A Metaphor

by Columbine

The rock is very hot against my face. I take another deep breath, and let it out slowly in a long sigh. My eyes are still tightly closed, but I do not need to open them to know the nothingness that surrounds me on all but one side.

The rock is very rough against my face. I am sure it is leaving a permanent mark on my cheek. I can do nothing at this point to stop the damage from happening. I press myself more heavily against it and wonder what I will look like if I ever get out of this situation.

I smell the rock. With every breath I smell its heat, minerals evaporating molecule by molecule in the intense light of the sun. I take a deep breath and breathe in the essence of the rock. It is becoming a part of me. I am becoming a part of it.

With all my senses on high alert I also smell the blood. My fingertips are raw and the open wounds sting as dust and grit work their way deeper into the lacerations on every tip. My fingers hold on to the tiny crack in the rock above me, gripping so tightly I wonder if I will ever be able to straighten them again. My arms are scratched and bruised.

My toes are numb. Many hours ago I could still feel them, jammed as tightly as possible into the small space provided by a ledge just two inches wide. The full weight of my body now rests on that small space. My legs begin to cramp and shake in exhaustion.

I am in agony.

The words of a Psalm run through my mind.

“He leads me beside still waters.”

I laugh. I laugh out loud. Still waters. When was the last time I saw water, much less still waters? I remember struggling through a bog some time ago. Perhaps that is the still waters the Psalm refers to? But my memory is of brackish water, unfit to drink. Of pulling my foot out of the mud and the muck with a sucking sound, of dragging it a few inches ahead, stepping down through the filthy water and feeling it sink deep as I shift my weight to pull the other foot free. Still waters. Yes. Very still. With lots of mosquitoes and black flies buzzing around and taking nips at any exposed skin. I laugh again, a dry croaking laugh, empty of mirth.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures.”

I remember the green pastures. Soft breezes, flitting butterflies, beautiful wild flowers, a place to sit, relax and rest. A time of renewal. Green pastures – how I miss you. But I cannot think of you right now. The pain of remembrance is too deep and I cannot handle it while hanging here against this rock. I will think of you at a later time, when the pain is less inside my mind.

Another Psalm flits through my mind.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills.”

Ah, those hills! I saw them in the distance and thought them beautiful. Mountains, really, jutting high into the deep blue sky. Some of them were covered in snow and gleamed brightly in the morning sunlight. Yes, I lifted my eyes to the hills – and there they were! Ever ahead of me, a goal to reach one day. I had never doubted that I would reach them, never doubted that there would be a way through them when that time came. Yes, I always knew that they would be difficult, but I never doubted that there would be a way, a pass, a trail marked clearly for me that I could follow. I never dreamed of what truly awaited me.

“Where does my help come from?”

My help… Can I call this ‘help?’ Is this really what it is? If this is ‘help,’ then what is ‘hindrance?’

I cling to the face of the rock. I know a thin scarlet cable stretches below me and if I gather enough courage to open my eyes for a second or two, I can see it stretching just an inch or two above my fingers. I know that my carabiners are securely fastened to this cable. I know that the cable is firmly secured to the rock. I just have no idea where this cable goes from here. Do I really want to follow it? Now, after leading me to this place where I am hanging on for dear life, can I go on?

I am afraid. I do not want to be here. I never asked to be here. I never dreamed I would be here. I did everything I could in my own power to keep from being here. Yet – I am here, clinging to the face of this rock wall, high above the valley floor, with no end of the climb in sight. I taste fear as I have never tasted it before.

I am also angry. I have never been this angry before. I am sure that anyone looking at me would never guess that my greatest emotion right now is anger. Yes fear, but definitely not mixed with excitement or boredom – just a lot of anger. Anger rages inside of me, my face against the rock hot in the midday sun. I keep my eyes closed as I keep my face tight against the rock, taking shallow breaths, fingers clinging, toes pushing.

I rage.

I have been betrayed.

I first saw the scarlet cable when I was a child. My parents had told me about it, I had heard about it from other people. Then one day, there it was in plain view to me as well. The cable fascinated me, called me by name, took me for its own. I spent many happy years following the cable. It led me over hills, across creeks, through gardens, down country lanes and city streets. True, I could never see it more than just a few feet ahead, but I never doubted that wherever it led, I would be happy I had followed. Many times I turned to look behind and saw the way I had traveled and felt peaceful. I tested my carabiners several times and each time found them to be securely latched around the cable. Sunshine and clouds, snow and rain, heat and cold – the carabiners and cable never failed me.

It never failed me, but I became careless and spent too much time looking around and not following it attentively.

One day, I was looking at the mountains, valleys and plains ahead, wondering where my cable would lead me. I took a step, came down on a lose rock and twisted my knee. Pain. Unbelievable pain shot up and down my leg. It was several days before I could put my weight upon it again. I have a permanent limp with pain as a reminder.

Another time, a few months later, at evening, I took a step, slipped and fell. I fell a long way, down and down and down. The valley was very deep and very dark. I landed with a thud on soft ground, the air knocked out of me for several moments. Darkness surrounded me and it took a few minutes to figure out where I was. I felt for the harness at my waist and found it secure. My fingers traveled up the lead rope to the carabiners and found them still securely fastened to the cable. I remember breathing a sigh of relief, tears cascading down my face.

It took a long time to climb out of that valley. The day I broke out over the ridge I rejoiced. Sunshine! Birds singing once again. I wept with joy.

Soon after my path grew steeper with large rocks blocking it at times. I scrambled over or around the rocks, wherever the cable led. Until one day I came face to face with the rock wall.

I could not believe my eyes. The cable turned straight up at that point. I could see its route farther than usual, straight up the rock wall for several feet. The cable and the wall disappeared up into a mist.

I knew this cable. At least I thought I knew and understood it. The cable had never let me down before. Oh, yes, I had twisted my knee and I limped, but the cable was there for me to hold on to at all times. I had fallen into the valley, but even in the dark I could follow the cable. It had always been securely in my reach as well as securely fastened to my waist.

But I am afraid of heights. I am terrified of heights. Follow the cable at this point – how could I do this? My knee was weak and painful. I felt sick with fear. I closed my eyes and took a step closer to the rock. Reaching out I felt for and found hand holds for my fingers. I reached up, stepped up and began to climb.

It has been several months now, and here I am. I am no nearer the top. I can no longer see the bottom. My whole life is the rock. The sun beating on my back and head. The cable between my body and the rock. The hated cable. It is the fault of the cable that I am in this situation. I would never have climbed up here by myself. But now I have no choice.

So, I cling to the rock. I rage at the rock. I rage at the cable. I tremble in exhaustion and fear. I have little hope of ever reaching a top. My only hope is the cable that holds me fast. My only hope is at what I rage.

Still waters. Green pastures. Rest. I laugh at the irony – pressed here against the rock, afraid to go forward, unable to go back. Nothing below me, nothing above me, nothing beside me, nothing behind me. Every nerve in my body focused on the cable and the rock.

I weep.

Eyes still closed, I reach out my right hand and feel for a handhold a few millimeters higher.