Promised Land

She found herself standing on the brink. Teetering, even, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as if on the edge of a cliff; only slightly too much forward motion would send her tumbling down. She was not, of course, really standing on the edge of a cliff, it only felt like it - there was no up nor down, in fact, there was only a single path extending out in front of her and retreating behind her, behind her from whence she came. 

Even having come this far she felt the need to look back, just a turn of her head to the side to glimpse what was there in her periphery. But really, she already knew. It was after all the path from which she had come. It was always very animated back there; she could see out of the corner of her eye. The colors... the colors were vibrant and agitated, a palette of oranges, reds, browns and yellows - bright, deadly colors, balmy colors, the colors of chaos and anger and pleading and anguish. She knew these colors very well, like the back of her hand. They were always so powerful when you were in their vicinity, in their midst - she could feel them now in fact, brushing against her other ear, the ear that was facing towards the direction in front of her. It felt like long, crooked fingers, running themselves over her temples and back through her hair, tugging slightly, pulling her head back so that her neck was exposed - mmmm.... mmm, it felt good. Her eyes closed and she exhaled deeply, chin up, head turned to the side. The devil was speaking to her, and she liked what it had to say, although she knew that if she were to look back at it that she would be frightened and repulsed. 

It didn't matter. It didn't matter what it looked like, or what she imagined it to look like, as she had only ever really seen it once directly, and then she had been too ashamed and disgusted to take in more than a second's glance. It didn't matter if maybe its legs were a little too long (if you could even call them legs), and that its arms reached down to the floor (if you could really even call them arms). Didn't matter that in its face or head or whatever it was that sat on top of its towering and distorted “body” that there were no eyes, only holes in which you could either find complete emptiness or the allure of evil, depending on the time of day. It wouldn't have been safe to try and find out to tell, because staring too deeply into those eyes - holes, whatever - it took something out of you, it made you weak. Weak as she was feeling now, melting into the warm embrace of its promise, excitement building up inside of her. 

Wait, stop. She snapped her eyes open and remembered to look around. Ok, ok. All was well, she was not back in that place, she was still planted firmly on the non-cliff that was her pathway, deathly colors behind her but not around her. She felt wet in between her legs. Her breathing had quickened and she tried to steady it. Onwards, onwards, that is where she had to go. In front of her everything was much less lively; it was mostly black in fact, except for the glow of the garden that waited up ahead, closer now than it had ever been but still in the distance, not close enough to touch. This was the first time she had been able to see it so clearly; surrounded by nothing but the inky blackness it glowed brighter than when she attempted to glimpse it from the haze of her inner chaos. Its light shone brightly but was not blinding. It was peaceful, restrained, vibrant still as the hues behind her but appeasing, pigments that did not take anything from you but instead gave to you in their serenity and matter-of-factness. 

Although the forms were not entirely crystal clear - yet - she thought that she could make out flowers: abundant, beautiful blooms that opened up like a smile, cute fuzzy bumble bees buzzing around, perhaps a rabbit, a bird. The tinkle of a stream although she could not see it, only feel it. Like the face of her weaknesses, she could only imagine what it felt like to lie in the lush plain, a field of blossoms and tall grass, sunlight shining down upon her relaxed face, no sound for miles and miles. Pure peace and tranquility, solitude. Loneliness even, but a stillness of the heart, a fullness. It was of course the fact that she could never feel the presence of another in these imaginations that made it so easy to hesitate, so tempting to turn around and walk back into the disarray and destruction that was living in the prison of one's own mind, because there at least she had company. Even if the prison existed within oneself, were we not all more or less trapped there together anyway? At different levels anyhow. 

Now again, she felt something behind her. She had been looking forward, gazing with curiosity and anticipation at what was further down the path, when she heard it rather, like the scraping of metal against a tile floor, the something behind her. She whipped around. This time its form was not hidden, it was only a man, a man whose face seemed to contain all of the faces of those she had loved, particularly the face of whom she had most recently loved. Cadence. His eyes were soft, kind, and warm. He walked towards her with his palms upturned, as if offering something to her. “Gina...” he said softly. “Gina, Gina... I love you.” The corners of his mouth rose, giving him a boyish look, innocent and endearing, the kind of look that would send Gina's heart into a tailspin, make her want to physically lift it out of her chest and hand it to him with both hands, nervous and waiting. “I love you,” he said to her, and now he was close; he gazed into her eyes and brushed his thumb against her cheek and again she felt herself weaken, wanted to reach out and grab hold of something as to not lose her balance. “I love you, I love you, let's be together, we'll never be alone, oh how I love you so.” Tears came to Gina's eyes as she remembered how deeply she had yearned to hear these words, how they still sounded like chimes in her ears, so beautiful, so beautiful. But what she wanted of course was not to be found in what was being whispered to her but only up ahead in that garden of Eden, her Eden, which was now so close that she could not bear to let it out of her sight. 

She wrested his hands off of her, grabbing him - it - by the wrists and struggling to free herself, even as its grip tightened around her face and it brought its mouth, its breath, its gaze even closer - Aaagh! she cried, the guttural sound escaping from her as she bared her teeth to him. “No,” she said, forcefully. “No!” The face of the figure in front of her sneered and snorted, distorted into something truer to its nature, body twisting up into itself as its mouth widened down to the floor and its eyelids began to droop towards its chin - its face, taking on the characteristics of anyone she had ever loved or desired or craved: ruby red lips here, long dark eyelashes there; faces so awful and beautiful in how they were crumbling in front of her and collapsing into themselves. “I love you I love you I love you!” cried a thousand voices, overlapping and tripping over each other into a chorus of confusion. Gina wanted to look away, to turn away, but she felt planted to the ground, every fiber of her being vibrating at its highest frequency. She wasn't sure if she was terrified or invigorated but in any case she felt alive, more than she ever had before, in the face of all of this hunger and all of this death. 

It wasn't over still. It was almost over, she knew, but the worst was still to come, the strongest attack yet before she could even think of fleeing and running towards that promised land that awaited her, the land full of blues and greens and poppies and violets that gleamed like amethyst. She was almost there, but first - her family. Her family stood in front of her, tones and shades of violence serving as a backdrop to their rather stationary position. They stood in a line holding hands, facing her: her mother, her father, all of the people that she had ever hurt, all of the people that had ever hurt her. There was no urgency in this bunch, only solemnity. They - it, them - didn't speak, they didn't have to. Tears fell from Gina's eyes voluntarily, her heart a cave in her chest. She stood, meeting this deepest part of herself for what felt like minutes, hours, a lifetime, an eternity. Would she really be able to turn away? Could she really walk away from all that had ever mattered to her and was important, to find herself in the place from which love flowed, to find her source, to find the origin? Would it be worth it? Had she put enough work in? Maybe the mouth of the river meant nothing when there was no one there beside you to drink from alongside of it... 

Deep down she knew the answer. Deep down she knew that it was only from this place - this garden - that she could ever pass back the essence of life, sit and hope that those behind her would use it to free themselves as those in front of her had. Her garden of Eden was an invitation spoken to her through the mouths of those who had already passed through, equally seeking the truth; a truth that was rather lonely yet freeing in its knowledge. This she already knew. And so, seductive and heart-wrenching and powerful as these figures and forms and colors before/behind her were, there was indeed only one direction towards which to go. She took in the image of her famil(ies) in front of her. She heard the word ‘please’ whispered out of the mouth of her mother, felt as if her heart was bursting into a million pieces. Tears streamed down her face. And then she turned around, unstuck her foot from the mud and honey that had kept her glued thus far, and took one step forward.