Chasm

[ehowton]

Jennifer has far surpassed my own self-actualization, something she accidentally points out often simply by emoting at my thinking and behavior. I recognize where she is, and wish to get there, but it is not yet my time to do so. Her own level is impressive and throws mine into stark relief; without the comparison I wouldn't have known how far I have yet to go. Just as you reach the peak, you see a higher peak further away of which you weren't aware from the perspective of where you started. Just because you can see the next peak, doesn't mean you can magically teleport there - the work has to be put in - you must actually climb, hike, and traverse the distance yourself.

I've made it all the way to her, minus one last chasm between us. She's standing on the other side, her arm outstretched, asking me to grasp her hand so can pull the cliff on which I'm standing to her, to close the gulf, at which point all I would need to do is take that next step. But I cannot reach her outstretched hand. I'm close, but not close enough. She often reminds me life is about choices, and all I need to do is make the choice to grab her hand so she can close the gulf, effectively removing the chasm between us. But again, I cannot reach her hand.

I stretch and stretch almost there, but am being held back. In my other hand is the end of taut rope, straining, and it's not quite long enough to let me grab hers. From her side of the chasm she can clearly see that if I let go of the rope I could easily reach her hand for her to close that gulf, but she's already standing at the very precipice of her own side - there is nothing more for her to give me until I let go. I don't know if I can't, don't, or won't, but it remains in my tight fist. "What is at the end of that rope," she asks. I turn to look it, as if seeing it for the first time.

As I study the rope, it feels like I've always had it with me; familiar it is, comfortable in my hand. I cannot remember a time I haven't had it with me; a part of who I am. The easy answer would be the rope is Cass - I refuse - perhaps unconsciously, to let her go even now. But is that truly what it is? I tell her it's my past. She believes me, but I wonder, what's on the other side of that? What comprises the past of which I'm so afraid of letting go? Is it fear? If so, fear of what? Loss, grief, scarcity, love? All of the above? I look at the rope more closely. Its a rope, yes, but comprised of a tightly woven fabric - my fabric - the fabric of my life which contains every last bit of my experience, wisdom, trials, triumphs, failures, knowledge, and lessons. The threads of my existence up to this point, and the interactions of everyone I've ever known. So yes Cass, but also so much more. And Jennifer is encouraging me to let it go. Let them all go.

I'm not ready, I think. Then wonder if I'll ever be ready. There's also the fear that if I do let go, I'll discover I'm not really grasping the rope, rather it is entwined around me; coming from within me; an inexorable part of my corporal body. That my blood courses through it as an appendage - fueling it, strengthening it. I wonder if I am required to gnaw it off in order to reach her.

I think the reason I struggle so much with some choices is because I refuse to see the world in such binary terms. I have always been looking, seeking, that middle path to join two halves of the chasm this world has created. That society has created. I see the folly of it. Perhaps this is how Jennifer felt when she was where I am. Perhaps she's transcended my lowly view of things and is speaking from a much larger picture, of one I am not yet privy.

We often talk on what we want; what we need in order to not just survive, but to thrive. Often this devolves into things we don't want. I think for a time I'd like to just not struggle. To have a reprieve every so often to level-set before I begin anew. She's on the other side of the chasm, waiting for me to make a choice. A choice I'm unsure even exists. But I'm not where she is and may never be. If I were perhaps I too would see the folly of my ways. Until then, I'll continue to fight for what I believe is yet possible - the best of all possible worlds, in whatever guise it may take. And grasp the rope more tightly.

For now.