his time now. What is the hurry? He knows not where he is going or when he is going to get there, so why hurry?
He starts to see flowers. Flowers of all colors, pink, blue, red, purple, yellow and even a few green ones. He stops to look at the details of the flowers and to smell them. They are beautiful, and he notices each step becoming larger than the last. He continues to climb.
He sees water seeping through the cracks of the stone stairs. Not much at first but as the climb gets higher the seeping water becomes small puddles, and the small puddles become small ponds, and the small ponds become small lakes and soon with each step he finds rivers, oceans and waterfalls. He starts to see not only water but grass. Not just patches of grass but fields of grass. Fields of grass with trees. Oak trees, fig trees, apples trees, orange trees, all trees. Each step becoming larger than the last. He continues to climb.
He finally comes to the realization that he is no longer putting one foot above the other to climb each step. He is actually walking a little distance on each stair to get to the next stair. In fact he is not just walking a little distance form one step to the next but he is actually walking a quarter of a mile or more to the next step. He does not mind. He is enjoying his journey. He has smelled each flower, examined each insect, drank from all ponds, bathed in most waterfalls, ran through grassy fields, and enjoyed the beauty of each tree.
He has forgotten his initial anger and sadness, he has forgotten that he was ever scared, and he has forgotten that he ever needed strength. He is only silent now. He has forgotten that there was ever a goal of reaching the top of the stairs. He just accepts that there are stairs and he is to climb them. So his is silently climbing the stairs.
A destination is reached. He has been so content with climbing that the realization of a destination had been forgotten. His destination. He reached the top of the stairs. He found a small patch of grass, blue skies and a chess table with two chairs made out of the same stone as the staircase. He could look down on the stairs from which he had just come from. The stairs were endless. They seemed to have no beginning. He sits down at the chess table.
He starts to play chess. He moves a piece. A piece from an invisible opponent is then moved. He accepts this. He continues to play chess. He becomes so involved, so silent.
He asks his invisible opponent, “Are you God?”
His invisible opponent does not reply. So he continues to play in silence.
He asks, “Why a game of chess? Are we just pawns of your chess game? Tools of entertainment?”
His invisible opponent does not reply. So he continues to play in silence.
He says, “I love you.”
His invisible opponent replies, “I love you too.”
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