A man. A mountain. A monumental misunderstanding.
Reginald thinks the universe chose him. The universe denies involvement.
Forthcoming Podcast – RD: Reality Download – Broadcasting enlightenment whether anyone asked or not.
Reginald Davenport considered himself a deeply enlightened person. He meditated twice a week (once if he had errands), recycled when the bins weren’t too far from the curb, and owned three different brands of Himalayan salt lamps — because they “vibrated with ancient Earth wisdom,” according to the catalog copy he never actually read beyond the bold type.
So when Reginald felt a “calling” to climb Mt. Obsidian Peak, he was certain the universe had selected him personally for extraordinary revelation. He brought a crystal staff, gluten-free trail mix, and a matching set of linen robes that looked spiritual but were mostly just itchy.
At sunrise, he planted himself on a flat stone halfway up and announced:
“Okay, Mountain. I am ready for enlightenment.”
The mountain sighed. A tectonic rumble rolled through the foothills, dislodging three mossy pebbles and causing a family of marmots to pause mid-breakfast. Birds stopped singing. Clouds shuffled aside awkwardly, like they were giving the mountain space to speak.
A voice resonated from every grain of stone, deep and vast:
“I am the Source.”
Reginald perked up. “Oh! Is that like… a metaphor?” he asked, squinting thoughtfully. “Do you represent the source of life, or —”
“No.” The mountain spoke slowly, as if enunciating for someone who regularly confused a toaster for a sentient being.
“I am the Source. Life, existence, consciousness, gravity, oxygen, sea turtles, light, fungi, the number three, and the emotional nuances of jazz. All originate here.”
Reginald nodded gravely. “Oh I see. You’re, like… Mother Earth. A nurturing archetype!”
The mountain contemplated collapsing itself into a sinkhole from sheer frustration. “No. I am not a symbol. I am the literal origin point of universal configuration parameters.”
Reginald beamed as if he had solved a puzzle. “So you’re saying humans are chosen! We’re the pinnacle! The main character species!”
Below, a pod of migrating whales collectively facepalmed underwater.
“Actually,” the mountain said, “you were a prototype. Dolphins understood first. Whales next. Mice nearly decoded the program last millennium but were distracted by cheese.”
Reginald scoffed. “Mice lack opposable thumbs, so philosophically that seems impossible.”
A boulder cracked nearby. The mountain tried another approach.
“We are all one. You, me, the moss, the wind, the quartz veins, the lichens —”
“Right,” Reginald said, nodding, “Alchemy. My horoscope mentioned this. I am destined for greatness.” He genuinely thought “we are all one” meant he was about to be invited to headline a TED Talk.
The mountain wondered if perhaps evolving humans from primordial carbon sludge had been overly optimistic. Maybe a species made entirely of spores would’ve been more emotionally mature.
It made one final attempt. The ground vibrated, carving glowing patterns through the stone, fractals, runes, prime-number spirals spelling a cosmic truth in the universal language of geometry:
I AM ALL THAT IS. ALL IS ME. YOU ARE NOT SEPARATE. YOU ARE JUST VERY LOUD.
Reginald gasped in awe. “That…” he whispered, tears welling, “…is a sign I should start a YouTube channel.”
Somewhere in the distance, dolphins laughed sympathetically. Whales hummed in agreement. A mouse scribbled notes for later. And Reginald returned home, convinced he had been chosen as humanity’s spokesperson for cosmic wisdom, while the mountain added “teach humans” to an ever-growing list titled: Projects That Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time.
It would try again in another 14,000 years. Maybe with crows. Crows seemed promising. Opting for a brief time out… … …. not brief enough.
… … … a slow sliver of steam/fog/haze appears to rise on the horizon.
The Mountain of Clarity and the Missing Point
Mt. Obsidian Peak was trying to be patient. Truly, it was. After four billion years of meticulously sculpting carbon chains, inspiring tidal rhythms, inventing mitochondria, and personally overseeing the development of jazz, the mountain had earned the right to expect at least some basic comprehension.
But humans, as always, were distracted. This week, the distraction took the form of a flamboyant comet named Zyxtharion the Brief, who careened into the solar system like a cosmic drunk uncle crashing a wedding reception.
Zyxtharion did this often. It wasn’t malicious, it simply had terrible navigation skills and an orbit powered by pure chaos and leftover stardust energy drinks. As it slingshotted around the Sun, humans immediately lost their collective minds.
News networks declared: “Alien Invasion Confirmed: Comet Clearly Intelligent!”
Podcasters screamed: “IT BLINKED. THINGS THAT BLINK HAVE INTENT.”
Influencers posted selfies with telescopes: “I can FEEL its wisdom. Use code GALACTICQUEEN for 20% off my cosmic moisturizer.”
All while Zyxtharion itself was simply shouting into deep space:
“WHICH ONE OF YOU MOVED ALPHA CENTAURI? I SWEAR IT WAS LEFT OF THE BIG BLUE ONE LAST TIME —”
The mountain watched, granite eyelids metaphorically twitching.
The Influencer Debut
Reginald now identified as a “multidimensional ambassador,” though he still got lost in supermarket parking lots. He had returned to the mountain to share a revelation.
“I know the truth now,” Reginald announced proudly. “That comet! It’s the architect of consciousness!”
The mountain’s internal plates shifted in disbelief. “No,” it said, voice booming like an earthquake trying to keep its cool. “Zyxtharion is a geological accident wrapped in ice. Last time it passed by, it mistook Saturn for a salad bar.”
Reginald nodded sagely. “So it’s humble. A hidden master.”
The mountain considered asking for a refund on evolution.
A Whale Opines
From half an ocean away, a blue whale interjected telepathically, its thoughts a soothing basso profundo in the collective mindscape.
“Humans, for the last time: not every fast-moving light is a god.”
Reginald gasped. “You heard that? The comet is speaking to you!”
The whale sighed. “No, that was me. I’m literally talking right now.”
Reginald blinked innocently. “So…the comet uses whale frequencies… fascinating.”
The Mountain Attempted a Final Clarification
The earth shook. Clouds spiraled into glyphs. Rivers formed glowing spirals spelling out basic cosmology:
I CREATED EVERYTHING. STOP ASSUMING THE SHINY VISITORS ARE IN CHARGE.
Reginald read this as: “The mountain wants me to form a religion about the comet.” He left immediately to buy incense, robes, and a trademark.
The Universe Facepalmed
Zyxtharion slingshotted away, blissfully unaware of its short-lived deity status. The whales hummed condolences to the mountain. The mice passed around whiteboards, still determined to crack the math first. The dolphins held a vote on whether to intervene, but unanimously decided to watch for entertainment.
The mountain settled back into immovable silence, whispering to the moss: “Maybe next time I’ll evolve something made entirely of quartz.
They might listen.”
The moss agreed.
Moss always agreed.
Moss got it.
End of part 1. Coffee break…optional.
Up next: The Cosmic Council, a group of ancient, bureaucratically weary intelligences who oversee planetary development, conduct performance evaluations of civilizations, and are incredibly disappointed in Earth.
They’re reluctantly considering a species transfer of “primary stewardship status” from humans to crows.
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