"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing; Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ..." ~ Edgar Allen Poe, "The Raven"
He had been here before, the dark place, a cold, dank, chilled to the bones isolation.
"Had this become his forever existence, his human condition until his flame burns out?" he thought to himself. "A flame would be nice right about now," he mused.
He shuddered at his attempt to downplay the gravity of his current situation. This might be it. This might be the point of no return. Yes, he had been here before, but never had he felt the same resignation to this as a life to just ... accept.
For months it had seemed he had been crawling down a slime-covered descent, a slight negative slope leading him to more darkness. To where he was uncertain. There was no comfort in this trajectory. There was no improvement in the condition. The darkness seemed to become darker, if that were possible, the slime enveloping his clothing, his face, hands and consciousness as if to assimilate him.
"
Am I becoming the darkness?" he asked himself.
But the downhill was easy. Uphill would be hard. Uphill would take effort, a decision.
He could only feel his surroundings. As he progressed he perceived his habitat widening and for the first time in what seemed eons he could actually lift his head above the muck, He reached above to discern if the cave was widening when he felt the weight of his upper body pulled down by gravity, plummeting him to an even deeper darkness.
Then, there was nothing.
He awoke to find he was able to sit up and actually stretch his legs, back and arms alleviating years of cramping and unending stiffness in his joints and extremities. He was in a chamber. But how deep, how wide, and how far he had fallen, he did not know.
For some reason, he felt relieved. He could sit up. He could extend his legs and arms. This was much better than the months of crawling through the muck.
"
I could get used to this," he thought.
And so, he would sit in the chamber, his chamber, for how long he did not know, or care. This was comfortable. This was acceptable. This was ... fine.
Soon he realized he was atrophying. He did not long for a return to the muck but he knew in the muck he had at least
kept moving, even if on a downhill path further into the abyss. The movement had kept him alive. He knew too much time in the chamber would kill him.
He had noticed for a long time while enjoying his current relative comfort there were exits from the room, scarcely accessible, but reachable. When he would approach one or two of the exits he could feel a barely discernible cold, damp air flow. These seemed to lead to the familiar downhill slope. And from others, an upward trajectory as far as he could tell seemed to maintain a warmer and more constant breeze.
To proceed downhill or uphill, toward more cold and dampness or something different - these were his options.
He knew it would be an easier transition to move to the familiar, the downhill. Perhaps there would be another chamber where he could again collect himself. Perhaps he could muster enough strength to lift his weakened body toward an upwards pathway if he were to again take the downhill, for just a while.
"But would there be that opportunity from another room. What if this is my only chance," he pondered.
He had made decisions like this before. He had
decided before, not languished. He had taken control of his life, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. This was a frightening prospect however, to this time rise to the occasion, instead of allowing the gravity of his own situation to further drag him to stagnation.
With what seemed to be his last bit of energy he could bring forth he leapt to the nearest upwards opening. He could feel the warm breeze flush against his face, hands and arms, and pulling himself into, then pushing through the small opening he found himself wholly into the tunnel. The ground seemed warmer, less murky and easily more inviting than what he was accustomed to. This would be a long journey but he felt buoyed by the prospect for something
different.
As he proceeded he was enveloped by a sense of fear, different than what he had ever experienced in all his time in the caverns. This was a fear mixed with possibilities, a fear borne of being unsure if he would be worthy of the warmth, of the inviting, of anything positive, new or uplifting.
"Would I ever merit what might be?" he wondered.
As he continued he could feel the air becoming warmer, sweeter. The dank stagnant air he had learned to live with as his forever reality was being swapped for something different. Finally, he recognized the sensation:
"It feels like ... LIFE!"
Soon he saw a faint glow ahead which became larger and brighter. The light became so bright it was blinding. He was now moving through his tunnel with new resolve and with one final push, emerged as if born anew.
As his eyes finally adjusted to the light he saw he was surrounded by smiling faces, people with varying degrees of dirt and muck on their clothing, remnants of similar struggles as his. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, the warm breeze that had led him to this place upon his skin. It seemed as if he had expended all his remaining energy in his final push into the light when one of the faces reached down and helped him stand. He was upright on his own for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
This smiling face who seemed to have less of the muck on his clothing than the others broke the silence of the group.
"Look around you," he began. First, you are not alone. You will never be, unless you choose the solitary life again. Your possibilities are endless. It is but for you to decide in which direction to proceed. You will encounter more of us along the way. We are everywhere, there, there and there to assist if you are willing to accept the wisdom of those who have gone before. You will stumble, you will fall, but there we will be, always, to help you up and make certain you do not again stumble into the caverns if you are willing to accept the help of those who have gone before.
"I don't know what to say," he said.
"Do not say, DO," said the smiling face. "Welcome to your journey. It begins NOW"
"I'm afraid," he replied.
"We know," said the one, smiling even broader, "Now go and don't worry, Put your trust in what you do not know. We'll be with you."
. . . keep coming back
"There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go." ~ Robert Frost
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