The Edge

S. Beckett Morse muddled along through life, never attending to any serious questions. His only interest was whatever the day offered. Planning included only what was next. Easy going characterized him. He skipped through his days untouched by responsibility. Then, a series of mishaps and crises occurred causing Beckett to reconsider things. But it seemed every act of his intended will applied to his predicaments was one more step toward the dark place awaiting him. He just kept trying and failing. 

Trite no longer applied to any thought entering his mind as he observed what lay before him. Finality described the picture best, an overwhelming sense if one more step was taken, no turning back could be offered. A journey had ended, would end if he crossed the edge before him. Standing, peering into this abyss confronting him, all his false ideas about life had been akin to walking through Wonderland, an imagined, unreal dream masquerading as reality and truth. In this moment and place, only a faint light appeared casting a shadow. Cold permeated him.  

Beckett had been pulled to this point by self-deception. Where was this place? What was it? A dream? “No,” he thought. What he saw, heard, and felt was real, like daytime. He saw only black before him, an edge at his feet, and behind, the faint light glowed in the distance. He heard not a hum, not himself. No word spoken made a sound. No ears were present to receive them. He felt alone. He was alone. “What now?” he thought. Clarity escaped him. Fear consumed him. Numb in the moment, something like a belief, but more a grip holding him, keeping him from stepping over the edge, turned him toward the light. Resisting no longer, Beckett stepped away and began his way back toward Wonderland. 

Each step toward the light was not his own. Having now the power of reflection, he looked back and remembered the dark abyss. Possessing a new perspective, Beckett realized others had been to the edge and stepped over it, each clinging to their self-aggrandizing pride. Walking toward the light, Beckett knew he released his will at the edge and now guided by his new perspective, his drawing toward the light, his openness to seeking answers beyond his will led his journey. 

A little time passed, and Beckett entered the gates of Wonderland. He was glad to be there enlightened by his new perspective, warmed by the light. Snippets of thought sifted into his mind, not memories, not impressions either but like waves breaking upon his mind, each revealing a new understanding. He wasn’t sure how he knew them. Strange as it was, he relished each time these ideas came to him because he knew each was not his doing. He thought, “Wonderland’s different now. He noticed his shadow disappearing. He noticed others without shadows. Guessing the light was the source of his realizations, he gave thanks. 

“Those who have ears to hear, let them hear” (Matthew 11:15, NKJV). 

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