Road To Xibalba
Who is this angel mine, come to slay me cold?
Sending me into the shattered abyss to die
Alone and cored to the quick.
Raw, without a place to hold
in this sleek obsidian canyon of hell.
Falling — Falling — Sometimes — Floating,
No guide, no map,
nor light to find my way thru the steep descent.
Except to feel
the dark hood of bleak destruction
hear the torturous legions of my ravaged laments.
Madness comes barreling
with snarling mouth, sneering lips.
Bared white teeth overtake me
Red-hot incendiary eyes pass me by.
Spitting rings of fire at their edges.
Flames whirling behind it
disappearing ahead of me
into the jet black bottomless pit
where surely I am headed
as my eyes pierce the terrain of terror within.
As is plainly clear, this is not about feeling safe, or loved, or good, or whole. It is the pit of fear and terror that seemingly has no way out, being surrounded by nothing but steep canyon walls of sleek black obsidian.
This is the face of terror within, the shadow of terror that eats away at confidence, self-worth, and self-reliance. It is the kind of hell that others do not wish to hear about, and want you to either buck-up and get over it, or want you to go away. Fortunately for me, being a professional therapist, I knew what I was facing on all sides and understood that no one else and nothing else would heal me except me. So I did not seek out the usual medical treatment that I felt sure would try to place me within another category to fit their needs, not my unique and individual ones. So I secluded myself away from that and have only just felt comfortable enough within the last nine months to emerge from my self-created healing cocoon.