Where to?

Where to?

I stood on the empty wharf, hoping I had enough to pay for passage. All I had left were a couple of coins I found on my way here. I reached into my pocket to feel if they were still there. With the way things had been going it didn’t seem impossible that the universe would have found a way to take them from me too. My last two coins to take me from this bleak and desolate wharf.

                 The boat pulled up in front of me. The lone boatman waited silently for me to climb aboard. I swallowed my reservations and stepped in with the gracelessness of a man who’d spent his life on land. “Sorry. It’s my first time,” I told the boatman with a nervous laugh. “Fear of drowning,” I looked down into the cold dark water and added more to myself, “something tells me I should be especially afraid of falling into this.” But with great inexperience and apprehension, I awkwardly stumbled to my place on the boat.

                 The boatman seemed unmoved by the scene. His sunken red rimmed eyes watched impassively as I found my seat. Though his stance remained stoic, it looked from his face that he had not slept in ages. A pallid complexion spoke of poor nutrition and lack of sunlight. Yet hidden deep within that face was a sorrowful sort of kindness. Once I was settled, he reached out his hand and I placed the coins in. He did not check them. He simply placed them in a purse and shoved off.

                 At first, I couldn’t take my eyes off the black liquid lapping against the sides of our vehicle. Though it terrified me, I felt compelled to search for… I don’t know what. Signs of life? Imminent danger? But there was nothing there. Just fathomless empty void. The boatman placed his oar in, gently churning the surface. My attention then went to the sky. There were no stars or moon out that night. A shame. I had hoped to see all that a lifetime of city life had denied me. There was no light pollution out here. None at all. Not from above, or below, or anywhere else in between. Yet in all this lightlessness I could still see the rigid, exhausted, kindly man gently churning the water outside our boat.

                 After what felt like an eternity, the boatman finally broke the silence. “So, where to?”

                 I laced my fingers together and looked sheepishly down at my palms. “I don’t know actually.”

                 “Don’t know, huh?” The boatman said sympathetically. “You do know where you are, don’t you?”

                 “Yes,” I said. “Though to be honest, I’m a little surprised to be here. I’m an atheist. So, at this point I am surprised to be anywhere. But here I am. I’ve just been kinda going with it to see where it all leads. I mean, so far, its giving very Greek vibes so I was thinking Hades, but now you’re telling me I have options and so I’m very confused. I mean, I had kinda hoped you knew where we were going...”

                 Once I started speaking, I realized in the silence my anxiety had been building. The boatman’s question had opened the gate and now a flood of rambling was leading me toward a panic attack. The boatman simply held up his hand as a gentle indicator that I should stop before I spiraled completely out of control. Then he sat down next to me. The oar he rested long ways across our laps. My first intrusive thought was to take the oar and toss it into the water. Obviously, a self-destructive idea, but there it was. Thankfully, unlike you, the boatman wasn’t experiencing the events from my first-person point of view and so did not have access to the narrative of my inner thought. Otherwise, he might have then moved the oar out of my reach. As it was, having it in my lap offered me a steadying point, as though having it nearby gave me some sense of control in the situation.

                 “It’s not so much that you have options,” the boatman started after giving me some time to become grounded. “It’s more a question of, what do you genuinely believe. Most people, I don’t even have to have this conversation with. I just start rowing, and we end up wherever they belong. But with some, like you, there is a question about where that is. Have you always been an atheist?”

                 I stared off into the distance. The question gave me a sense of irrational anger. Then sadness. “No. Most of my life I was a Christian. But a lot of things started going really wrong in my life, and I turned away from the church. I thought, how could a just and loving God allow things like that?”

                 The boatman nodded, knowingly. Then he stood and returned to his station. “Well, if you honestly believe this is the river of Styx, then I’d be happy to take you to Hades. I haven’t done that route in a while, but I think I still remember the way. Or if you truly believe in Atheism, then we don’t have to go anywhere. After all, this is probably just the fever dream of a mind that knows its moments away from the end and any second you’ll be gone.” Then he leaned forward and rested his hand on my shoulder. “But I don’t think we’d still be here if either of those was the case.”

                 He straightened again and started rowing. “I’m not here to sway you in any particular direction. It just seems to me, the reason you’re still here might be because you got angry and turned your back on ‘the Big Guy’. But in your heart, your convictions never faded, and now you’re afraid to finally get to know Him. Maybe even to get the answers to your questions.”

                 I shrugged noncommittally. Stubbornly. “How can I know? I’ve never even met Him. How, do I know what’s right?”

                 He mirrored my shrug. “You haven’t met any of them. No matter where you go from here, even if its into the water, it’s a leap of faith. But you have to take it to move on. And you do have to move on. I’m the only one who gets to stay on the boat.” I sat for a time, brooding. I could feel heat building behind my eyes. Then he added, “Would it help to know they are there? Both of them.”

                 “How do you know…,” the question died on my lips as I looked up.

                 Gesturing toward the oar he said, “I took them there. She was especially worried about you. I told her I’d keep an eye out for you. Not that I needed to. I see everyone eventually.”

                 The tears started flowing then. No more was said. A frothy white foam started overtaking the surface of the water. Before long, it became clear we were no longer in water and the wisp white substance wasn’t foam. Giant glistening gates appeared ahead. I disembarked and waved goodbye to the boatman as he shoved off again. Then I strode forward.

                 The boatman brought the boat into the wharf where waited a familiar figure. “Good to see you again. I hope that trip went well,” the boatman said.

                 “Very well, thank you,” the person replied.

                 “Good, will this next one be round eight, then?”

                 “Actually I think this was the one. I finally self-actualized and achieved inner peace.”

                 “Oh, congratulations! You are going to love oneness with the universe. Shall we?” And he held out his hand for payment.