As a seeker trying to cross a narrow passage spanning between two cliffs with a dark yawning abyss below, a dense fog moved in and enshrouded the passageway in a hazy curtain of white gossamer. Terrified of heights, the seeker stood rigid by the edge of the cliff.

“Don’t worry just walk toward the sound of my voice, but make sure you don’t waver to either side,” a disembodied voice called out from the other side and cut through the white haze.
But may be this is some evil spirit trying to lure me to my death. The seeker thought to herself. In the past, she had been fooled by heartless charlatans.
“Can you come over and lead me across?” She asked.
“No, you must cross the pass by yourself.”
In the dense fog, the seeker had no other choice but to follow the voice. Somehow, she felt in her heart a deep trust as if she had heard this voice before. With quivering fingers, she reached out in front and took the first step with great fear—what if the voice was really the conjuration of an evil spirit, would it trick her to fall into the abyss? And then her foot touched solid ground. Ah, this gave her confidence. With each step, she became more and more confident. She had more faith in the voice. Then suddenly, the ground started to sway and she realized that she must be on a small rope bridge. Suddenly, panic seized her and her body locked down into a catatonic state.
“Keep walking, you are almost across,” urged the voice.
“I can’t! I am afraid of heights, and I am on the bridge! And I know the bridge is not very wide,” cried the seeker.
“Oh nonsense, I have crossed this bridge a thousand times. It is so wide that an elephant can pass. Come on, you can do it,” encouraged the voice.
“But there is no elephant in Tibet.” Yelled the Seeker.
Then, a quick gust of icy wind blew in her face. The seeker saw an apparition of something dark and ominous in front of her. She cringed and started to edge backward.
“Stop! Don’t step back,” the voice sliced through the thick fog like a quick stroke of an axe.
The seeker stopped but whimpered “there is something in front of me, I can’t get past it.”
“You idiot, what thing? That is just your own shadow projected onto the mist. All right, I am tired of this. I am going,” said the voice with disdain.
In a burst of panic, the Seeker broke through the inertia and started to walk again. She passed right through the dark ominous shadow of herself
and felt elation--as if some dried dead skin had been peeled away from her soul. She felt light-hearted and began to dance.
 “No, don’t dance yet, walk and place one foot in front of the other in a straight line.” the voice directed.
“Oh but I feel so good, what you said was true, that was only my shadow. Why can’t I dance?” asked the seeker.
“There is no reason, just trust me,” the voice said. “Now listen, for the last part of the bridge, you must take off all your things.”
With reluctance, the seeker shed herself of the backpack—it was filled with all her valuables.
“Now take off your shoes too.”
The seeker had by now learned not to question the guiding voice. With bare feet, she felt the roundness of the wood bridge beneath her.
Then she felt solid ground and, with a loud cheer, she cried out “I have crossed the bridge!”
At that very moment, the fog dispersed and the sun shone through the clouds. She saw standing in front of her the Guide, a man with a full round face and deep obsidian eyes. With great gratitude she fell to the ground and saluted him. He laughed and pointed behind her. As she turned around, she saw the rope bridge that an elephant could pass was nothing more than a single giant log spanning between the two cliffs with the last stretch of the bridge tapering to thin branches. The extra weight of her backpack would have broken the branches.
The seeker embraced the Guide and laughed. She pointed behind him. Slightly bewildered, the Guide turned around and saw a deep pit right behind him. By stopping to help the seeker cross the bridge, he had been saved by his own compassion.
They both laughed out loud and their laughter echoed in the mountains.
“Come on, lets go to my cottage and I will make you some yak butter tea.” The Sherpa called back, as he started to walk toward his cottage.
The seeker walked with bare feet. For the first time in her life, she felt the sunshine melting the ice in her heart and the soft moist earth soaking her weariness away. She even looked forward to the taste of the thick tangy tea.
 
By Sat Chuen Hon