Facing the Beast

...and through the endless corridors walks a Minotaur. I can't see him yet, but I know he is here. Stale air currents of the Labyrinth bring pungent odor of the bull's sweat, and grayish dim light reveals traces of huge hoof prints on the dusty floor of the endless maze. I can only hope that our paths will never cross, but who am I fooling? The whole reason he is here is to get to me. It may take a day or a year, but with every turn I take the distance between us gets smaller. And surely enough... soon I hear his heavy steps echo through the stone wall passages.

I've been running. Running for so long that my run seems to be eternal. Very soon I won't be able to run anymore; every step seems to drain me and feed the Labyrinth. If I continue on the path of fear and avoidance, the day will come when either the maze of passages or the bull himself will finish me off.

And why should I run? Who says it’s the only way? What if I turn around and face him instead?

* * *

I hear the bull's nostrils flaring noisily, hot air coming out of his powerful lungs like a hurricane. He is taller and wider than me; his large, horned head nearly touches the stone ceiling. He smells of Beast — a mixture of blood and sperm and damp animal hair. He is pulsating with rage and merciless intention to destroy everything on his path.

I am a small, pale body in the dark corridor of an endless jumble of passages. If I abandon my run and freeze on the spot, he won't even notice stomping me to death.

But he is my bull.

Just like what came to me once, years ago, was my devil. There's no one else here. It turns out that this is a private game stage, constructed exclusively for me. I may run for years, but the only way to leave the trap is to complete the task it presents — or find a cleverer way to erase both the task and the stage altogether. Must I add the silly games played on it often end in very adult ways.

* * *

Be it an ancient labyrinth or a gladiator arena, why not stop the exhausting run? Why not fool the ones who are so determined to play you?

A black veil falls down from my eyes. The sun is blinding, and finally I stand face to face with a hungry beast.

I know now — if it wasn’t him, it would be a mad chariot charging at me, murderous blades sticking out of its wheels, raising dust. Or maybe I’d have to meet that monster from under the bed — the one we all know and pretend to forget once we “grow up”. It would be a boogieman from the closet, or a faceless stranger in the dark alley, or a child crying in an abandoned house, or a clown smiling at me from the opening in the woods... or maybe it would be a single word that once sent shivers down my spine, or a certain look on the face of a loved one, or a specific touch that happened ages ago just to eliminate the possibility of any closeness and trust.

And the task is to go through all this by myself, alone, accepting the freedom and the weight of the path I've never expected or longed for — only path that was needed in order to go on even farther, but only after recognizing my Beast.

When you finally stop to meet all your entities — every single one — will the Heart survive?

* * *