It is a dark and stormy day, noon indistinguishable from midnight. I stand here, high on this isolated crag watching the eternal struggle between the turbulent, windswept waves and the rocks at the base of the cliff.
In the distance, a form arises from the sea toward the sky, the waves find a new challenger in their battle for supremacy of elements. To my eye the figure is only discernible because it is darker than the surrounding storm.
I am drawn to the small strip of beach at the base of this cliff. The path is narrow as it winds along the cliff face. The winds icy fingers pry against my back, threatening to pull me from the safety of the cliff wall. Pellets of rain strike my face with the sting of nettles forcing me to find my way by feel. My thoughts look back to the safety of top as the path narrows, but I am compelled to continue. The edges of the rock shelf crumble under my feet.
Finally I arrive at the beach below the cliff. Here, I find scant shelter from the raging storm. Scan the horizon to find the dark mass as the water, its strength sapped in futile battle with the rocks, laps hungrily at my ankles. A sense of destiny overcomes me as the water forms a conduit between us.
I walk along the beach, seeking a more favorable view, and a single ray of moonlight slices through the heavens. The beam draws a line from the darkness to the beach. Automatically I walk toward it. The light touches the beach above the tide mark. It runs straight to the mass I know now as an island. The feeling of destiny stirs my feet to motion. As my feet rest on top of the light they begin to move of their own volition. I follow as the beam of light becomes my solid path through the waves. The storms churn all around, wave’s tower and begin to crash, but the path is peaceful.
My stride is confident as I boldly walk across the water. A glance over my shoulder and I see the path behind me disappear, reclaimed by the storm. There is no turning back. Calm descends upon me for this is how it should be.
The wet sand crunches under my foot as I step from the bridge. This island has a marvelous vista. This was home to a thriving civilization once, even in ruins its magnificence is overwhelming. A sadness and nostalgia for home moves me as I realize I am home.
With the knowledge this was once home I proceed unerringly to the great door. Down, down the cathedral corridors to the crypt.
Here, in this place he lies sleeping. A quote, from a language long forgotten, springs to my mind unbidden, the source unknown.
“That which sleeps may eternal lie and with strange aeons, even death may die.”
The slow rise and fall of his titanic chest gives witness to his life and hope. The joy of it is almost uncontainable.
The sight of this majestic being lying imprisoned before me instead of free in the heavens where he belongs causes my eyes to swell with tears. A tear rolls slowly down my cheek.
Gently, a tentacle reaches from the shadows brushing it away.
Thank you for reading,
Ernest
When My Worlds Collide 