The Fable of the White Room

"Do not feel lonely, the entire universe is inside you." ~ Rumi 

The last thing he could remember is a struggle, a long struggle, then saying, "NO!" as loud as he could as he fought off the adversary.

"Have I died?" he wondered.

"Am I dead"?

"Is this heaven"?

"Or hell"?

With much difficulty he tried to look to his left and saw only a white nothingness. His movements were clearly restricted, but he could sense no shackles, bindings, fetters or ropes confining him. He felt as though he was wrapped in some sort of invisible cloak or sheathe. Perhaps this was a cruel joke played on him by one of many enemies encountered over countless travels. Or perhaps this was the result of his pursuit of something, anything different from the life he had been living - a punishment of sorts, or just a sign his body mind and soul had given up, failed, expired.

"Perhaps I am not dead," he thought. "But perhaps I am dying."

As he struggled to look to his right he perceived his most recent foe, slain, next to him, motionless and prone.

"What the hell is going on?" he thought.

When he had said the single word sparked by endless battles against countless opponents that seemed to constantly confront him, that word, "NO!" pulsed beyond the confines of his personal arena, dispatching the beast and delivering him to this place. This single word precipitated a transformative experience, instantly conveying both him and his latest antagonist to this ... place ... whatever this place is.

"Where the hell am I?"

He had grown tired of the constant struggle, the never-ending and pointless battles. He had come to believe this behavior had become part of his go-to lifestyle, an easy continuation of a life he had never asked for but had no idea how to depart from. He would ask himself if continuing the pursuit of a life in which he constantly got in his own way was a result of fear of an unknown beyond the familiar, or simply laziness. Was he too stupid to break free? Was he not good enough?

"Stop it," he thought. "Purge these thoughts from your mind!"

As he lay, motionless, still unable to move, he realized for the first time in his memory he considered fighting the negativity that had consumed him for so long. He had for too long embraced the negativity, a blanket of consistency that had dictated his every thought, action and reaction. It was a shroud that shielded him from something.

"But shielding me from what?"

This internal conversation made him wonder if he was losing his mind. He shook his head in effort to achieve some clarity and noticed his encumbrance still encasing him, but loosening.

"Fascinating."

His thoughts then turned for the first time to what had been before, before the turn of events, before his dive deep into what had ultimately led to a life of nothingness, with no landscapes, colors, tastes or textures - the life had led to this place, white, soundless, with no depth, neither a positive, nor negative. His former life of nothingness had been replete with experiences he couldn't clearly recall, things acquired, yet now gone, friends ...

"Friends," he tried to envision friends, anyone, he could consider held close and cherished. There was no one - nobody there even in the remnants of his deepest recollections.

"But I feel, something," he thought. "For the first time in a long, long time I feel. I don't know what I feel. But it is ... there."

It was then he felt it, the tear, progressing slowly down his cheek.

"I was something, before", he thought. "I was good at it too, I think. ... I had friends, a life, purpose. I had ... parents, who loved me."

He could feel his restraints loosening, his hands releasing from the invisible bindings, his legs now free, his head no longer seemingly pinned to the floor, or whatever he was lying on in the nothingness. He rose and painfully lifted his body to a standing position. It seemed like eons since he had been able to stand with no purpose but to simply be, standing. There was no foe to vanquish, no insatiable need to fulfill for an unknown reason. The thought of being overjoyed by something so simple made him laugh, out loud, another experience that seemed foreign to him.

He began to explore his new world, the nothingness. walking thorough it.  Yet, was he moving, making progress? With no point of reference he had no idea if he was a man in motion or still bound, without the bindings, a prisoner of his past tendencies.

"I have no direction here in this white void. I might as well be on a treadmill."

It was then, seemingly off in the distance he could see arms and hands reaching out through the colorlessness. He had seen these before, in the prior, the before time. Every time he had gone to reach out he could feel one adversary after another pull him, back, back into the void of nothingness, replete with experiences he couldn't clearly recall, things acquired, yet now gone, friends ...

"No one..."

As he continued, walking, "Am I even moving? he did seem to be ever closer to the arms and hands reaching out. This had happened before, he had approached the invitation, the love, but would feel nothing. He could feel it now. The adversaries had never let him feel the goodness, the unselfishness. He grasped the hands reaching into his void. Deep inside him he could hear the words:

"This is up to you now. This is your choice. Your path will be neither easy nor impassable. You will only succeed if you simply get out of your own way..."

"The voice stopped with his words - his own words. How did the voice know this? Was this another ruse of his antagonists? Who could he trust?" 

He still held the hands. the grasp loosening. He fell to his knees, he was fingertip to fingertip yet could still feel something, different. He arose and he, he was the one reaching out, seizing, seeking, restoring his connection to this goodness, this love he could feel but not quite understand, pulling him into something new, something different yet familiar from another time.

With as much passion as when he shouted his defiant "NO!",  he declared, "I WILL follow you. I will trust, even though I do not under..."

. . . keep coming back

"Not all those who wander are lost." ~ J. R. R. Tolkien