As the patter of the rain gently cradled me to a deep state of rest, an ocean came and floated me into a fog draped world within the subconscious. It happened to strand me on an island that consisted only of a mountain in the midst of my free drift. This mountain reached higher than the eye could see and the environs were as gloomy and as dreadful as the inside of an abandoned Russian factory. It held all the charm of Hashima or even Pollepel Island in New York … though there weren’t any building structures that I could see.
A trailhead just to the north appeared and without hesitation, I decidedly began down it. The trail went visually up almost into the strata (or so it appeared) though I could feel something leading me through the thick moss and dying oaks. The branches of the ancient trees in the distance seemed to almost shift and move as though they were alive. I wondered if they were tendrils awaiting my arrival to entwine me into the face of the mountain forever.
A fog drizzled down towards me, spilling around all it passed like a thick coat of paint. The vision was nearly surreal, and yet inviting. Within it, I could see motion and the audible sounds were as stagnant as the air.
I walked this trail until the fog revealed ancient statues piercing through the wall of the mountain. Their faces looked Egyptian, almost with a resemblance of Nefertiti. Suddenly, the sense of feeling encapsulated o’ertook me as I froze before the statues. That sea of statue eyes seemed to entrance me as I felt my soul trying to pull from my center of mass. An instant wave of vertigo collapsed me to my knees in a momentary lapse and then I conquered the pull and sped forward beyond those statues.
The trail seemed to close in now as frozen shards of granite which were protruded adorned the narrow path. Still … something within had driven me to pass through this misery of razor sharp objects. The air was rather algid and the piercing wind seemed to rip me to the bone. If common sense were about me, I would have taken a turn back through the statues and down towards that ocean but something prevented me from giving up.
My face felt like it was cracking from the extreme elements. The fog returned now to blind me from avoiding anything at all. My heart pounded, and my soul wept painfully as I shivered and nearly convulsed. Slowly and carefully I continued forward despite everything that stood against me. Isn’t that how life is, after all? One big painful challenge that dares us to ascend beyond its obstacle in search of a better existence that we convince ourselves is just on the other side—if only we can reach it through the eyes (the judgment) and the granite (the struggle) better days exist—this conquer will suppress the oppression that kept our heads hitting the bottom of a deck that threatened to drown us under water. We push and bang at the wood but it won’t budge. The oppression will come heavy and submerge you from time to time assuring you that all your hopes and dreams of ever escaping shall die right with you … unless you’re unafraid of facing it and conquering that mountain.
Finally, after each painful obstacle the trail opens nicely to reveal the very top of the world. You’re looking down at the fog which blanketed the steep mountain, and for miles all you can see is an unspeakable beauty you couldn’t before imagine … This beauty is merely called freedom and somehow you threw off those chains that held you in a brick strong catacomb prison and conquered that mountain that dared to blind you, who dared to destroy you, who vied to own you, who struggled to drown you.
Tell me fair traveler … how does it feel to finally see?
“Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You will revive me; You will stretch forth Your hand against the wrath of my enemies, And Your right hand will save me.”