The Dance Of Death

The Dance Of Death


Gray melancholy clouds hung overhead, as I watched a leaf being carried by an almost forgotten breeze. I wept when I noticed it, for it reminded me of the Dance Of Death. The leaf was brown and brittle, its life almost sapped. It fluttered in the now indecisive wind, first this way, then that. But, in all it’s dying, there was deep meaning there. It wasn’t something you could rationalize, or put into words. There was something zen-like about it, something feeling-toned.

As I watched it, I suddenly found myself in another realm. The place was dark, mist-filled, enigmatic, inexplicable. It appeared to be a wasteland. I noticed, on the horizon, a path leading up the mountain. Its peak was heavily shrouded in a blanket of fog.

I was quite confused by all this, not really afraid. Even though this was a harrowing experience, I felt a little thrilled as well.

I made my way across a dark field filled with stumps of trees and overgrown brush. It looked as though an ancient war had been waged here.

The undercurrent of the night ran silently along the well-lit pathway, as blue gleams of starlight beckoned to me with outstretched arms. I rode along, not really minding the struggle going on below me. I knew it was simply part of The Plan; it was a necessity.

The path murmured unintelligibly. I couldn’t quite make out what it was saying, but it had something to do with lights above us.

Suddenly, a mirror fell and smashed into the night. I could no longer behold my image, which, like Narcissus, I had fallen in love with. I was torn between a love for day and a love for night. Daytime meant nourishment and growth, but night! O night! It was very pleasant, more sensuous. It was warm and moist and feelings were more whimsical.

I allowed the night to take me where it would. Uncertainty filled my mind, but I knew when the journey ended, I would Be.

A strong feeling of intense euphoria suddenly arose in me. I leaned into it, allowing the emotion to wash over me completely. Eventually, I sensed a spurt of pure energy exit my body, as strange sounds emanated from the valley below.

“Is this satori?” I asked myself, as I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was sitting beside a sea of loathsome despair, waiting for death to arrive. The air was black as pitch. The stars above sang a noisome tune concerning their origin and their wish for death as well. The Burning One came and sat down beside me. His shadowy visage recited a dark saga from long ago. The nitre hung from his fingertips like jungle vines falling from trees. He told me of terrible things, things which caused my ears to become as stone. I listened, but after awhile, I could no longer endure the dismal tale.

Suddenly, a banshee howled and all quiet fled away like a dole of doves startled by a gunshot. It turned my heart to ice and my skin to pale green. The moment of reckoning had come. The day of rest was at hand. I knew that I must listen to the scream and I did so until it echoed away into the night. Bright points of light streamed from holes in the canopy above me, signalling to me that a voice, in a whisper, was about to speak. In that harrowing night, it was made known to me why I had been on the earth and what I was supposed to have accomplished. I was driven to despair that I had not done so.

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