The Tunnel

It is dark in the tunnel. Your only source of light is from the candles in the room behind you. Every step brings you closer to total darkness.

The tunnel is made from the same hard-packed red clay as the room you just came from. Here and there are rock outcroppings. Within most of the rocks are crystals of quartz. The rocks themsleves are flat against the sides of the tunnel. They do not protrude into harm's way.

The ceiling of the tunnel slants quickly downward until you are forced to walk stooped over. A few more steps and you must bend over double. A couple of more steps and you are squatting, moving forward awkwardly. Yet a couple more steps and you must get down on your hands and knees. The clay is worn smooth and there are ruts worn into the ground from the palms and knees of many travelers. This mode of travel brings you along swiftly.

The floor of the tunnel is cool and slightly damp. The passage track starts to undulate slightly up and down, side to side. Quickly all light from behind is lost. The darkness is complete.

The blackness before you is so without form that your eyes conjure up illusions of shape and color. You wave your hand in front of your eyes, yet see nothing. You close your eyes, and surprisingly it brings relief. Open them and again your eyes strain involuntarily to make sense of the shapeless black that confronts them. You decide to continue onward with your eyes closed. Habit makes this hard to do and you open them often, but you close them quickly as the void rushes up to assail them.

Within several more meters the ceiling starts to drop again, forcing you down from your knees into an awkward crawl. This mode of progress quickly becomes tiring. You stop several times to catch your breath. It is during these interludes that you begin to doubt your sanity. You begin to wonder what, if anything, awaits you at the end. You think that perhaps you should turn back while there is still enough room to squeeze yourself around to face the other direction.

You begin to feel alone.

You continue. Something inside you tells you to go forward. You decide to fall to your belly and crawl from there. It is much less tiring and you don't need to stop for rest anymore. The ground feels refreshing against your bare skin. The air is moved by a faint, but invigorating breeze -- that alone gives you pause to smile.

The clay is smooth and cool. You imagine yourself skin-to-skin to Mother Earth, to Goddess. The thought is both joyous and erotic. Your thoughts wander. You stop just to feel the earth against you.

You rest your head, coolness greetness your cheek. You smile. Thoughts of trees, grass, flowers, rivers, hills, rock and mountains swim in your head.

. . .

Stars and the moon beckon you closer. The sun's hostile explosions warn you to keep your distance. Looking down you see the blue, green, brown and white globe of earth. A sanctuary of life in the hostile expanse of outer space. A fragrant and colorful blossom in the middle of a vast desert. A fragile bubble amid the ion storms of space.

A miracle.

Gift of Goddess.

Home.

. . .

You wake with a start. You realize that you had drifted off to sleep without realizing it. Or, no, perhaps it was a vision. Yes.

A Vision.

A Gift.

You continue.

Soon the ceiling above becomes just barely above, and you are forced to crawl on your belly whether you wish it or not.

The going is smooth when the tunnel dips down or slants up, but gets rough when the going is level. It is during the level stretches, that you scrape your knees on the random rock in the floor, or bang your head against the closeness of the ceiling. All of a sudden the soft embrace of The Birth-Mother becomes the harsh clutching of The Grave-Mother.

She who comes to end life.

You wonder -- "Is it She who I am here to see? She who will end my life?"

The thought scares you. Your head bangs painfully against a rocky portion of the ceiling. Your fingernails scrape against a quartz crystal as you clutch a handhold to pull yourself along. Your heart races. The pounding fills your ears. Your breath comes short, fast and raspy. Musty staleness and the smell of your own fear clog your nostrils. You try to turn around, but find it impossible -- there is not enough room anymore. You try to raise yourself up, but come up short against the ceiling while still barely off the ground. You push upwards against the ceiling with all your strength. There is no give. There will be no quarter. You are powerless.

A scream.

Your scream.

The sound echoes. You fall back to the ground panting. Tears falling, mingling with the trickle of blood from your bruised scalp and being absorbed into the clay. You cry for a long moment.

Then you realize -- it is not the Grave-Mother who is harsh. It is just your interpretation of Her -- your own fears of the unknown. It is your own fears and judgements that are harsh. She is there to welcome you into Her soft embrace. She is there to comfort you after a tiring sojourn. She is there to bring you to the Other Side, to begin anew, to be reborn. The embrace of Death is just as comfortable as the embrace of Life at the other end. The ending of things is just as miraculous as the beginning of things. The ending is the beginning.

The Birth-Mother and the Grave-Mother are the same.

She is She.

She is Each, The Individual.
She is Every One along The Way.

She is the Collective ALL.

She is One.
The time of fear is over. You continue determined to welcome Her in whatever form She greets you with at the end of this passage.

The tunnel gets tighter. You feel the strength in Her embrace. It becomes very difficult to make progress. You go forward a few centimeters at a time. All of a sudden the tunnel drops sharply downward.

You see a faint light outlining an opening below you. Your eyes tear from the pain of seeing, but the tears are also of joy. You push forward, and then drop down into the freedom of an open expanse of another subterranean Chamber.