Long ago, in a village where the acacia trees swayed like dancers in the wind, there was a troubling sight: the young men and women of the village were courting not their equals, but the married. They whispered in the shadows of the market, they met by the river, and they carried hearts heavy with love that was not theirs to hold.
The village priest, a wise man with a calm voice that could quiet even the wildest storm, watched this with sorrow. He saw the futures of the young people slipping like sand through fingers. So one day, he called them together.
“You young hearts,” he said, “you walk on a path that will bring sorrow. You chase what is not yours, and your souls grow weary before their time. I will take you to the mountain, to Mt. Longonot. There, you will see yourselves clearly, and perhaps you will choose wisely.”
The young people, curious and restless, followed him. Up the winding paths of Mt. Longonot they climbed. The air grew thinner, the wind sharper, and the earth beneath their feet grew steeper. Yet the priest walked steadily, never tiring, his eyes full of patience.
At the top, they rested. The village was tiny from that height, the rivers mere threads of silver, the forests like green blankets. The young people drank water and nibbled on the food the priest had brought, but their minds wandered, and their hearts, as always, dreamed of what they could not have.
Then the priest spoke, and his voice rolled over the mountain like distant thunder; “You date married men and women. They go back to their homes, to their marriages. You go back to your parents’ houses. Tell me—have you ever heard a married man or woman complain that you used them? No! They continue their lives, their marriages, their joys. But you… you carry the pain. You carry the heartbreak in secret. You carry the shame that no one else sees. Think of your tomorrow, for it belongs to you, not to shadows of others’ lives.”
The young people were silent. The wind whispered through the grasses, carrying the priest’s words into their hearts. Some looked at the village below and saw it not as home, but as a place of choices they had yet to make. Others looked at their own hands and wondered at the lives they had touched and the lives they could still live.
And so, from that day, some turned their hearts back to their own paths. Some still struggled, but the memory of Mt. Longonot, and the words of the wise priest, remained like a seed in their hearts—waiting to grow, waiting to guide them toward the life that was truly theirs.
The mountain stands to this day, and the elders say: “Go up with your heart heavy, come down with your eyes open. Choose wisely, for tomorrow is yours, and no one else’s.”
The village priest, a wise man with a calm voice that could quiet even the wildest storm, watched this with sorrow. He saw the futures of the young people slipping like sand through fingers. So one day, he called them together.
“You young hearts,” he said, “you walk on a path that will bring sorrow. You chase what is not yours, and your souls grow weary before their time. I will take you to the mountain, to Mt. Longonot. There, you will see yourselves clearly, and perhaps you will choose wisely.”
The young people, curious and restless, followed him. Up the winding paths of Mt. Longonot they climbed. The air grew thinner, the wind sharper, and the earth beneath their feet grew steeper. Yet the priest walked steadily, never tiring, his eyes full of patience.
At the top, they rested. The village was tiny from that height, the rivers mere threads of silver, the forests like green blankets. The young people drank water and nibbled on the food the priest had brought, but their minds wandered, and their hearts, as always, dreamed of what they could not have.
Then the priest spoke, and his voice rolled over the mountain like distant thunder; “You date married men and women. They go back to their homes, to their marriages. You go back to your parents’ houses. Tell me—have you ever heard a married man or woman complain that you used them? No! They continue their lives, their marriages, their joys. But you… you carry the pain. You carry the heartbreak in secret. You carry the shame that no one else sees. Think of your tomorrow, for it belongs to you, not to shadows of others’ lives.”
The young people were silent. The wind whispered through the grasses, carrying the priest’s words into their hearts. Some looked at the village below and saw it not as home, but as a place of choices they had yet to make. Others looked at their own hands and wondered at the lives they had touched and the lives they could still live.
And so, from that day, some turned their hearts back to their own paths. Some still struggled, but the memory of Mt. Longonot, and the words of the wise priest, remained like a seed in their hearts—waiting to grow, waiting to guide them toward the life that was truly theirs.
The mountain stands to this day, and the elders say: “Go up with your heart heavy, come down with your eyes open. Choose wisely, for tomorrow is yours, and no one else’s.”
