The Mountain Within – A Poem

I am lost inside the shadows.

There is a film over my eyes,

a thin layer of spider webs that have grown there.

My vision is filled with movement

only I can’t tell if it is mine

or someone else’s.

I stumble around the inky black ink

and I can hear the ink like water

on the rocks that are around me.

I rely on the sense of touch and sound

for they can’t be covered by webs

or succumb to blindness.

My spirit knows what I am searching for

even if my mind does not.

I try to listen more closely and when I do,

the sound of water on wood thuds softly

though the air toward me.

Making my way towards the sound,

I can feel rocks on either side of me and I wonder:

Are they part of the mountain around me?

Or the mountain within?

I stumble over brambles that scratch at my skin,

the muffled sound becoming louder

with each step I take.

After what feels like an eternity,

I am sitting in front of what makes the sound.

Putting my hand out, I stop the flow of water

and the sound that led me here is silenced.

I place my hands forward and they feel

the soft grain of wood.

I know that what I seek is within and I pull it to me,

it’s corners and edges letting me know

that I am holding a box.

This box is familiar to me.

I’ve been here before,

Stumbling around in the dark

unable to see.

Standing, I can feel every scape and cut

that cover my legs.

The water makes them sting

but I am no stranger to pain.

I stand, my balance precarious,

holding the box in the palm of my left hand.

The box feels like it is large enough

to contain multitudes

and small enough to contain

a single grain of sand.

I have been here before

but I do not know what comes next.

The box I am holding was so big

however, now that it is in my hands,

it sits in my palm.

I take a moment to listen to the sound of water

slapping against the rock,

the sound of the wind as it whistles by my ears.

I take a deep breath and pry the lid free.

At first, I can hear birdsong.

The sound of a nightingale fills my ears,

and the sound of the water has changed.

It no longer slaps angrily against the rock,

but trickles merrily along.

I can hear something else.

It sounds like something is sizzling,

being burned away.

When I feel warm heat along my brow and eyes,

I know that the shadows that cover my eyes

are being burned away.

When the first ray of light hits my eyes,

I am blinded momentarily

and I wonder how long I have wandered in the dark,

how long was this journey?

How many have there been?

The only answer I receive is the wind and the sound of birdsong,

as I pull away the last of the silky coverings from my eyes.

I stare at the land around me,

at the beauty that I could not see,

and I take a step

forward.