My heart thumped. I
could no longer see the vessel’s deck, but the mast was straight
ahead. I ran. My rubber soles gripped cracks in the rock, I timed my
steps such that my last one was on the edge of the giant rock and
then I leapt into the air with all my might.
When
airborne, the first thing I noticed was that the vessel had started
to turn. At first that made me think that I may not make the jump and
fall into the raging waves. Or worse, smash my jaw against the vessel
and then fall into the waves. My feet were at least ten feet above
the deck of the vessel and the edge of the vessel was at least
fifteen feet away. I swung my limbs involuntarily as I soared through
the air.
As I
began to descend two things came to mind. First, I could now judge
that I was going to make it, but barely. And second, I had better
start thinking about rolling upon landing, or I was definitely going
to break a leg. While flying through the air, I slightly rotated to
the left which turned out to be a good thing. I touched my feet to
the deck just momentarily, but the brief moment of contact gave me
the ability to rotate my body further counterclockwise, instinctively
choosing to take most of the force on my back instead of my shoulder.
My body
collapsed and I rolled on my back, yelling involuntarily at the
violence of it. Then I tumbled several more times, narrowly missing
the mast, and finally stopped clear on the other side of the boat. I
laid on my stomach, shaking and moaning. I felt the vessel complete
its 180 degree turn. I moved my arms into the push-up position and
pressed against the wet boards arching my back with a loud groan.
I was
hurting. My jump had gone well. I hadn’t broken any bones or hit my
head but I was certainly bruised from tumbling against the deck. My
right elbow was throbbing and something in my spine hurt, but I
lifted a knee and put a foot on the deck. I rose, triumphant and
frightened, looking immediately back at the lighthouse, its beam
still pulsating the message. The shoreline was a good ways away
already and soon it faded into the fog. Only the lighthouse’s beam
remained. The vessel cut through the waves as if it knew exactly
where it was going and was rushing to get there. Cold saltwater
splashed my face. I stood with a hand on the mast squinting against
the spray, peering into the distance, tense at what I might see
ahead.
But
if anything I believed was right, and if anything my uncle had
believed was right, I knew where the vessel was taking me.
All
this began as just a seed when I was young. I spent countless hours
thinking about it. We talk about our plans for the future—what
vacation we are going to take, what movies we want to see, when we
want to retire. But for some reason, when it comes to talking about
our future beyond this life, the conversation ends. There are only
short jokes and comments as if it’s cliché to bring it up. It’s
just too controversial, too unpredictable to talk about. It’s an
awkward subject, not suited for everyday conversation. Yet, who can
deny that this trip is coming for each of us? For all of time we’ve
watched people one at a time disappear, and we cry for them and say
they are gone.
But
where have they gone? Are they asleep or are they awake? If they’re
asleep, will they awake again? If they’re awake, what are they
seeing? What are they feeling? These people that we used to see and
talk to, what are they doing? It is something that I beg everyone to
ponder deep and long. It’s given me overwhelming excitement at
times, and at other times deep, crippling fear that makes me wake up
in the night and cry out in terror. These are things I beg everyone
to ponder.
It
was a lifetime of pondering that lead me to find what I found in the
lighthouse. I knew my wife would die, but I also knew that I would be
given the chance to save her, albeit in a very mysterious way. The
passion I poured into the lighthouse was for her. For I love her more
than anything in the world, and I was not about to just let her die
and leave me. Her life had not been taken fairly. It had been forced
from her by a supernatural enemy in her sleep. Unknown to most, this
is how many die in my land. They appear to die from something
natural, when in reality, their destiny had been sealed in the
supernatural battles that rage in dreams. I had been called by the
angels to rescue her in a way not even they could. The time had now
come. In mere hours, this sailboat would take me into the afterlife,
where I planned to find my wife and bring her back to our world.
For
years, I pondered anxiously whether or not what I was doing was
witchcraft. Necromancy is a very serious subject, but what I was
doing was not necromancy because I was not talking with the dead. I
was dying myself in a controlled way. Everyone has heard accounts of
people who died in a hospital for fifteen minutes and then came back
with stories of an awesome world. This is the stunt I was trying to
pull off. Die for a night to bring my wife back.
But
to do this, one has to have a portal to the other side. Suicide was
simply not an option. But In our world there are many portals to the
afterlife, but you’d better not get too curious about them unless
the angels guide you, or you will find yourself messing with things
that you should be leaving alone. The demons are ever ready to pounce
on any naive soul, dangling the carrot in front of their nose, making
them think they are finding something. When too deep into the
witchcraft, they snatch them in a trap of death.
I
don’t understand these things very well. All I was clinging to was
the faith that I was being guided by the light. Given any other
person in any other world, and I can’t guarantee the same. But as
for me, I felt certain that what I was doing was right.
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