I stared at the mesmerizing picture that was hanging in a store at the Nittany Mall in State College, Pennsylvania. A scene of storm-churned ocean waves crashing into the rocky cliffs that a lighthouse stood upon. I didn't know then that it was a call into the depths of my being. I didn't know, those twenty-six years ago, that it was the beginning of the consequences of a missed lover's kiss that sunk me into the deep, dark sea and tossed me about by this ebb and that flow for a lifetime.
A stone cathedral with stained glass windows was the lighthouse I was shown that eternity ago. A light I, still, follow no matter the strength of the wave's crashing down upon me and pushing me under to where the light is but a glow upon the water's dark surface. A light that will not go. No matter how hard I will it to when the depths are where I wish to stay. It seems easier than the fight for that haven that is far away.
"Let me tell you something my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane." - Stephen King
What awaits, if I were granted to remain beneath the undertow, but a grave not like that black coffin with the flag of red, white, and blue - from a time before the depths called me from innocence. A grave from which can only be escaped by the hand of grace. Down in the depths, no light will tempt me to the joyous song that I heard from above - only to be swiped off my feet once more by the churning, crashing waves. The salt stings and burns my eyes, yet they can still see those rainbow-colored windows through which the light shines.
It's a promise I keep buried deep within my soul. This promise is no secret that will take its toll. It is simply that hunger and thirst will be no more. I've tasted the light on several occasions, and the hurt cuts deeper with every fresh betrayal. And every word I utter for life from down under makes me grow back towards the light, and the waves come crashing down less forceful than before.
I've been bobbing around in this suffocating water for far too long. With a little more patience, I know, I'll reach where it is I'm striving - thriving towards. Where this is, I'm unsure. A place beyond the wave-ravaged shore where there is abundance and fulfillment like a ripe grape on the vine. A land of plenty where there is no want and my heart is satisfied.
I know there is no real place like this. It is only a deeply held myth that exists within the mind. When I now look upon a picture of tumbling, smashing waves near a lighthouse standing tall and bleak, the depths call to me no more. It is only a refreshing invitation that greets and beckons me to dive into the cool, tumultuous water. A feeling that arises from living a lifetime of grief and loss, which will allow me to overcome that wave's gigantic size and force like a writer makes wounds his a little more every time they are delved into for fuel to create compelling and engaging tales.
"Fiction is the truth inside the lie." - Stephen King
Healing wounds no matter how they came about - forgiven but not excused - is what I struggled with down in the depths. I now strive to make the scars mine, fully and completely, creating a new source of strength and courage to face and placate the fear that comes.
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