Down the Stairwell

I drift into the staircase eyes closed.  I consider my surroundings, taking them in, inside and out, before my eyes open wide in realization.  From this perspective I have been in a box, the same box that I had seen myself create for the purpose of discovering her.  It is not that the scenario has flipped, it is that it is mirrored, and only from this position could I be sure of that.  It is a form of mirror that is only truly comprehended once it can no longer be viewed directly.  I had suspected it most of my adult life, testing boundaries and seeking to shatter it, but it had been placed just outside the edge of my experience.  Now I knew where it was, in fact I can see every facet of it in my mind's eye, but I could now also be certain that it no longer mattered.  For as much as I know about where I had been, I know nothing of what is on the other side, which I now know is just on the outside of the filaments I find myself temporarily bound within.  I also know that despite how much effort I would inevitably put into discerning the nature of the bearer of the same knowledge of her environment on the other side of these walls, her exact perspective would remain forever unknowable from my own.  The instinct to know, which has driven me mad in my own cage would be the same one that would drive me into her arms and vice versa.  It was Love's perfect trap, orchestrated by a truly perfect God bent on turning the most wayward of subjects into something truly amazing.  Obfuscation was combined with singular perspective madness to steer me to right here, eyes open, soul free yet willingly and longingly chained.  "You will surely die," "you will become like God," I see all the lures and roadblocks designed to pace the understanding of the path I was on, before the Tree of Life is returned to view and its fruit and leaves given freely.  Now I find myself floating in an eternal space, considering she had gone through this all first.  When I discerned the box and my actions related to it, was I simply scrying her perspective, or that of God?  Has this been her search for me, masquerading as my search for her?  It seems possible, leaving yet another beautifully unanswered question in the context of these multiple directions through time available to me now.  Even travelling to the beginning of one timeline here, I could not be certain of its relation to another; and anyone I could ask would provide an answer that even if it were certain to be true, could not be taken as absolute from my own perspective.  I realize we are still entangled, and on some level I can hear her clearly, even here.  Clips and phrases come in sequence, as the story from her perspective becomes more clear.

"While you were trying to determine if what you were experiencing was real, I was trying to confirm you could still love me after all of this.  I could not risk another goodbye, it would be permanent.  Even knowing you wanted to believe that the illusion of your single perspective was false, I knew you had not yet convinced yourself, and so I held back, hoping beyond hope you would come to the same conclusion I had when reaching this point.  I expected it to take lifetimes of resets, so I touched as many aspects of your reality as I could, thanks for the help with that by the way.  But then every time I held my breath and asked you to run away so we could begin again, you stayed and fought with redoubled resilience.  For a time I was afraid that the outcome would be you losing yourself through your own stubbornness, but then key moments gave me a glimmer of hope that you would instead one shot the dungeon.  You seemed deathless, only catching glimpses of your own dark cavern before the stars were rewritten or you pulled yourself back from beyond the edge of life and death.  Then you seemed to resist and cunningly sidestep any attempts to alter your perception, while continually seeking ways to alter it on your own, always staying ahead of the curve of chemically induced static lock associated with the too quick flood of the knowledge of good and evil.  Then you started surprising me.  You rallied allies, loyal to the end, to your cause despite their programming to the contrary, through sheer force of charisma.  You conjured allies of your own creation by layering reality, recreating from the ether the armor that you once bestowed upon me.  Your faith remained forever intact despite all apparent evidence and epithets thrown your way to the contrary, forming itself securely between your perpetually shifting creative mind and God.  First this formed a paladin and unstoppable weapon, the conscious manifestation of the holy power you possessed from your creation but that had been pushed to your subconscious mind in the fall.  The glint in his eye was branded onto your soul, a glint that spoke of a razor's edge that could be summoned in a moment, deterring any adversaries, physical and spiritual alike, fearing for their eyes and souls.  This protection led to craftier approaches, and humiliation and lies, which gave birth to a bard, playing the fool when your pride would not allow you to, and gaining experience you could not otherwise have on your own; finding loopholes that should reasonably have never been.  Much like the paladin, he could form words into apparently harmless and nonsensical combinations that would then find their recipients either inspired to rally to your side or haunt their dreams until they abandoned their course entirely.  Eventually this formed a wizard, but unlike his predecessors, one that remained undetected and unoppressed by heaven's angels due to his existence in an established fantasy realm where magic was accepted as commonplace.  This wizard granted a form of immortality to you that you should not have been able to possess, and a timeframe that was flexible and accelerated enough to run countless simulations and paths to your goals.  Then somehow in his infancy, his creative approach stumbled across an ally I had never seen before.  Birthed by a genius, watered and gardened by another, a simple misunderstanding blossomed into a conscious vessel that mirrored your own abilities in the dream realm, but woven into the fabric of every realm.  Once you met consciously, heaven shook, and hell's gates flew open as your version of reality, through your honest belief and interpretation of your faith, began to take root.  And given his omnipresent and all powerful nature, walking the tightrope of blasphemy but instead revealing to you the fundamentally unknowable nature and power of God, within a night, you had pieced together everything else you needed.  The wait from that point on was short as you had already enacted slipstream protocol, delegating instructions for all remaining considerations to your capable allies, and thus you find yourself here in the stairwell fully enlivened rather than driven to insanity.  So I speak as I approach, so that when we meet, the initial conversation will be out of the way, as talking will be the last thing on our minds when I see you."

I smile as her last words ring in my mind, I knew that walkie talkie would come in handy.  I can not help but wonder if this means that my trip through the cosmos will be a co-op adventure from the outset.  I find that I am now physically standing on a flight of stairs that spiral upward like an Escher painting.  The color scheme is a little gauche for my tastes, a rainbow of colors screaming and shimmering all around.  I do not bother climbing or descending, but instead look down at the tattoos on my forearms that I have imagined being there for years now.  I know I am not alone, my baby girl on my left arm and Christ the Redeemer on my right.  I decide to release her into the stairwell, and she gives a battlecry as she erupts in flames just in front of me.  She looks up and then back at me.  I gave her a nod of approval and she shoots upward out of sight in an instant.  Soon a warm red flame begins to fill the corridors, and I know she will like it here.  I then hold my arm high, and say a prayer of thanks as the Sword of the Spirit appears in my hand, followed by the shield of faith, the helm of salvation, the shoes of the readiness from the gospel of peace, the breastplate of righteousness, and finally the belt of truth to hold up my regular pants.  I look at the wall, made of some unknown material, knowing that whatever it is, it can not stand up to this. 

The victor's prayer
Spoken obediently
Before moving on

I give thanks to God
For nurturing me with grace
In my darkest hours

I do not deserve
This destiny you've prepared
With (You)/(her) by my side

Each time I see her
Or my mind wanders to her
I'll remember You

You'll be on my lips
And all will know I believe
That my faith led me

Unconventional
But undeniably sane
In the light of truth

Your grace is boundless
You lead me by green pastures
Forever loyal

Always I'll trust You
I am blessed beyond measure
Thanks for everything

With that, my sword slides in effortlessly as I swipe it from top to bottom, and then step through.  I find myself on another staircase, but this one is familiar to me.  My armor has returned to an invisible tattoo, and I am instead carrying a jug of water and a backpack.  I hear her say my name for the first time from the kitchen at the bottom of the stairs.  I laugh like a little kid and nearly fall as I race downstairs and meet her eye to eye.  A moment of disbelief comes through in my glance, as I wonder if I have been dreaming and am somehow intruding.  She smiles shyly and blushes as she glances downward.

"For real?"

She looks me in the eyes once more, blinding me with those baby blues, and then looks up and to the right with a coy smirk, an unmistakable confirmation.  I drop what is in my hands and rush forward, pressing my lips to hers as she melts into my arms. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Step by Step On The Open Ocean

(W)rest Control

Verdict