Seth’s World View

Silent, except for the fan behind me. My room is dark…except for the slivers of light than slip through the blind side, and the light showing forth from my LCD monitor. I feel…okay. I’ve had a mostly good day with a fair amount of focus. I’d like to focus my camera and take photos so I could update my Facebook profile, but it’s still trapped in my trunk. It’s there because my car is still damaged, but driveable, and so I have thus far chosen to not deal with it, because I can get by mostly functional without fixing it. To fix it, I’d have to find a place to check it out and get a quote and pay money and be without a car for several days. It’s easier to deal with the aspects of life I can control, like working on my laptop towards more discernable images.

What is discernable? I can discern for other people, if I care enough to pierce the vail, to descend into the depths of a soul. I remember walking along a path past the sheep to where the entrance hid itself beneath a door of wood. The rope was lowered, the headlamp lit, and into the rabbit hole I burrowed. A small amount of light illuminated total darkness, revealed crevices that aren’t used to being unhid. Dirt lies entrenched in the muddy water we wade through. We wait and look and see all than is unseen to most who never traverse below the surface. The path is marked in red hashes by the one who first walked this path, though they have faded into shadow. The path ends.

Up above, there is a hole large enough for a man, no larger. The space isn’t asking to be reached. I wedge myself between the walls and ascend, knowing that a slip here would wound sharply, painfully. I push in. I crawl, slowly. My light defuses, diminishes, disappears, all in seconds. Nothing. I hear, nothing. I see, nothing. Cramped, I feel around for my second source of light. Twist, crawl, push, pull, breath, and then I see again. Another few feet, and the former dead end has opened up into a large stone room. The walls rise about 20 feet, with length, width, more or less the same. I’m more struck by the stalactites seemingly careening from the ceiling. They would strike, crush, if they fell upon my face. A drop smelling of sulfur gives definition to the sharp point, like blood on a knife. It doesn’t fall. I look to the corner, where translucent shades of red are illuminated by my gaze. Beauty. Hidden. Silent, I stare at what is never seen, entranced by its unique wonder.