I don't know what this means, but I know I feel better

I am standing on soft ground, and the earth quakes inexplicably. Its rage is explicit and violent, and it is coming for me. Sound waves escape the grinding rocks and assault me, and I freeze in fear. My inner ear is flooded with that sound that has terrified me since childhood. The wrenching of the earth as its guts curl together. The complete and total lack of control I feel consumes me and I am a little boy again, curled up on a bed clutching anything I can wrap my hands around to give me some semblance of control and safety. It is all in vain. With every movement, I feel less in control, and the futility of my actions comes starkly into focus. No matter how tightly I squeeze, loose earth and rocks will never anchor me to anything. Time slows and I let the soil fall out of my hand. My mind takes advantage of the extra moments afforded it and reveals itself as my ally against instability. It occurs to me that it is out of times like this that mountains are born. Mountains that frame the sky and then crack it open. I realize that any hope of solid ground will have to wait until the birth of whatever mountain may be pushing its way out of the earth’s womb. I close my eyes and imagine what the view would look like from the top of a freshly birthed peak. Beneath my feet, a crack appears. The mountain is coming. My voice rises slowly, a phoenix praying for redemption from the fire. “Grant me that I may be wise enough to discern, humble enough to understand, and strong enough to overcome.” The earthquake is almost over, my mountain almost here, and I am ready to climb.