Core Vision - Chapter 1

I stand on a flat plateau, atop a mountain it took forever to climb. The years ascending now forgotten as I bake in the sweltering sun. Both the sun's unforgiving rays, and the ice cold chill of the air chap my skin. My tongue is swollen and parched. My sweat stained clothes are dry and crisp, but not in a good way.

The journey up forced me to lose everything. I said goodbye to people I loved, beautiful souls who couldn't make the trip or died from the elements along the way. We marched through spring, summer, autumn and winter, weathering the elements and storms so determined to end our lives. We slowly, but surely, shed ourselves of those things that held us back. It started with some of the items in our backpack, and progressed to things like our sock, shoes and the need for each other.

The rocky, brutal trail up led me to a goodbye to who I used to be, and a complete fog regarding who I would be after I breached the top. I bid farewell, long ago, to the basic necessities. Necessities like affectionate touch, friendship and the taste of satiating foods. I'm apathetic to the suffering, the loss, the grief of those people and things that once brought me joy. The emotions hardship can bring, once crippling, now a distant memory. Survival has a way of stripping one down to the core. Reaching the core has a way of revealing the depravity of our nothingness. We are nothing without God. Something only a few of us will ever truly know.

I'm surrounded by others like me. It appears about eighty or so of us made it to this tipping point of reality. Were we all led up here for this? To die of thirst and malnourishment as our skin itches against our crunchy clothes? We are all the same now. The journey has stripped us of all pride, desire, need. We started this walk up the implacable mountain thirty years ago idealistic and hopeful. We finish emptied of all. I wish we could say we looked the better for it, like Saint Bernadette Soubirous, entombed in eternal beauty after death. Instead, we appear worn, old and beaten. The light once flickering from our eyes now glossed over by a gray film of differed hope. Once dressed different, postured different, from all walks of life, we now find ourselves mirror images of one another. The trek made us all mad, and equally sober.

We stand upon the top of the world with a view most others will never see. We should be grateful, but we're numb. We are as dead men walking. Well, standing silent now. We all face the east, the sun beating down from over head. I hear the joyous laughter of my beautiful, blonde haired children, a palpable memory, but it stirs no emotion. Am I dead? The memory of their laughter once filled me with a sensation of happiness. I look down at my empty, gaunt, dirty hands. For a brief moment I wonder, where did it go? Where did they go?

Suddenly, a strong, warm breeze, smelling of roses and herb-infused oils fills the air. It is only then I notice the sixty feet high poles scattered all around the plateau, distanced about ten feet from one another on a precise grid. Attached at the top are bright yellow kites, a shape I can't quite make sense of. They remind me of goldfish with ruffled fins. Caught by the breeze, the kites lift in unison, creating a perfect shade over our skeleton crew. The breeze remains steady, as does our relief.

The glare of the sun now lifted, my vision clears and I can see in front of us. Along the edge of the plateau a row of about a dozen chrome turnstiles. Am I at Disneyland?

Without provocation those closest to the turnstiles begin passing through. Once on the other side, their feet have maybe a foot of stone and grass beneath them when they turn to face the rest of us. They smile slightly, stretch out their arms, and fall backwards off the cliff's ledge. I look around in a split second of disbelief. Then, I realize, this is why we were brought here. It all finally makes sense. And, yet, I have a feeling there's still so much to learn. It's not the end, it's a new beginning.

Each of us wait our turn, as if this were just another day at the park. I grip the turnstile with my left hand and push, and I feel no apprehension as the click of the turning marks my chance to die. After the last thirty years, honestly, it seems not only fitting, but welcomed. I'm ready. It's not as if staying here or going back down the mountain is an option.

I turn to face the twenty or so souls behind me, stretch out my arms, and feel as though I'm falling into the arms of my Savior. Or, at least, how I imagine that would feel. The complete trust and abandonment I feel envelopes every fiber of my being. The tension of my muscles evaporates. The ache in my chest disappears. Every worry or care I ever had vanishes as I catch a glimpse of the yellow kites above, slowly growing farther and farther away.

Our bodies fall in complete abandon into the valley, thousands of feet below. It would be tragic were it not so damn beautiful. No IMAX film I once saw, nor song I heard, nor words I read could have spoken to the symphony of this moment. I see to my left and my right as we all fall through the air at different heights. There are no screams or fear. Our bodies fall through the air against the tallest, most lush waterfalls, flora and fauna I've ever seen, painting a poetic picture no artist ever could. In my past I'd seen two and three thousand foot falls while watching National Geographic. We are falling no less than twelve-thousand feet. Perhaps this was not earth. White birds pass between us as if it's just another day in their commonplace life. Perhaps it is.

I hear it before I might feel it. The crack of bones breaking on the rocks beneath me. It helps that I can no longer see the yellow kites, and my back still faces the rocks below. I don't feel it when it's my turn. The rocks, shaped like rough triangles, were too sharp to support our broken, bloodied bodies. We rolled down into the glorious river feeding the valley. Our blood turning the crystal clear creek crimson and thick. I'm dead, but I'm not, floating distantly alongside my people. We're all face up, eyes closed, drifting in the soft flow of the current. All around us the riverbank, the grass, the flowers and the trees begin to soak up our blood. It is food for the valley, our bodies a living sacrifice.

This river snakes through the center of this valley for miles with no visible end. I continue to feel weightless and carefree as I coast into what I feel is a revelation. Families have built villages near the water's edge, and everything from mice to deer drink from the now pink-tinged stream. Somehow in this moment I do not mind the death, nor grieve the long journey that got me here. They are living, partially, because I died, and I'm somehow okay with that.

I feel bodies bumping into me beneath the water. Noise is muffled beneath the surface, but I can hear birds chirping and people chattering in the distance. We seem to be pooling into a widened pond of sorts. Through the crystal, magenta water our eyes open, facing the sky above. Our bodies are broken and our white eyes are now filled with cherry goo. It's not quite how I pictured myself after death.

Above me is a tall, beige mountain. Our pond seems to have pooled at the base of it. My eyes clear even more as my body penetrates the surface of the waters. We say nothing, but it is as if I can hear my fellow soul-mate's thoughts. We all see it at the same time...

That is no mountain. That is God.

YHWY, as the Hebrews knew Him.

I remember the correct name for Him because of my time attending a Christian college as a young woman. I always wondered what He would look like, but I also suspected He would take on any form necessary to convey His message to an individual in unique situations.

I blink my eyes trying to get a more clear picture of our Creator. His height is too great for my mere condition to absorb. His reach too vast. I can tell He's smiling, seemingly pleased. He scoops his hand down into the water, lifting a group of us up gently. The water falls through His fingers down below, creating a kind of smaller, expected waterfall one would see on National Geographic.

Now, cradled in this dry, gentle hand, He blows on us. His breath smells the same as the breeze atop the plateau had. There are really no words for how sweet and lovely it is. I simply feel a sensation I have not felt since I first stepped onto the path thirty years prior. I think it might ... be ... FULLNESS ...

I can't see God's smirk, but I feel it, and before I know it we are launched out of His hand like rockets. The flame trailing through the sky behind us is the same color yellow the kites had been. We passed through daylight into night, and danced through the sky like fireworks. We then slowly fell to the ground like ash, slightly smoldering. I hear faint ooh's and aah's in the distance. Where am I?

I'm face down now, naked, enveloped in a cold, crisp grass that reminds me of the wide-bladed St. Augustine grass I used to walk barefoot in as a child. It's dark out. Quiet. The coolness of the ground feels so refreshing. My skin is no longer itching. I'm no longer hungry or thirsty. There is no ache in my muscles or joints. My head feels clear and alive. My comrades are nowhere to be seen, but I fail to feel their absence. Crickets chirp in the distance.

I pull myself up onto my feet, amazing to be mobile, especially considering how I pretty much broke every bone I had in that lovely dive off the top of the world, or a world.

Again, where am I?

I open and close my hands, amazed at their nimbleness and strength. My skin is flawless, void of the cuts and bruises, scars and divots the hiking trail had bestowed upon it. I squat three, no four times. My legs are feet are so strong, so steady. I feel my torso. Not a single rib. They seem to be encased in ... is that ... muscles? This feeling is foreign. My body had never felt this ... I don't know ... solid.

I hear dishes clinking and a whispered chatter. It is only them I realize I must be near someone's home or a small village. I follow the voice, feet enjoying every single step over the cool blades beneath my bare feet. It feels so much better than the rocks I spent decades navigating. As the sound grows louder, I can make out the soft shadow of a home, and I see a faint light piercing through a window.

I cautiously approach, slowly peeking my eyes up over the window sill to see inside. I gasp! Quickly, I cover my mouth with my own hand in an effort to avoid attention. I sink down to the ground, back against the stucco sided home. Did I really just see what I think I saw?

Breathing heavily, I listen intently. That's my voice, and the woman I saw inside was, was .... me. But, she wasn't me. She was strong, healthy, beautiful. She was filled with light and joy. Her hair was thick and lush, her eyes bright and healthy. She kissed her children's chubby cheeks as she plated them some nourishing food. She had a husband, my husband, Jonah, sitting next to two beautiful girls, my girls. Sarah and Sadie eat with smiles, washing down their food with milk. Jonah has one kid propped on his knee, Sam, pushing food into his father's mouth. Sam thinks this is hilarious. They all seemed so ... so ... happy.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Am I in an alternate universe?

Is she a version of me who I would've been had it not been for ... ?

I hear cracks and twigs snapping lightly ahead of me, from the same direction I had come. A man slowly appears, slightly illuminated from the window's light. I can only describe him as what I would've known as Asian. He is very handsome, quite beautiful actually, with blue eyes so bright they penetrate the night. He's dressed in a white linen shirt and linen khaki pants. No shoes. He must like the cool grass as much as I do. Or, maybe we're in a universe where shoes don't exist. Anything is possible at this point.

"Don't be afraid," he said as he approached me slowly. "My name is Ha-eun. I've been sent here to help you understand." He smiles, chuckling softly with amusement. "And, here, I brought you some clothes."

He removes a small satchel from his shoulder and tosses it over to me. I pull out a simple, linen dress in a dusty blue hue. It's my favorite color, but not my favorite fabric. I prefer softer materials. Yet, I'm thankful to no longer be naked. I wasn't ashamed, necessarily. My new body was gorgeous and strong. It was simply awkward.

I stand against the back of the home very still, as if waiting for further instruction. Ha-eun doesn't say anything for what seemed like a very long time. I hear alternate-me telling her kids it's time for bed, and their feet all scamper to the bedrooms. My eyes well with tears.

"It's been a long time since you've felt human emotion, Audrey. Your years of survival up the mountain stripped you of everything you knew. You died inside a long time before you flung yourself down onto those rocks. I know you have a lot of questions. The answers will come. For now, I need you to allow yourself to feel things. Things that will be very painful. First, I need you to follow me," he finishes as he puts out his hand.

There's a part of me that doesn't want to leave the spot I stand in. This stucco wall is the closest to me and my children, to home, I've felt in so very long. Yet, I know I cannot stay. I reluctantly step towards this stranger and take his hand, hoping he knows the way through the darkness. I instantly long for the days on the mountain where I had no emotion at all. For the first time since I can remember, I long deeply for my family. As quickly as I found them, I feel like I'm being ripped from them all over again.

I. Hate. This. Feeling.