A Woman in a Box

A woman sits with her back against a wall inside a dark cube.  There are no windows in this dwelling.  It is completely dark, but it’s not cold or damp.  It’s not oppressive, either; it’s not in any way physically uncomfortable.  It's just dark.  She doesn’t know how large her confines are and, although she hears nothing, she senses that she is not alone.  She appears as no determinable age; time has stood still for her.  The absence of light and mirrors are, in a way, liberating.  She has no perception of the time that has passed since she has been in this place.  It seems like eternity has come and gone.

One day she looks up and notices a distant, infinitesimal pinhole of light -- way, way on the other side of the cell.  Is this new?  What is the meaning? She stares at the tiny, glowing speck for a day (our time, but since she has no concept of days or nights, to her, it could be minutes or years).  Then she moves towards it -- this bright spot beckoning to her as loud as a thunderclap.  Arms outstretched, she reaches her destination after hours of walking, the illumination so distant.  To test if it is a mirage, she tentatively places a hand over the bright circle and the light disappears.  She removes her hand and it returns, slightly brighter, possibly larger.  As she pushes on the rough surface, she can now feel the texture of the wall yield, crumble softly under the light pressure of her finger.  Now, more of the room is visible.  She dares to look.  Still and silent, outlines of familiar figures line the perimeter of the dim cube.

She wants out!  Her index finger returns to the hole and heavily scrapes away a little more of the surface but it takes a lot of force, it seems, to make an opening even the size of her hand.  She is exhausted, physically and emotionally.  So she sleeps the dreams of light.  Children jumping rope in the sunshine, lilting laughter.  Gentle waves and glistening sand.  Stained glass windows bursting forth color.  A glowing city.  Green grass, orange leaves, glowing yellow candles and family joy.

But she awakes and the hole is gone and she is again plunged into the total pitch of despair. She remembers the vague location of that elusive speck of brightness so she pushes on, scraping feverishly to reopen it, this time not stopping until the wall is carved in a single vertical slice just wide enough for her to lodge a strong shoulder, holding the gape open as she sleeps standing up, energizing herself for the next push, not risking the loss of hope again.  This time there are no dreams.

She awakes on the other side of the wall in a soft grassy bed of dew-covered clover, greeted by a panorama of violet mountains and a sunrise of magenta and tangerine.  She is surrounded by a luminous world, throbbing and soft.  And she breathes the comforting scents and the invigorating sounds as she welcomes a new nature.