The man who struck lightning.
Some number of years ago, the man awoke — not just from the night’s sleep, but from a deep, deep slumber that had lasted more than thirty years.
Some number of years ago, the man awoke — as he had done the morning before, and all the mornings before that. This morning was unlike the other mornings, though. Not just because he was heartbroken. This morning would be his last morning. The man was going to die.
That morning, the man called his friend. And he laid out his wishes, should something happen. And he went about his day.
In the afternoon, the man was called to a hill. He climbed it alone. He arrived at the top. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and there were just a few fluffy white clouds floating about. But still, the man was going to die. He was sure of it.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. And then, when he turned around, he saw the storm in the distance.
And then, it was all around him. The clouds were thick & grey. The wind was strong. The rain was heavy.
As if slapped by the hand of a giant, the man was thrown from his feet. The lightning, which had permeated through the clouds that engulfed the man, had struck him, sending a current through his body that moved his limbs and left the hair all over his skin standing tall.
Again, he was struck. And again, and again, and again. Five times, in total. He fell to his knees, accepting this was the end. Little did he know, it was the beginning.
The storm passed. The man was alive. More alive, in fact, than he’d been before. The man was new. His energy was changed.
Just as a bolt of lightning cuts through the sky, this moment had divided his life. The time before the storm felt like a distant memory. And same as the storm, which had left blue skies, his mind was clear as well.
The days that followed had new purpose. And the man found that things that bothered him before the storm no longer mattered so much.
When the man told me this story, he spoke of it simply — as it was, and nothing more.