The Man and The Box
A Tormented Mind On Display
He was beaten, badly.
So many times he had risen from knockouts and defeats, yet this time was different. The Brightest Lights in his life are now barely glowing as he allows his darkness to creep its grasp, coldly closing in ever tighter around every part of his being. He had wandered as best he could, waiting for the inevitable, deliberating a hastening fall.
He had no guarantee of shelter. No shelter meant day after day of cold food. Thirty years of Chronic Hell from a “disorder” in his genes wasn’t helping. Distance separated him from a scattered family, as those near him grew more distant while watching him decline.
In his mind he watched as his Demons and Despair unceremoniously shoved what was left of his psyche into a large opened box, closing it and storing it neatly on a shelf as he oft did to them. He could see his box sitting on its shelf and at the same time, he could feel the darkness inside it enveloping him with its cloak of never-ending sorrow. He could see a name emblazoned across the front of the box.
Pandora.
So this is it then. An impactfully personal Tale it seems. His Demons and Despair run freely through his mind sowing chaos, sorrow, and hopelessness. The only thing left behind in the box was — hope. He could feel the cloak of sorrow fading as the Hope infused his being, he pushed on the lid.
He found himself in a large glade with a small calm, pond that looked like a large clean slab of slate. Such a wonderful ending that would be except that’s not how this works in real life. After struggling through yet another decade of his “disorder”, pain, sorrow, and becoming increasingly isolated as his illness took its toll, his first thought was not to smile at his good fortune. Rather he said:
“How clever of Despair. Throwing me into Pandora’s box so I will forever fight to survive and Despair will always be with me for it. No matter how starved, how destitute, how lonely or depressed, I am now cursed to walk with this misery until my body fails and I am no more.” For such are the thoughts of those in Depression.
“Oh please. You sound just like the Dwarves at the end of “The Last Battle” by C.S. Lewis. The world is ending! The world is ending! Well that world was, yet another path revealed itself and all were welcome to a new home with open arms, they just had to decide they wanted it. The dwarves were so immersed in their misery, self-pity, and pessimism that they could not, no, would not see the path laid in front of them.”
“Don’t get philosophical with me just because I’m trying to think with my emotions, I’m tired of all of this.”
“That was vague. You know who you are. Who you can become.”
“And what good is that? I know where I am as well. This is what I’ve become.”
“This is where you are, not what, not who. Only where. Move.”
“I would need help then. Just with stability and consistency. I don’t want to be tutored or coddled. I would need a hand just getting up much less soaring again. Where will I find a mentor to aid like that?”
“I commit, I’m in.” Came a far-off voice that somehow rang clear and true in his head.
He looked up to see if he could spot the Orator but found the sun instead. In a sliver of a fraction of time, as his eyes snapped shut, he glimpsed what looked to be a bird with the most beautiful plumage, flying straight towards the sun.
It gave the illusion of a bird on fire and for some reason, the thought of a Phoenix in the skies brought a measure of calm to him.
“I am not interested in being carried. I need a mentor. I know that to be a truth in this here and now. Why do you offer such help freely?”
“I want to see you soar, if I’m the one who can be there to aid, then I will. Give it some gusto, give it some welly, who knows, gauge yourself well, and perhaps the chances of success may get to you, finally.”
“Then I accept your offer and I am very grateful for it. I won’t let your effort be for naught.”
And so he began… here.
The Fine Writer Of This Piece:
Another Piece by Philip Writes — Morgan’s Fate; A Reply:
A Piece By Gary Orphey — Star Tossed; A Poem:
May the day beam Solarity upon You — dear Reader.
#TheFinerRabble
