The Pilgrimage – Part 5

The midnight air was chill when he stumbled away from the Tree. He’d always remember it now. Even though he’d rather forget it. Here, in these unwritten hours, the moon was full. Always darkest before the dawn.

He recited clichés to keep him going. None of them felt right. None of them stuck.

The fly was long gone, but his arm still ached. He couldn’t remember whether he had ever had shoes, but he now noticed the ground against his feet. Here he was again. Back on the journey. He wondered if anyone else ever got tired. It’s not fair, but it’s the way it is.

The path took him into a forest. Forests at night were different. This forest was different. It spoke to him. The whole journey was a soundless conversation. It came to him in fragmented pieces. Wood would creak, and then a stone would fall. He didn’t have a response. He hadn’t learned how to speak that language yet. But he was certain someone was talking.

Someone whispered in his ear. And then he knew, someone always whispered here.

There was very little light. He did not just stumble, but here and there he had to crawl. The path was broken, and hard to feel for. The shrubbery and fallen wilderness covered his path. It cut at his fingertips, and his knees began to ache. Dewdrops fell on his face. The forest was very sad.

‘Tis better to have seen beauty and lost it, then to never have seen it at all.

Then, he lost his way. For a full minute he sat in the dark, feeling around him for the path. He couldn’t see anything, and the path seemed to stop. He cursed the darkness. He cursed the chill. He cursed being lost in this damnable place. He cursed the fact that he had lost count of the number of mountains and the number of valleys he had climbed. He cursed, and he cursed, and he cursed.

You can take my life, but you’ll never take my freedom.

He guessed. He should have been more scared, but he didn’t care anymore. Anything was better than being a prisoner in a place without walls. He gave in. It didn’t matter which way he went. It was heartbreaking, but that’s the way it was. The world’s not fair. He’d never see the Horizon. He’d never see those stunning cement fingers in the sky. He’d never have all of those things that he was supposed to have.

Sticks and stones, sticks and stones.

The forest lamented his leaving. But it didn’t seek to stop him. All along, it knew he had to go, even when he didn’t. He didn’t think of the Promises anymore. He didn’t remember them. He didn’t believe them. All he had was the journey now.

It’s the journey that matters.

Moonlight shone through a break in the trees. He found a way out, even though he didn’t know the difference anymore. Standing again, squinting against the darkness, he looked up at the forest. Once he left, he wouldn’t know what to do. But, if he could speak to the forest, he would have whispered back: I’ll always love you.