Those depths aren't for you. Your tale ends elsewhere.
There’s a scene in Harry Potter that stands out for its crisp, clear, shocking finality.
A strange arch with a flickering curtain. A man stumbles through it. And he’s gone. Gone forever.
It looks so close, so easy. He could just step back.
I keep expecting him to, even now, so many years after I first read that book.
Just remembering the scene gives me the sense, the great desire, that he might.
And yet.
—
There aren’t many doors as final in our lives as that one in Harry Potter.
But there are many pools we can fall into.
Tempting with their soothing nature, sometimes.
Holding our weight, partially, as we sink below the surface, maybe to return.
Maybe not.
The pools of regret, or of fear, or of frustration.
Of anger, of sadness, of guilt.
To taste these pools, to feel their coolness for a few minutes, to bring curiosity to them.
These are parts of the examined life.
But beware the tempting call of the sirens.
Beware the ‘soothing’ feel of the depths.
Those depths aren’t for you.
Your tale ends elsewhere.
We all carry these moments, these experiences.
The guilt and shame of the ones we brought; the anger and frustration of those perpetrated on us.
The tempting call of the pools.
Come to me, be lost in me.
But they aren’t for you.
Your tale ends elsewhere.
There’s a scene in Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series.
Rand Al’Thor stands - as I remember - on a hillside, filled with fear that he will lose sanity, bringing death and destruction to those he loves as he fulfils the prophesies of his destiny and hold back the darkness. Just as Lews Therin, the ghost trapped inside him (or is it Rand’s increasing madness?) did when the prophesies were about him.
But Lews’s voice holds the moment and brings Rand back. He must continue because perhaps - perhaps - this time, things can be different.
We none of us know where the tale will end, or what part of it we are in.
The pools are tempting, a cooling balm, a raging fire where - in either case - we don’t have to go on.
The air outside can be harsh; the world is not a kind place.
We didn’t always do the right thing; and we won’t.
At least, not if we’re human.
Those around us haven’t always done the right thing; and they won’t.
At least, not if they’re human.
But none of us knows the end of the tale.
And the story isn’t over.
Until, that is, we slip, with crisp, clear and shocking finality, through the curtain.
—
This is the latest in a series of articles written using the 12-Minute Method: write for twelve minutes, proof read once with tiny edits and then post online.
Buy the 12-Minute Method series of books, written 12 minutes a week over three years, here.