In the Deep

When the morning star has shed its light and the day falls down to sleep, the icons of judgment disappear and darkness descends upon the earth. It is perhaps a measure of trust by which, we lay down our heads to rest in the hours when darkness reigns.

Long days of toil compounded by the daily stress of our love and those who profess to love us, fuse together in twilight to deliver the quiet of night, so that we may dream and escape that which binds us.

And to those ties we are indeed bound, whether by blood or fate. Any one thing that enters into our lives is bound to us; whether it be bound forever or a season is irrelevant thanks in whole or in part to the thinking mechanism in our heads. Every interaction forces choice and decision, whether we desire such or not.

In the clutches of those ties, we fall mercilessly down...

our inner gaze peering helplessly into the places within us we try not to look at, afraid that the recognition of the person dwelling within, will hurt too much to bear. In an effort to conceal that ugly truth, we dance through the mundane trying to shine, to be that ideal we so desire to achieve, and the deep down thing grimaces at our efforts.

Deep, deep within the dark inside dwells the fear, the wounding knife. The face of truth we so despise. The internal struggle has moved us in and out of void, through whole acres of relationships and miles of departing. Inwardly, we muscle through tragedy and heartbreak to survive the eruption of morning, the dark and the sleep the only thing standing between us and reality.

Why then does it transport us into the surreal? Do we exist here, or there? Do our actions dictate the reality in which we actually draw breath? In which state would we exist if we freed the beast within?

Quetzalcoatl, when faced with the darkness inside of him, something so primal he had committed a sin against his sister, was so maddened by his actions that he adorned himself in turquois, stepped into a stone chest and set himself on fire out of shame. Years of light and glory burned to cinders after the inner being had been set free for a short time.

For inexplicable reasons, we try to understand and explain motives when there often is no reason, no goal except to exorcise the demon within by giving it what it wants. How much of the deep, deep dark inside is the real us? How long can we peer into the infinite self and not sob bitter tears of regret and sorrow?

Our waltz in the dark once the day is passed unleashes truth without reason, reason without logic, freedom enjoined with fear. And yet, there is little comfort like settling into a soft mattress with April fresh covers pulled over our shoulder and melting into the void for a while. Perhaps visiting the deep, deep thing is necessary to keep the light, bright thing in check, to remind us that hope does exist in the physical world, that it hasn't perished. And anything that promotes hope cannot be evil. In that, there is solace, hope... in the deep.