ascent to truth

Morning coffee with the Perfect Fit in Dublin.
She's a Spanishy.
My favourite friend.
Not my best friend.
Just my favourite.
She is an active girl and had spent the last few days hiking in the west of Ireland.
"We climbed your holy mountain. What's it called again?"
"I presume you mean Croagh Patrick. Although it's not really mine. I mean I don't actually own that particular mountain."
"Croagh Patrick. Yes, that's the one."
"What was it like?"
"Oh you're going to love this James."
"What do you mean?"
"The story I'm about to tell you. You're always trying to convert me to Christianity. Listen to this. No just listen. Don't comment until I've finished."
I beckoned her to go on.
With unmistakeably Spanish enthusiasm she recounted the following.
"Me and Julio really wanted to climb Croak Patrick. It was a lovely day. We got to the mountain in the afternoon and we began hiking up it. We were about a quarter of the way up and we looked back. We saw a storm coming in over the countryside. It was amazing. You could see this storm taking shape and moving across the fields. It stretched for miles. We had to decide whether to keep going or to turn back. It was that bad. We weren't sure what we'd do if the storm caught us on the mountain. We decided to keep climbing. Every now and then we'd look back. The storm was getting closer. It looked huge. Really black and ominous. We scrambled on up the mountain. It gets steeper near the top. Now we could see the storm spread out all around the mountain below us. It was so black. It was moving faster. It was like it was chasing us. It completely covered the countryside. We tried to put it out of our minds. The climb is difficult enough because the stones on the ground are very sharp. No, we didn't do it in bare feet the way some of the Irish do. But this is what happened. We got to the top and turned around. James, there was no sign of the storm. We could see for miles. The most beautiful scenery stretching away to the horizon. It looked like heaven with the sun shining on it."
When she said these words I felt an odd intuition of delight.
My handsome preraphaelite jaw dropped.
For a moment words failed me.
"Go on," she prodded. "What do you think that was?"
"I'll tell you what it was," sez I. "You were allowed to see things as they really are. You were allowed to see every demon in hell on your tail. And you were allowed to see the victory."
Spanishy clapped her hands.
"I knew you'd say it was a miracle," she grinned.