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