A Vision of Struggle

The dark and dampness surrounded me like a heavy, constricting blanket.

With a white knuckled grip, I held onto a rope, suspended in the darkness. The rope cut into my palm, but I could not let go. I felt myself slipping.

I held out my arm, and frantically strained to feel something more to hold on to. I felt blood running down my wrist, but I could not let go for fear of falling - falling into the unknown.

Finally I touched it - another rope - and this one felt stronger, thicker.

I abandoned my old bloodied rope and grasped the new rope with both hands. This one felt strong. I felt secure in my choice (or was it really my choice) of a new lifeline. Yes, this one will hold me, I told myself, and hope swelled.

The rope that felt strong began to disintegrate, slowly at first but then more and more rapidly. Again I reached into the darkness, straining to feel the faintest touch of another rope. I found one and reached for it, only to find it gone.

Gone.

Only the black void was there to catch me - or so I thought.

I fell on a rock, solid and strong, eternal, with not a hint of wavering. All I had to do was stand upon it.