Thorns

He stands motionless in the woods at dusk. The descending nightshade heralds an uncertain outcome to his little escapade. He is trapped--completely and utterly, and finds himself in the midst of countless briars, unable to move lest he be pricked for the hundredth, the thousandth time. Threads of scarlet blood snake their way down his arms and legs, warm against the approaching chill night. But it is not the advancing shadows he fears, nor the cold, but the sharp pang of his solitary existence--so desolate that the thorns eventually become his friends in the forsaken place. With a frantic mind devoid of reason, he imagines a great chamber of marble, like one might see in a king's palace. The marble is white, white as new-fallen snow, and the ceiling is so high that the eye can scarcely capture it. But suspended from it on great black chains is his heart, hovering just above the floor. It beats ever faster, never once slowing its rabid pace. What drives it on so is indiscernible at first glance, but as one lingers upon the scene, the reason is with horror observed...The walls, the deceptively pure marble walls, are closing in, inch by inch, moment by moment, hour by hour. The heart is attempting to escape, and beats, for it cannot sprout legs and run. The chains hold it secure, preventing its rise. For indeed, if the chains had fallen away, the heart, his heart, would have risen long ago, up and up, even unto the faraway ceiling, and so further onward, further in and further up. But for so long has it been chained, though it recalls the days when the once magnificent marble walls were but a pleasant backdrop on the horizon. It was unaware of the chains then, so blissful had it been within its ceaseless introspection. But as Time wore on, the chains became all too visible and therefore unavoidable, and grew and grew until the heart could scarcely be seen. And as the walls marched forward, they too expanded, until their pearl white became a hated visage, and their featureless surfaces a curse. The chains and the walls were at first labeled the sources of the heart's torment, but as the hourglass turned and turned again, it began to understand more and eventually reached its present state--the quickened beating, the throbbing exhaustion. Ah yes...it knew now...it was not the chains in themselves, nor was it the walls...but only the fear of being crushed alone, with no one to see...

His vision ends, and as his eyes open he observes that night has fully fallen in the woods. Within the darkness surrounding the briars he knows there lurk beasts, for he can hear their subtle footfalls and see yellow blinking lights, burning with malice and hunger. They have come to devour him, but he smiles sardonically as he realizes his briars are protecting him. The amusing irony soon vanishes however, and is replaced by horror when he glimpses one of the beasts, a great black wolf, approaching and the briars parting before it.

"Like the Red Sea," he thinks.

The wolf growls, its demon eyes full of a dreaded promise--"The Reaper has come, and you are alone."

He cries, he screams, he twists this way and that, thorns burying themselves in tired flesh. Terror overtakes his soul and the blackness about is now like a great well of ink and he but a helpless ant within. The wolf bares its great fangs, and a hateful laugh pours from its fetid soul. Its fur bristles with anticipation of the kill and with relish for his pain and fear. He realizes that he is helpless before the onslaught...so weak...so, so weak. It truly is something to be scorned and laughed at, and the great wolf does both as it stalks toward him.

"Oh foolish human! Why have you been caught here like this? Did you not realize that my woods are full of such briars?"

He ceases fighting his cage for a moment to stare at the wolf. "What?" He stammers, choked by his tears, then protests, "I...I did not come here of my own free will!"

The black wolf pauses, blinks, then tosses back its snout and howls a great howl of laughter, and is soon joined by its many companions still concealed within the night. The shadow wolf lowers its head and directs its piecing eyes to him. "Foolish captive! I suppose you would blame a fellow human being for leading you in here, or perhaps you'd be so bold as to blame your Father...if your Father he still is, which I doubt... for if he was, you would not be in my woods."

He is speechless before the beast's accusation, for he knows its truth. All clever justifications are gone, departed from the mind he has so carelessly abused! 'It is the Fool who is right in his own eyes'...those words echo within his empty head, searing him with their light.

And the wolf is not finished berating him, with a vicious snarl, it speaks once more. "For so many years you sought your own pleasure, foolish man. You lived for yourself entirely, even when doing things for others. Every good action you performed was undermined by idolization of your own decaying self. My my, and how clever you thought you were! How humble and contrite in your 'search' for truth! Oh fool, oh wretched, wretched fool...could you not see, could you not awaken to the fact that Truth stood just out of your sight the entire time? All you had to do was turn, open your eyes, see it, embrace it, and heed its voice. But...you did not...you chose instead to steal glimpses and whispers of it, adding them all the while to your own perceptions and love of self. And now, after a long journey--what has seemed to you a mere 'escapade'--you have come here, to my woods, entirely of your own--how did you put it? Oh Yes!--free will.

He trembles, his soul barren, and all strength gone. No more will he fight the briars, for he himself had stepped right into them, if only to clutch one deceptive rose that wilted in his hand as soon as it was grasped. He walked here with his own two feet every step of the way, occasionally accompanied, but eventually abandoned all together. His constant insistence upon clinging to his own self-worth and precious little opinions had driven everyone away from him...even the Father himself it seems. But he will not cry out to him for mercy now...his shame is far too great, and there is no mercy to be found in the black wood.

The wolf begins its advance once more, and is soon close enough that he could have reached out a hand and laid hold of its fur. The wolf keeps its eyes upon him the entire time, looking to the task of devouring him, or of dragging him out to be torn apart by the other beasts. His terror is extreme, so much so that he barely hears the wolf's final triumphant words...

"AND NOW, foolish man, die alone!"

He sees the great and terrible black wolf rear back on its haunches to begin the leap for his throat. Time ceases and all becomes a steady hum of penetrating and all-consuming fear. His soul withers, and his heart is compressed by its marble prison. He shuts his eyes tightly, hot tears streaming--'It is appointed man once to die.' As he feels the wolf's fiery breath descending upon him he thinks he hears the tinkling of a bell afar off. In that place where Time had stopped, he listens harder, and again hears the sound, except now he knows it to be a voice. Inside his weary mind he asks frantically, "what did you say?"

Suddenly, so much so that he jerks with surprise, the voice becomes clear--a beautiful voice, a woman's voice, the most glorious voice his ears have ever heard--and it says:

"Look up!"

He cannot think of denying its request. And so, as the wolf's hungry jaws are about to snap shut around his neck, he looks up, and when he looks up he sees through twisted branches...

stars...

He sees billions of brilliant stars...

and within them stands the Father...

...waiting...

...waiting...there the whole time...just out of sight.