Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The rock is cold under my back and hands; for awhile the cold is nice, because outside the heat is extreme. I can feel Josh next to me, his warmth radiating. Our breathing echoes against the walls, which feel close enough to suffocate us here, in this crevice far beneath old lava flows. I know that if the dark weren’t so pitch, I would see my breath in the air. It’s not a dry cold which we experience so much in Idaho, but a wet one—my very lips are moist in this place. The ground is scattered with unforgiving sharp rocks. I fell on my way in and can feel the scrape across my knee and another on my palm. We have flashlights, but we refuse to use them; the dark is too embracing, too real to interrupt.
This is a place of solitude and meditation, a place where a person could really go crazy if they were down here for too long. I wave my hand in front of my face, and after a while, I believe I can really see it. Josh can’t see anything, he says, he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe I’d be the first to lose my sanity.