La Rivière des morts
Esther Rochon
(Excerpt: Sortir de Ville Mont-Royal, p. 127-137)
Then the nature of my other imaginary walks changed. Something had been triggered in me, so that the world, both imaginary and external, no longer seemed so dark, so lacking in options. When I sailed in imagination with my respectable boat companions, I really left the Town of Mount Royal.
Those memories are very secret for me; since the end of this period, I have not thought about them often. Unlike many other of my flights of imagination, this one did not seem to me to depend on the other vision of the world, the conventional one. For example, when the tears induced me to invent a beautiful romantic shore where a pirate prince declared his love for me, it was a good reflex to keep me from getting too depressed. While the splendid wastelands subtly evoked a strong, loyal man, it was an echo worthy of my external perceptions. Finally, the old marshes, where I had successive spider lives, reflected, through dramatic exaggeration, the tough external circumstances. While there, I had attained another level of imagination, which seemed to me to be livelier and more spontaneous, much less dependent on me.
On board the mysterious boat, I died as a spider - I was used to it - and I was reborn. But now I was a girl. Me, Laura Fraser, I was in the boat.
I found myself in the company of a man and a woman who were very gentle and who knew a lot of things. When I was with them, I felt good. Time was no longer important. Everything that I perceived in an instant was incredibly rich. We went into the marshes, silent, watchful. They helped me discover it. We went into abandoned inlets to pitch our tent and simply be there.
Everything has a purpose, especially the most beautiful experiences. The last time I saw people from the boat, we went farther than the marsh. Out of the fog emerged a rocky wall, in which there was an opening. The boat went through it, and we found ourselves in a world of caverns that became brighter as we moved into it. It was utterly magnificent. It seemed as if the grey stone arches and naves went on endlessly, calmly reflected in the water.
On that occasion, the woman of the boat spoke. She was very slender and usually wore a hood. Then she took it off, and I saw her beautiful black hair, short and curly, framing a fine-featured face. I did not feel worthy of the attention of someone so beautiful, so warm, but it did not seem to be a problem for her.
She said to me: "People who are surrounded by friends and family are perhaps happy, but there are things that they do not see. You are alone against the outside world. Because you are alone on the outside, cathedrals rise up inside you. Here they are."
She continued: "You don't know it yet, but these cathedrals and these palaces are filled with people who love you. This process is natural for you. You are isolated on the outside, but warmly appreciated inside. It's not just a game; it's your way of being in the world at this time. You don't need to talk to others about it. And you don't need either to hold back from inventing anything you want. It would do no good. It would be of no use to anyone. You are like that, that's all. You are fully entitled to be like that. Welcome home."
I looked around me and, in fact, we were inside a succession of cathedrals, their grounds covered in shallow water, just enough to allow the boat to move through. It was more beautiful, more inventive, more lavish than all the reproductions I had ever seen in my parents' books. The water that covered the grounds was clear, pure and perfectly transparent like water in a grotto that had not been disturbed for millennia; under it, we could clearly see luxurious terra cotta and ochre paving stones, finely decorated in black, bright yellow and a little white, with varied geometrical designs, with a meticulously conceived overall impression. Everything was in perfect condition, and I could feel the foundation of stable, horizontal, flawless stone underneath. Perhaps there were people from long-ago times buried there; if so, their skeletons were at peace. I was happy to be in a boat. It was better to glide over those tiles, reddish-brown the predominant colour, rather than set foot on them. Sometimes I looked at those magnificent paving stones and sometimes I instead turned my attention to the vaults, the sculpted arches, the fantastic stained-glass windows, reflected in the calm water. Then I looked up. The windows of the cathedral before us, with their extraordinarily rich blues, reds and oranges, were reflected in a thousand ways on the mirror of water, which barely rippled with the movement of the oars and the passing of the boat. In the distance, organ music and voices of children singing hymns could be heard.
We glided past grey stone pillars; covered with elegant veining, they soared to the top of the dome as if they were trying to reach up and touch it rather than hold it up and permit it to rise so high. I noticed the faint chisel marks on the stone, and the perfect mortar that bound the blocks together: no crumbling, no chipping, and the grooves of the stone veins were precisely the same colour as the convex areas. There were no signs of wear anywhere; the smoke from the candles and incense, and the hands of pilgrims had left no marks. And yet everything seemed ancient, almost eternal.
That cathedral seemed to have a multitude of naves and extend as far as the eye could see. I noticed people, in a nave just above the water level. They looked meditative. I did not want to disturb them. At the same time, I knew it would not be improper if I went to see them. They all knew me and would have been happy to welcome me among them. I felt at home. That cathedral was home to me. In particular, there was neither priest nor nun, and no symbols easily recognizable from a known religion. There were no crosses, Christ or images of saints, no crescent or Arab calligraphy, no Buddhas, Torah, Taoist inscriptions, no totems, no fetishes or ancient statuaries, from any continent whatsoever. The link to the sacred was personal, internal. The appearance was Christian, because it corresponded to my culture, but that was all. The splendid stained-glass windows represented landscapes, animals and peaceful scenes from a serene everyday life that I could invent. Except for the hugeness of the place, there was nothing strange about it.
What I noticed that was the most supernatural, so to speak, was my guardian angel. He was perched on a rood loft, like a dove. His splendid wings were folded; he was resting. He watched me go by and waved at me, with a beautiful smile. I found this very comforting. It confirmed what I thought: he did not condemn my flights of imagination, but continued instead to be my ally, even though I didn't see him often.
It was appropriate to go on to something else, to continue the journey. As we advanced, the architectural elements of the cathedrals became rarer, the people disappeared, the music gradually faded, the dizzying arches lost their height. In the silence and the beautiful light, the landscape became simplified. We then passed under much lower arches, grey stone or concrete, with very elegant curves. In short, the ceiling was of normal height for a crypt - or for an underground parking lot, to use a more modern analogy. Unlike either of them, however, it gave an impression of enormity. Everything was impeccable, the air was cool and pleasant. The bluish white light looked like the light at the top of Caledonia Street, but brighter. The cement and quarried stone had finally given way to the original rock, still light-coloured, solid and clean. We were now in caverns. They truly seemed to go on forever.
The lady in the boat spoke again: "You will perhaps go your whole life without having an opportunity to speak of this with anyone at all. The times are hard for people like you. They are too difficult for people like us. We have to adapt. After all, it doesn't matter if everything happens inside you, without anyone ever guessing it from the outside. It will not be a waste. You know, there are sages who go their whole lives without being able to express the extent of their wisdom, simply because circumstances do not permit it. They are wise too in not forcing anything. They have nothing to prove. If they cannot share the full extent of what they understand, they still have a useful life in other aspects, in spite of the limitations. Thus, if you see that the situations of your life are not conducive to showing what you are capable of inventing and grasping, do not force anything. You will be useful in other areas. Sometimes, all the wisdom in the world is revealed only to a single person. It is better than if it were not revealed at all."
While she was speaking to me, I had a feeling of being totally understood, totally protected. She added: "Your life will not always be comfortable. We did not bring you here, to your home, to give you a nest. We brought you here to show you what belongs to you. You can invite whoever you want into your cathedral. On the other hand, this cavern is a more private place. We are here with you now, but we will soon leave. It is not our place. It is yours. Now every time you come here, you will know that no other person can accompany you. In particular, no enemy can touch you. There are supplies for you; you will lack for nothing here, and no one will be able to hurt you. All kinds of things can happen to your body - a body is made to die one day. But your mind can be at peace here, it can heal here, it can remain here as long as it wants. It is your inner domain. It is huge. It is magnificent. Even if you wanted to get rid of it, you could not. Even if the worst decline occurs, it will still belong to you.
"And then, from the other side of the door that you will find there, there is something else, which is also yours, while belonging entirely to the rest of the world. In a sense, you are a spider; in a sense, you are a human; in a sense, you are really what there is on the other side of the door that is waiting for you in the distance. But that is for later. If you do not understand, if you never find it, do not lose hope. You already have the cavern, as well as the cathedral; no one can take them away from you. We are happy to show them to you, since they belong to you. But on the other side of the door, Laura Fraser, on the other side of the door, if one day you understand, then it is an entire destiny that will be presented to you."
The man and the woman then disappeared, and I remained alone in the boat. Time was suspended. I explored my magnificent domain. It was as solitary as my outside life; however, I felt it resonant with gentle presences. What I experienced there as solitude was not isolation. I was not judged as being inadequate nor rejected there. I was alone, quite simply, alone before my life and before my reality. It was natural. It was good.
I paddled under the arches. I found maps, food reserves, all kinds of interesting and well-planned things so that I could maintain proper contact with the rest of the world without any threat being able to reach me. Finally, I headed straight forward. I wanted to visit the boundaries of my magnificent domain. After a while, I came to another rock wall, with a stairway emerging from the water and leading to a small door, closed with a red bar, like the security doors that let you exit a building in case of fire and activate an alarm when opened.
Since I was really home, I knew how everything was organized. I was able to disable the alarm, take a key for my return, open the door, check that the key worked in it, then go outside, and close the door behind me. It was very nice having a domain of my own, but I also wanted to see the rest of the world, the destiny that was perhaps my own, as the lady had said.
I was no longer in the marsh. I was on the bank of an underground river. It was dark, like the night close to my domain; there were lamps, giving off a light warm yellow. In front of me, the river was luminous and magnificent. It lit up the landscape more powerfully than the lamps.
Even though there was no one on the riverbank, I didn't feel like I was alone. This river seemed to be teeming with life, with life that was sad and yet very beautiful. I sat down on a rock and contemplated it. This river did not belong to me or, to be precise, not yet. The rest of the journey had made it possible for me to get this far, to watch the flow of this strange river, the meaning of which I did not understand. The world showed itself to me in symbols and images I did not attempt to decode, but which sustained me.
There was also something scary about this river. The life that I felt there was not quite life. There were consciousnesses, but did they really belong to living beings? The light emanating from the river came and went. Sometimes the waters became completely black, and those consciousnesses that inhabited them writhed with anxiety. Then the river got wider; as if I could follow its course without moving, I was now overlooking a huge, desolate marshland, haunted by even more trapped consciousnesses. This conscious darkness was something I had already encountered.
It had been mentioned by Lovecraft, at the end of his Kadath, in which the hero falls. Moreover, the Latin word cadat comes from the verb cadere, fall; I had learned that in the private school where my parents sent me: "Accidit ut equus cadat," "Sometimes the horse falls." For centuries, millennia, eons, Lovecraft's hero par excellence falls into the interstellar abyss filled with "ténèbres vivantes," ("living shadows"), according to the best known French translation of that short novel. However, in English the text is more explicit, it speaks of sentient darkness, a darkness populated with consciousnesses. That indeed was what I was witnessing there, in those strange places.
Throughout this journey, it had seemed to me I was very far under the Earth, going deeper and deeper, in fact, as time passed. Then, the underground vault slowly began to sparkle.
It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing. In short, the rock had dissolved, transformed in space, and there was now a night sky above me, with countless stars. My sight was penetrating; I could see galaxies, planetary systems; all I had to do was think about some corner of the heavens to observe where it was. Everything was filled with consciousness, frequently tormented, sometimes full of wisdom. It was intoxicating. I was not completely at home, but I recognized myself.
I remembered what I had been told: the enormity belonged to me. There was no need to be afraid of it. It was very impressive, but I didn't run away. I was in a way on familiar ground; others had showed me this phenomenon. Lovecraft, again, had initiated me to all this: in his The Silver Key, hadn't he described caverns that changed into skies in another world? I did not, however, feel I was in someone else's world. Rather, he too had come here, in his way. Like him, I could remain with the terrifying aspect of the immensity of reality.
And then, this reality was first and foremost an inner one; it was in my own mind. I also understood that it was related to death, if only because I had a kind of panoramic, complete image, of what is. Yes, I found death again there, in its calm and reliable aspect. I found suffering again, too, if not in myself, at least in what was expressed by some of the beings I could see. Suffering and death are part of what is. I was in a place of reality, even if it did not have a conventional appearance.
I had undertaken my exploration in search of a broad, sacred dimension. I had found it. It went far beyond my expectations. I had experienced the magic, hidden aspect of the marsh and my imagination. What I had been searching for a long time had been given to me, and much more.
I retraced my steps. I went back towards the river; or rather the world that had just been unveiled was hidden again in the form of a river. There are perhaps rivers like that, somewhere, far from us and yet close, underground, invisible, immersed in eternities of existence both symbolic and tangible. I felt a profound complicity with that river. At the same time, I lacked elements to really understand what it was. I did not feel frustrated, only numb; I didn't know if it would be good for me to know more. I let it go.
I opened the door to go back into my private domain. Then, once on board the boat, I concentrated and I returned to where my body was, in my parents' basement, in the Town of Mount Royal.
I didn't know how much time had passed. I looked at my watch: this incredible inner journey had taken place over less than two hours. Time varies from place to place, no doubt.
My parents asked me if I had had a good afternoon, and I told them I had. In a very private way, without theory and without many words, instead with images and experiences, I had found a meaning in my life.
It did not make life easier. I had opened doors few people ever open. Was it that or something else? In the months that followed, imagination began interacting more with reality. No, it was not easy, for a certain period of time, until I chose my side, which is the one that takes me away from marshes and visions. I would then hasten to forget the meaning I had found. That's was it means to become an adult. But let's not get ahead of ourselves...© 2007 Éditions Alire & Esther Rochon
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