The Artist
By Andrew R. Edwards
2/25/2025
I find myself running as my path begins to get rocky.
I think of fleeing in a different direction to one where my feet
will hurt less.
But I always seem to pick a crossroads that leads only to
another treacherous avenue, one laden with cactus thorns and
dangerous creatures.
The thorns dig deep into my flesh and the creatures follow the
trail of blood I leave behind me, waiting for the opportunity to
strike as I grow weaker.
And weaker I grow with every step in the wrong direction I take,
the pearly gates of the Promised Land fade from view as I cross
another pass.
I am granted no solace from the pain in my feet as the wounds
fill with sand upon each landing, and I begin to wonder whether
this path I’d chosen was the right one at all.
As I come to a gap in the pass, able to see clearly in front of
and behind me, a realization of where I’m coming from and where
I’m headed sets in.
I stop dead in my tracks, and I fall to my knees to pray to a
god unseen.
“Give me a second chance! Let me mend the mistakes I’ve made!” I
shout, pleading to be pulled from the abyss and placed back at
the start.
But my appeal seemingly goes unanswered, and I remain confined
to the slippery slopes.
My mind races over the sins I’ve committed, and I wonder if my
judgment has already come and gone.
I pick myself up from my knees and place my feet back underneath
me, continuing with a heavy heart, each step more painful than
the last.
A thought arrives organically, telling me that I must “reach the
peak.”
The urge to fight it rises, but for reasons I can’t explain, I
listen.
As I forge my path up the mountain, more thoughts come to my
mind, each one of them assurances that I can make it.
Although these thoughts are inside of my mind, they seemingly
arrive from outside of my consciousness; wherever they are
coming from, they are welcome.
The promises carry me to the summit where an omnipresent
perspective awaits me and engulfs me as I arrive.
A feeling of intense belonging swells in my body, a pleasure
that I am not accustomed to, yet have craved like a drug since
my early days.
Instantly I become aware of my proximity to The Artist, its
genius surrounds me and tells me I am welcome.
Another thought comes from the previously unknown origin, but
this time I hear it in a peculiar voice that is not my own, “You
are because I am.”
I am consumed by an overwhelming sensation of love and
forgiveness toward all who have wronged me, those I hold
responsible for my current location in time and space.
I see all of them vividly, each wrapped in the identical blanket
of pleasure that I am, and I realize in that moment that we are
only human, slaves to our desires and masters of only our
actions.
