The Box in Dark Silence

By: Lana Semakova

Near the end of the forest, I stumbled upon a rock passageway that was tilted in a way that I could tell was leading deep underground. I wandered down this tunnel, downwards, downwards into a slim cave-like hallway. All that I could hear were water drops coming from an unseen corner of the rock ceilings and the occasional flurry of a bat, flying out into the light, where I had come from. I turned my flashlight on. The blue stream from my flashlight shone onto the jagged walls around me. It was empty and yet there was a feeling like I wasn’t alone. I walked around the halls, searching for something, though I  couldn’t tell what it was. It felt like I was walking around aimlessly, not knowing the reason for my off-route promenade or the destination I wished for


Shining the light onto a wall, it was inscribed with some sort of ancient letters that I couldn’t decipher. They had been drawn over many times. I assumed this path had been walked before by many others before me. Right beside it was a ladder, leading up to a pitch black mass. I stared at it for a moment. If the rest of the dark spots of the passageway could be drawn by my common sense, here, there was no way of knowing what was waiting for me in the thick darkness and what my chances were of coming back. The ladder was steep. I would need two hands to climb it. I would need two hands so I turned the light off and climbed, and climbed, unwillingly into the unknown. 


The ground was flat and smooth. I reached my hands out in front of me, attempting to find something I could balance on. Instead, my toe touched the border of an object placed firmly on the ground. It felt like a concrete box. Lowering myself to my knees, I traced its edges with my fingers, asking myself why it was there and who had placed it there. I sat down in front of it. It had some sort of opening on the top and I tried to use my nails to prop it open. The only effect that came from that was the breaking of my saturn finger. I then used my grip to try to open it in full force. It remained static on the ground so I let go. I waited patiently, blindly, enveloped by the warm silence and musk of the darkness. 


Right when I felt like I was falling asleep, I heard a gentle click and the box opened. A blue opal rose from inside. My lips fell open and I paused my breathing, as if it I had come in contact with a demised deity. It was the size of the iris of my eye and the colour of the foam retreating to the sea. I tried to touch it, but my hand passed through it. It was a ghost that carried so much vitality and colour that it was impossible to touch, understand or even remember. I realised that while it was playing tricks on me, it could never be an object I could collect and was unlike any part of my mind that I could conquer. It was a feeling. It slowly shifted positions and flew towards me, passed through my heart, bringing back my breath. Just to think that it was hidden underground, far from the average explorer. I wondered who had put the staircase up. It would be difficult to describe this in my journal, although I would try and try most of all to hold on to the feeling of it flying through me and settling in my heart. It was time to return home. 



The Flying Blue Opal is an analogy for the soul hidden beneath the illusion of the ego, mind and body. To learn more on this topic, check out these sources: 

Posted in Blog and tagged .