If You Listen
spelunker [noun] spe·lunk·er: one who makes a hobby of exploring and studying caves
-Websters Dictionary
“How quiet it is,’ Danny said, digging in his knapsack for the canteen full of water he had brought. ‘You don’t realize how scary it is, having a whole mountain on top of you, until you’re in the dark as I was in that tunnel, or when you begin hearing the silence.’
‘I didn’t know you could hear silence,’ said Irene.
‘Then just listen.’
They sat still, and Danny added, ‘Put out the flashlights for a minute.’
In the dark, they understood what he meant. All the familiar noises of the upper world were gone: the wind, the rustle of branches or leaves, the chirping of birds, the sounds of automobiles and doors slamming, and people laughing. There was nothing but the faint tinkle of droplets of water, each drop like a distant musical chime, and each one pursued by tiny echoes. Then, after such a note had sounded there would be a long and empty quiet in which they could hear their own breathing and the steady beating of their hearts. They found themselves straining their eyes to see something, anything — the slightest sign of light, but they could not even tell the difference between opening their eyes and shutting them.
-Jay Williams, Danny Dunn and the Fossil Cave
The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek.
-Joseph Campbell
Image credit: Pixabay
If You Listen
You there, adventurer,
standing in front of her
with your packs of confidence,
explorer and mapper of frontiers
in the depths of the earth.
Do you see the sign, the warning
in the eyes
of the watching woods?
Think twice.
She is not to be found,
not to be known with anything less
than a lifetime.
Bring your supplies, but
just enough to keep you alive,
you will not have appetite for more.
Bring the oxygen your lungs need,
for hers is not yet known by you,
and a tether
to keep you from death
in her infinite depths.
The bones of the unprepared lie there still.
Bring a candle
to see which way the wind draws
through her, the paths it finds
through her hidden lines,
her raven wells,
her watching shrines.
The way the wind goes is your best bet.
Just know
that when you have reached the end
of all you can see,
and have made the last mark
on the map you carry, when you
have defined her last wall,
fathomed her farthest hall,
when you have gazed
upon the final vault and turned
to leave, you will feel
the kiss of wind on your cheek.
The earth
dampens at your feet, you lift
your eyes to see
yet another shadow in her shield,
another possibility,
another chance
at immortality.
Is it invitation or warning?
Hope or laugh
at your audacity?
If you listen before you move
perhaps you will hear the answer,
her voice
for the first time,
but remove your shoes
for would you ask to enter a cathedral
so untouched and untouchable
without first letting go
of all that brought you this far?
It is here that most turn back.
But if you stay
and listen with your skin,
you will find the final touchstone
etched in a language
you have only just learned.
Only you can know
if you have what it takes.
s. rochelle
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