Into the abyss. . .

Entering the subways in St Petersburg, Russia can be frightening.  The escalators are some of the longest in the world as they descend down, down, and even farther down.  One passes through the turnstiles and steps onto the escalator before you can actually see how far down the down escalator goes.  And then as the steps go over the edge you finally get a glimpse of the depths to which you are descending and the only choice you have is to ride it to the end.

Imagine, riding a ski lift down the mountain, in the dark, with no idea how far down it is, but only the sensation of the descent into the darkness.

There is a spiral stairway, of which you cannot see the ending.  If you dare look over the edge, you see nothing but stairs, one after another, each one a little lower.  Desperately, you'd like to turn around but it is as if there is an unseen force pulling you down the staircase, and all the energy you can muster does nothing more than slow the descent.

Its as if one is chasing the sun, hoping to stay ahead of the darkness that is coming, and yet, try as you might, you cannot run fast enough, and the darkness always descends, and one has no choice but to wait out the night.

It is an all too familiar path.  Perhaps, if one is lucky, there are landings along the way that provide a place to rest awhile.  It might be a distraction such as a recreational activity, a good conversation, or a good meal.  But it is short lived.  As with an escalator, one can turn around and try to walk up the down escalator for awhile.  If you are capable of walking up faster than the steps are carrying you down, you can reverse the descent.  But only for awhile, a moment, for the relentless downward momentum of the escalator is more powerful than the ability to climb the stairs.

Sensory perceptions dim.  The world goes black and white, and shades of grey.  (I realize this dates me, as there are many today who have never seen a black and white TV screen.)  It becomes hard to hear.  Sound becomes jumbled.  People seem to drift away, out of one's reach, isolation becomes overwhelming.  And then, as though cruelly planned, the force of gravity increases and your body becomes heavy, incredibly heavy, making it difficult to walk, impossible to move freely, and even while resting, it is though one is pulled forcefully into the bed.

Lying alone in the darkness, one waits for the dawn.  No effort on your part can hasten the rising of the sun.  One voice in your head screams out in despair that the sun is gone forever, another calming voice speaks of faith, and that the light will return in the morning, once again, after the night has run its course.  But first the night must run its course.