So while I half dreamed of wandering around in what I can only describe as that shadowland of worry and despair, I miraculously arrived somehow at the day when I was sure, for some reason, that I could begin my ascent out of this valley. Did I know for certain I’d be successful? No. But I came to the base of the mountain, and I thought I could climb it.
Standing there, looking up with this optimistic notion, I saw, breaking through this Beowulf-like mist, the sun. It was that light, you know, that waits at the end of a tunnel. A pinprick of hope for better things ahead that gradually widens into broad daylight as you approach it.
Still with considerable baggage accumulated through my dark days making my journey out all the harder, I began putting one foot in front of the other, making my way up what revealed itself to be a steeper climb than I’d imagined. But I dug in with each step and grabbed at branches and roots, my hands joining my feet in the upward effort, myself resembling a creature much like some kind of throwback to when we roamed on all fours.
Sweating profusely – probably a sign of a fever dream, as I see it now – but still positive that the goal was worth the physical and emotional effort, I arrived to a small plateau. There I sat resting, catching my breath and massaging my tired legs.
The abrasions on my hands looked worse than they felt. While I was examining my hands, in a dreamlike state, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a dark figure moving slowly toward me. Swiveling my gaze, I saw it was some kind of huge cat, although what kind it was I’m not sure. Its eyes were bright with the yellow gleam of discovering easy prey, and I have to say that obvious as it was the black cat saw me as the object of its pending repast, it took a while for this to dawn on me.
It was difficult for me to recall, now in panic mode, if there were any general guidelines about what to do when a wild feline is stalking you. Was I supposed to stand up, make myself appear as large as possible, and begin yelling? Or was I supposed to stand stock still and hope that the beast thought it had made a mistake about me being an appealing edible? That I was not an eligible hor d’oeuvre, but some inanimate rock or shrub. Or was I supposed to turn and beat a hasty retreat?
Gazing in my slumbering stupor at this ravenous cat, I felt I was taking an eternity to decide what to do. So, drowsy as I was, I decided to get my butt in gear and clear out of there pronto.
Contrary to my hope, it seemed like stepping into the La Brea Tar Pits. But such are dreams. To further complicate my slow escape, my new nemesis, approaching from the direction it was, blocked my intended path up the hill to the full sunshine of mental health. However, not having lived as long as I had without developing a modicum of critical thinking ability, I turned, reluctantly, and moved back in a downward direction, slogging as fast as I was able.
Who could imagine escaping a hungry beast like that while moving through molasses? But that’s the way dreams work. And very shortly the black cat had disappeared in my wake. Whatever speed I’d been able to muster, I felt like the roadrunner who’d just left the coyote in the dust.
As I see it now, this downward turn initiated by the black cat blocking my forward progress must have been a slip back into a bit more rocky mental stability. I was, however, determined to make my way to the top of the mountain. So I tried another route upward.
Lanning Lee 