Ice Cave

Copyright 2007 by Stefan Bolz

I am kneeling, cowering, on the cold smooth floor, my hands over my bold head. My feet are black from dirt. They are cold, haven’t been warm in a long, long time. A single ray of sunlight streams from the small opening high up in the cave’s ceiling. A prison cell. Isolation. Abandonment. Cold fury.

Most of the day I spend in the shadows, glancing at the beam of light, too afraid to go there and too afraid to stay. The instant I can bring myself to enter its radiance, I cower to protect myself from its tremendous heat and brightness. My eyes are closed, my hands and arms give little shelter and protection from its merciless intensity.

Love—Pure, uncompromising love—entering, no,
forcing its way into each and every open pore of my body. I will not look up. Here is my home, my very existence, my protection, my armor and my life. I will forever stay. My feet almost disappear into the surface of the ground. What is to gain in looking up? My eyes will bleed and blinded I will go back into the shadows from which I came.

I will not lift my eyes. I will spend eternity in here if I have to, longing for the light but too afraid to break the spell I placed upon myself.
Freedom lies not there but in here. Here, down here, I am free, for only in darkness sure protection lies.

But I have longed. I have longed since I can remember. How can I long for something and be utterly afraid of it at once? My hands are covering my ears, trying to still the sweet, sweet melody the light emits. Please let me go. I can not reach the opening high up in this my self proclaimed imprisonment. For if I could, I would close it and no ray of light would disturb my ‘peace’. So I could live forever in darkness undisturbed.

How long? How long until I will allow myself to stand, to lift my eyes and arms to welcome my most precious, most beloved self? I do not trust its gentle voice, its soft whispers. Words so ancient, spoken so long ago that I forgot their loveliness. I forgot the breath of air, the filling of my lungs with freedom’s scent. I forgot so long ago that I turned love into my enemy, freedom into imprisonment and hope into despair. ‘I love you’, it whispers, like the summer wind caressing a field of flowers in the setting sun. ‘I love you for I am you’. There is no meaning in these words.

There is too much meaning in these words.
For if I would speak them, there would be no turning back, not a single thought were to remain. My past would be gone, my future would be no more and now would be all there is.
Do I dare? Do I dare to even let the possibility, the slightest consideration enter my tomb?

Who would I be?
How would I be?
Would I be?