Puerta del cielo

​The other day, I sat by the beach looking at the sunrise. In Valencia, the sun rises from the sea, like a fiery Venus illuminating the dark. I saw a shadow walking on the sands coming my way. I had a pot of coffee and was rolling a cigarette, and the figure, as it came closer, became a middle-aged man - well built, but skinny - grey hair, grey beard, and black, black eyes. Once he was a few meters from me he said with confidence, do you still have coffee? I never refuse to share coffee, so of course I poured him a cup and offered to roll him a cigarette. He accepted with a smile, and that is how I met Martin. With a cup of coffee and a cigarette, he told me his story.

In 2019, Martin’s heart was heavy. He had been a man of science, a man who turned into a military contractor, and later, a monk, as he thought faith would answer his doubts. Studying the teachings of faith, the deeper he delved into the words, the more lost he became. His questions about life, God, and the meaning of existence seemed to echo endlessly in the chambers of his soul, never finding answers.

Tired of the silence, Martín abandoned the monastic life and began wandering the land seeking truth. Eventually, his travels brought him to Valencia, Spain where, nestled at the entrance of a valley, surrounded by citrus and pine trees, high in the rugged peaks of Serra, he found himself in front of an ancient monastery “Puerta de Cielo”. It was said that the monastery was built over sacred ground, a place where the sky met the earth. Legends were told of secrets hidden beneath its stones, and of a divine presence that resided within its valleys.

The monastery itself was a marvel. Built in 1274, with stones that seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight, its towering spires pointed toward the heavens. But Martín wasn’t interested in the grand architecture, or the chants of the monks who still dwelled there. He had come for something deeper, something hidden.

In the stillness of the night, as the winds whispered through the trees, Martín roamed beyond the monastery grounds. He found himself drawn to a small, overgrown path leading into a secluded valley. The locals whispered of the valley, calling it "La Gruta de los Perdidos" — the Cave of the Lost — a place where those seeking divine answers often wandered, never to return. Martín was undeterred. His desperation to find meaning pushed him forward.

After hours of wandering through thick foliage, he stumbled upon a cave, its entrance shrouded in vines and moss, high above the valley. The climb was hard; crumbling stones, thorny plants, the steep rocky wall, but when he finally reached the mouth of the cave, time stood still. Stepping inside, Martín felt the air change. The wind, so relentless outside, died away to nothing. The cave was dark, but he felt himself drawn inside, his body electrified by his desired to go in. His heart raced as he followed the weak illumination of his lighter. What he found was not a simple stone chamber, but a doorway — an archway carved from stone unlike any he had ever seen. Symbols covered its surface, glowing with an ethereal light, and there was a strange hum in the air, vibrating with energy. As he did all his life when he faced a situation that requires a choice, Martin chose without hesitation and stepped through the doorway.

On the other side, he found himself in a place unlike anything he had ever imagined. He was outside. The sky was a brilliant hue of gold and lavender, the trees shimmered with light, and the air felt alive. People — or beings that resembled humans — moved with grace and purpose, their eyes filled with a serene understanding. They were tall, radiant, and seemed to glow with an inner light. Everything in this place seemed to exist in a perfect harmony.

Martín soon learned that this was no celestial realm, nor a heaven crafted by the gods. The people who lived here had long since abandoned the need to define divinity or to separate themselves from nature. Their secret was not their faith, but their deep understanding of themselves as part of the world. They had accepted that they were neither above nor below creation, but merely threads in the vast fabric of existence.

One elder among them, a wise woman named Illura, approached Martín.
“You have come seeking answers, Martín,” she said, her voice like the wind. “But the answers you seek are not bound to a god or a doctrine. They lie in your acceptance of what you are — a part of this world, not separate from it.”

Confused, Martín asked, “But what of the divine? What of God?”

Illura smiled softly. “God, if such a being exists, is not something to be found beyond the stars or in the heavens. God is in the soil beneath your feet, the air you breathe, the pulse of your heart. The peace you seek is in understanding that you are no more, and no less, than the earth, the sky, and the stars themselves.”

Martín lived among these people for many days, learning their ways. There was no hierarchy, no desire for power, and no fear of death. They lived in the present, connected to every leaf, every drop of water, every breath of wind. Their happiness did not stem from knowledge or prayer, but from their acceptance of the simple truth: they were part of the natural order, neither above it nor outside it.

In time, Martín understood. His doubts melted away, not because he had found the answers he once sought, but because he realized there were no answers to seek. Faith was not about knowing or understanding — it was about being.

When Martín finally returned to the world beyond the doorway, he was no longer the same man. The monastery of Puerta de Cielo seemed smaller, quieter. The questions that had once plagued him were gone, replaced by a profound peace. He had not found God, but he had found himself, and in doing so, he had found everything.

From that day forward, Martín lived simply, tending to the land, breathing in the beauty of the world around him. He never spoke of the doorway in the cave, nor of the people he had met. Some things, he knew, were not meant to be shared, but to be lived.

When he finished telling his story, the sun was high on the horizon, and the city starting to come to life. Martin put his coffee cup on the sand, stood up and began to walk away leaving me wondering about what had just happened? My plan was to watch the sunrise, now my mind was racing with thousands of questions, but Martin kept walking.

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