Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Nine)

The realization of being very alone came as a sobering shock. One minute he was there along with the watchers and then, as if they were never there at all, they were all gone.

Since first boarding the Pneuma, I had never experienced such aloneness. It was not isolation, I felt there was so much life around me in that wood, but I was alone in the sense that meaningful, heartfelt communication no longer seemed possible. With whom was I going to speak?

Gradually the direction of the gentle wind that was blowing changed. It began to blow away from the town and, it seemed, around the hill and further in land. I felt that I should go in that direction as well. At least, on that occasion, I was able to walk at a more comfortable pace.

The wind seemed to follow a path worn out of the grass just below the tree line. To my left was open grassland flowing down to the sea and, a little behind me the town and the harbour. The wind grew steadily stronger moving the tall grass in a pattern similar in appearance to waves upon the ocean when viewed from a high vantage point. To my right was the wood. Each tree stood close to its neighbour and in between the proud trunks were bushes in amongst tall grass. My pathway navigated a route between these two landscapes. White cotton wool clouds followed overhead. From time to time, they shielded me from the sun as they sailed the sky.

All was silent, save the wind playing in the grass and leaves. It was quiet but not peaceful. As the town disappeared behind the hill, I was aware of something among the trees keeping pace with me. I felt no immediate threat, just disquiet brought on by the unknown, and the unseen.

My pace quickened, as did that of my invisible and unwanted companion. My mind began to conjure images of was tracking me from beyond the tree line. “Would an animal quicken and then slacken pace exactly at the moment that I did?” I stopped. Listened. I heard nothing save the wind at play. It never entered my mind to turn around and go back to the ship. I just felt I had to push on, to where I had no idea.

For a moment I thought, almost believed in fact, that I was alone once more. “Perhaps my ‘friend’ had tired of my standing still and going nowhere.” I thought. As I recommenced my walk that delusion proved short lived. My footfalls were partners to a faint padding sound, like that made by a large mammal such as a lion. For a while, I hoped that it was a lion there in the woods. I had read long ago about a lion who governed another world. I hoped against hope that it was he. I then awoke to the idea that the lion in question was in a storybook and stories are just that, stories.

The hill seemed to go on forever; those hills did not look that big from the harbour. I looked behind me and all I could see was the sea, even the grasslands had fallen away. Thankfully, I came upon a fallen tree, long dead. Its trunk hollowed out by a million insects over many years. I sat and faced the sea in a vain attempt to ignore the existence of the woods and the sense of growing threat that they held.

Suddenly, to my left, a huge dog appeared. Head held low, tail down. It was nondescript as far as what breed it may have been. Its coat was coal black, its countenance sullen. The lower jaw was only slightly apart from the upper. As the canine walked, it held my gaze with cold grey eyes. It walked along an invisible circumference, never coming closer nor moving further away. Its slow pace ensured that I saw every part of it, every twitch, every blink, every moving of the ears.

With each yard it covered my mood darkened. My sense of hope faded in the face of the foreboding I had felt as we had approached this land. Hopelessness grew within me to the extent that I began to believe that Shekinah was now gone, believing that his task was complete. Aagar and his fellows were nothing more than a daydream, a hallucination brought on by too much sun and exertion.

That black dog began to crush me without coming one-inch closer. My view of the landscape narrowed, bit by bit, until all that I could see was that black dog. It completed its walk around from left to right. It then returned along the same circumference. Every step brought a failure, an inadequacy, and the memory of a bad decision. I saw my life as an accountant might see the balance sheet of a failing company. I felt useless, unwanted, not worth knowing or knowing about. What was my purpose? Why was I alive? The questions and doubts charged like a demon cavalry brigade.

“Why had he left me? So stupid to give day dreams names and personalities. Why was I on this hill? Surely, as boring and as predictable as home had been it must be better than this. Would it be?” II could not remember enough of home to make a comparison. I felt my mind slipping its moorings.

The black dog walked on.

I wanted to turn back. Sprint for a view of the town at least. “No” I argued with myself, “Why go back, there’s nothing there except the prospect of telling people you accomplished nothing more than a walk”. Such thoughts baffled me. After all, no task had been set. I can remember debating with myself about why the opinion of others was so important. I do not recall deciding one way of the other.

The black dog walked on.

I stood up with all of the determination I could muster. My one-man drama was not for the benefit of the black dog, it was for me. I had to convince myself I could walk with this thing there or not. I continued in the direction I had been going. It walked, the black dog, diagonally behind me to my right its eyes never breaking contact with me.

The cloth bag that I had received in the forest suddenly made itself known in my trouser pocket. Whatever it contained poked my thigh. “See.” I said to myself, “It was not a day dream.” I argued back, “You picked it up and imagined it was given to you”. My argument with myself served to confuse me about all that had taken and was taking place.

The black dog walked on.

For reasons I did not begin to understand at that time, I did not reach into my pocket to retrieve the bag. There was indeed a darkness about, but somehow I knew that this darkness was not what the contents of the bag existed for. I forced my mind to trawl for memories of happenings on the voyage: The meal in the woods, observing the dance, the vision of the throne upon the sea, things Shekinah had said. My mind wrestled with the reality of the black dog and my demand to recall all that was good and true.

I walked on.