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From these depths depart towards heaven,
you have escaped from the city full of fear and trembling 


As the sun was rising, I laid on my back, completely relaxed. Never before had I slept so peacefully, with the possible exception of the night before when it felt I had slept for weeks. I stared up at the bright pink clouds and reflected on yesterday's strange events.

 Everything was come back to me in a big swoosh, as did my curiosity about my new friends. If they were still up here somewhere, I would make it my business to find as much as I could.

I remembered how adept they were at everything they did as if they were in their natural element up here. In some ways, they seemed a little too in control of everything, including me. But my big question remained, what they were doing up here on such a remote area. And, further to that, how could they have gotten here, especially with all those provisions, unless they…

Yes, of course, that's it! Likely they had been airlifted here by a helicopter with some eco-tour company. Probably, they'll spend a few days here then return to wherever they came. That certainly would explain their massive stash of food and drinks.

Why didn't I think of that last night? Amazing how much clearer things become after a good night's sleep! The only problem was, there was no outfitter or eco-tour operator doing anything like that in these parts. But, I suppose, if they had the resources, they could have hired both a copter and an outfitter. Yes, that was the most probable answer if Ockham’s Razor[1] had anything to do with this.

And yet for some reason, I wasn't so sure about that because it was too logical and straightforward when nothing else going on here was logical or straightforward. Though my new friends were reasonable and well-tempered, there was so much about them that seemed extraordinarily peculiar, causing me to wonder if this encounter was more than just a chance meeting.

Had the gods contrived this, or had fate conspired that I climb here to entangle me with these two improbable characters? My rational mind never believed in gods or fate, but what else might be behind this? Divine providence was out of the question since I didn't believe in that either. Perhaps worse was the irony of finding myself, a philosopher, asking irrational questions to find rational answers.

Again, I recalled my strange dream from last fall. I wondered, was it insane or was it to drive me insane? I could still hear the haunting voices calling; was it to this mountain they called? The more I thought about it, the more the dream seemed to merge with the reality I was now experiencing here.

Every inexplicable phenomenon I encountered yesterday made it just that much more difficult to rationalize things away, beginning with the shimmering orbs. Then, there were the voices I heard from a very long way off. Sound waves from such a distance could not have reached my ears unless they originated in my mind,[2] which, of course, was impossible unless I had gone insane.

But how could I explain the soft and sensual voice of the enchanting mountain nymph who directed me to find my way up the Summit? Her voice still brought a smile to my face. Yes, for now, a little insanity would suit me just fine. That way, I wouldn’t have to explain any of this to myself. So let’s go with that.

I mean, why not, considering how Zeus arranged for Mo and Eli to bring all that champagne I requested. But, Zeus, you forgot the goddesses I asked to celebrate with us? Okay, maybe next time… I’ll be waiting.

I smiled up at the sky; the iridescent clouds appeared to be magical. What if I were on a magic mountain where the impossible was possible? A place where I could fall in love with the goddesses, fly through the air, and forever be young like Peter Pan. Pleasant thoughts! A most splendid way to begin the day.

But as if to break the spell, I noticed dark clouds beginning to sweep in from the west. The early morning sun, still shining brightly on the eastern horizon wouldn't last for long.

My thoughts returned to my real situation up here and what my new companions might be up to. I wanted to believe there was no reason for mischief, but perhaps there was. On the surface, they appeared no different than me; two mountaineers who just happened to be on the same mountain.

It was unsettling to think about how they knew my name and all the other things they seemed to know about me. There must be a logical explanation. Perhaps there was some mutual acquaintance in London that told them about me. Yes, that must be it. Friar Ockham[3] would agree, there was no reason for concern. As for everything else going on with voices and orbs, I wasn't able to explain any of this away, except I might have become a bit delusional now and then as a result of oxygen deprivation, even if it didn't seem I was at the time. In any case, I didn't want to think about it right now.

Enough paranoia, James, time to get up and start a new day. Hopefully, my friends, wherever they were, hadn't departed yet. I still needed to ask them if they knew of a route down that was less precipitous than the one I took climbing up. Unless, of course, they had a copter coming by to airlift them out, in which case, I’d ask to catch a ride with them if they were going towards Santiago.

The clouds were quickly rolling in now. I knew how quickly things could turn nasty at this altitude. I wondered, with all these brooding thoughts, perhaps I was attracting a storm up here. If this was superstition, at least I didn't take it seriously as many do. I certainly wasn't given to such foolishness as linking mind with matter, weather conditions or anything else.

And yet, it seemed many of my assumptions about what might be possible had recently been challenged, especially with all the telepathic tricks played on me as I was approaching the summit yesterday. Still, I didn't believe that any of this was possible; it only seemed that way because I didn’t have all the facts.

I sprang to my feet, again amazed at my agility and how easily I got up. My muscles weren't in the least sore as they generally were after a day of climbing these steep precipices. I quickly threw on my clothes, rolled up my bedding and stuffed it into my backpack. I slung it on my back, and made my way along the ridge to find shelter, hoping to avoid the rain and wind that was beginning to gust over the summit ridge. I trudged along just below the ridge, searching for a rock protrusion I might crawl under to take refuge.

The rain had now turned into sleet as the winds continued to swoop in over the summit. None of this, however, mattered to me. Despite the weather and all the unanswered questions last evening, I was feeling great, ready to take on whatever new wonders and challenges the day may bring.

And yet, as confident as I was feeling, nothing could have prepared me for what awaited me this day. I hadn’t gone very far when, suddenly, I caught a whiff of smoke wafting up from somewhere below. I scrambled down from the ridge a short distance where I saw what appeared to be a shelter nestled on a small plateau beside a granite slope. As I got closer, I could see it was a log cabin, complete with a stone chimney where smoke was billowing out. 


‘How in bloody hell could this have been build here?’ I asked aloud. After all the difficulty I had in getting up here with just a backpack, hauling logs up vertical escarpments would have been next to impossible without a zeppelin or military helicopter. Indeed, this was a mystery.


The squall had passed as quickly as it arrived. In the distance below, I could see someone sitting on a chair outside with feet propped up on the railing. As I got closer, I saw Eli with a fag hanging out the side of his mouth as he strummed on a guitar. With the sun shining between the storm clouds, the scene reminded me of one of those over-embellished mountain scene paintings, except this was alive and vibrant. It appeared the cabin was conveniently situated far enough down from the Summit to avoid the howling winds arching over the ridge above. 

‘It’s about time,’ Mo shouted from the doorway. ‘Eli ate most of your sausages, but I can fry a few more if you like. Anything else would you like?’

‘Yes, anything,’ I said, as I stepped onto the plank deck. ‘So this is where you two hang out! You didn't tell me about this last night. What a great view this has over the gorge below. Most impressive!’

‘Glad you like it,’ Eli said, taking the fag out of his mouth, and flicking it over the railing as he got up to survey the front gable end. ‘It's solid, alright, designed it myself. A real gem, wouldn't you say? We built and outfitted everything just the way we thought you would like it.’

I just nodded, not taking him seriously. From what I could tell, the cabin appeared to have been built a very long time ago, perhaps a hundred years or more.

‘There's a bed in the loft if you care to stay,’ Mo said, as he stepped outside to chat.

'That's most gracious of you,’ I said. ‘How much? I only have a few pesos with me, unless you take credit cards.’

‘If you don’t carry on with having rowdy parties, you can stay here as long as you like. No charge!’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I suppose I could stay an extra day or two before heading back to Santiago; but are you sure you want to do this. I could send you some money after I return home.’

‘Where we’re from, there’s no need for money,’ Eli said with a chuckle, ‘yours or anyone else’s.’

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but I wasn't about to argue. I had just enough cash for food, lodging and transportation to make it back before catching my flight home.

I took a look inside as Mo cooked something on what appeared to be an old wood-burning stove that reminded me of a place where I once stayed.

‘There’s something about this lodge that seems very familiar to me,’ I said. ‘Ah, yes, now I remember. It reminds me of an old rustic alpine lodge where I once stayed for a few days with my girlfriend somewhere deep in the Canadian Rockies. Most charming.’

‘I’m pleased you like it,’ he said. ‘Go ahead and take a look around, but try not to get lost.’

Not only was this cabin fully furnished, but it had three well-worn leather chairs by the fireplace just as I remembered at the Canadian lodge. I wasn't sure whether this a large cabin or a small lodge. Actually, it seemed both.[4]

The interior was open except for a couple of small rooms at the end. I went up to the loft, where there were a bed, closet and window facing northeast in the gable end where the morning sun was shining in. As I went back down the stair, I noticed how the old hand-hewn logs and mud caulking created a warm atmosphere, as though occupied for over a lifetime. Although considerably smaller than the other lodge, it had the same smoky log atmosphere. I thought how Eli said he designed it just for me. But had he, it would have been close to what I dreamed of owning ever since staying at that mountain lodge in Canada.

In the lounging area, several woven wool rugs covering the old plank floor by the fireplace where there was also a large bin filled with split firewood. Interestingly, there were several old books stacked on the fireplace mantel. They all appeared to be hardcover copies from a bygone era, although I didn't bother just then to examine the titles. Mo had my breakfast ready on the old table, complete with fresh fruit, a couple of scones and a few slightly burned sausages with a freshly brewed pot of coffee. Most satisfying!

After having breakfast while visiting with Mo and Eli, I stepped outside with them to survey the magnificent view that evoked fond memories of past expeditions. From what I could tell, it appeared these mountains must extend well into Argentina. I didn't anticipate having the good fortune to stay here when I planned this venture to Chili. It hardly seemed real, and at times, I wondered if it was.

Still, it bothered me that nothing here made logical sense: the food, the drink, nor this cabin. This Summit wasn’t a reasonable location for a lodge since it was far too remote for anyone to access, except perhaps for a few climbers such as me. And yet, here it was… as were they.

Once again, this thought caused me to question what they were doing here. And what about that fortune Mo suggested they inherited; where was that stashed… in some Swiss bank account or under a rock out here? How did I know they weren't on the lam, holed up here from the law? If they were, what better place to hide?

I mean, who would ever find them way up here; other than me… quite obviously? However, I wasn’t looking for them. But were they looking for me?  Now, that’s an unsettling thought... it made me wonder whether I had cause to be concerned considering how little they had been forthcoming.

Yet, if they didn't want me to know, there wasn’t much I could do about it. I thought, however, if I told some interesting things about me, they might become a bit more transparent. So I rambled on about myself, talking at length about myself, presuming they’d be interested in hearing about my life and all I had accomplished. I also did some name-dropping of famous people I knew or had met. I don’t know, perhaps I was looking for validation from them as to who I was, or at least thought I was. 

Though they remained attentive, there was no visible response to anything I said. No commentaries, compliments, nods, smiles or requests for an autograph. Nothing! The more I put myself out there, the more I felt I was left flapping in the wind. Usually, I try to present a confident persona by understating my achievements, except, of course, when overplaying my hand after a few too many pints at the pub while trying to impress some fair lassie.

From what I could tell, it seemed Mo and Eli didn't give a damn about any of my self-revelations. Rather than showing some deference for all my awards, scholarships and accomplishments, Eli continued to stare blankly at me, making me want to get up and throw a pint of bitter in his face just to get a reaction. And Mo, what can I say? He just sat there staring into the sky, thinking about God knows what.

It wasn’t until later in the day it occurred to me that perhaps they already knew everything about me. Maybe that’s why they appeared so indifferent; I hadn't thought of that before. But then, how could they know? And yet it almost seemed they did.

In any case, after I finished what turned out to be an unintended soliloquy, Eli picked up his guitar, played a few improvised licks and then offered to go down into the cellar to get a couple pints of bitter for us to share.

‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘but I think I’m going to do a short walkabout on the ridge. I’ll be back in a short while.’

Midway up to the summit ridge, I changed my mind and decided instead to go down towards the chasm, not that far below the cabin where it opened up. I was still feeling a bit churlish over them shutting me out of their world. Actually, it felt more like I had just been shunned, even though I was open and transparent with them. Yet they offered nothing in return about themselves. It was becoming most apparent; this was not a level playing field: everything was tilted against me where they got to make the rules to suit themselves.

In particular, I was annoyed with Eli. Most of my students in his age range regarded me intellectually superior; but not him. In fact, at times he seemed to act as though he was my teacher, whereas Mo was older and inordinately astute, so I didn't expect the same deference from him.

Still, I had to admire Eli, albeit grudgingly. He was bright, perhaps too much so for his own good... or mine, for that matter. In some ways, he seemed a mild-mannered flower-child from a bygone era: a sixties counter-culture type who lived his life without a care, ostensibly because he had the good fortune of inheriting a large estate.

Yet, despite his wealth, it seemed he might be just as content living an aimless Bohemian life, loitering in old second-hand bookstores, Turkish hookah lounges and grungy coffee shops. Probably he was the type who hung out with young women wearing black Goth clothing, bright red lipstick and high army boots. All in all, he probably had a good life.          

Also, he probably was caught up with the latest fashionable social trends. Or, possibly, he couldn’t be bothered, just living as a free spirit from some Kerouac novel. I knew several students like this who dropped out after fashioning themselves as revolutionary savants, having read just enough Marcuse or Sartre to ridicule the aspirations of bourgeoisie culture. It’s what you do to remain radically respectable when being disrespected.

Not that I actually knew any of this about him; he just seemed to fit this mould. In some ways, I envied that life as projections of my own idealism and wanderlust. In painful contradistinction, I had spent most of my adult life struggling to earn the respect of people that, in the end, I didn't even care about. What had I given up in life to prove something that didn’t matter?

For all my trouble, all I had to show were a few impressive certificates hanging on my wall, purchased with a student loan higher than this mountain. Likely, I'd be indentured to the bank for years unless I received the tenure I deserved for all my time, effort and money.

As I stewed on this, my thoughts spiralled downward into an abyss of self- pit while staring into the gaping chasm. There was something about the void below that felt fascinating and yet remained eerily troubling, as though something here remained unresolved; in fact, fearfully so as though I had already crossed over this abyss. Yet I realised that wasn’t possible – unless in that weird dream last October.

From where I stood, I couldn’t see the bottom. For whatever reason, a strange déjà vu was haunting me again, just like when I was climbing towards the Summit. I couldn’t figure out why I kept getting these flashes of being here before. I only knew I made it up to the Summit by scaling up a fissure on the other side of this chasm after being directed by some enchanting voice that still echoed through my mind. And yes, of course, I smiled in disbelief, how about that seductive echo had enchanted my body too.

I stared up towards the cabin. How could I not have seen it when I was on the other side? It should have been in plain sight, and yet it wasn't. So what am I supposed to make of that? Like everything else here, it didn't have to make sense; that seemed to be the new reality up here. While sitting on top of the precipice where the chasm opened, I considered all the mysteries that continued to mock my rational faculties. Finally, in frustration, I made my way back to the cabin, having given up trying to understand what was going on. 

I sat on a chair on the deck across from Mo, hoping he might tip his hand. At first, we chatted about the topographical challenges in my approach to the summit; as he asked why I had selected the most challenging route possible. I didn't have an answer, except to say it was an adventure, knowing I would eventually find my way. I always did.   

 He looked at me curiously for a moment but didn't say anything. Perhaps he thought I was crazy; he certainly wouldn't have been the first. Then after a few minutes, he said, 'I have an important question for you, James.' 

‘Of course; what would you like to know?’

‘I was wondering,’ he said; ‘do you think it’s what people do in life that makes them who they are?’

The question felt more like a reproach, so I wasn't sure what to say in response. I thought it might have something to do with how I had earlier been blathering on about myself and my academic career. Perhaps he thought I was defining myself by what I did rather than what I was. If so, might this be his way of making me feel shallow? I hoped not. As I considered the question, it seemed he may have only intended it as a rhetorical question, although it still made me feel defensive.

‘I think,’ I said, ‘whatever we do provides us with our sense of identity. And yet I’m sure there are many things we may have done in the past that don’t change the essential character of who we are. I was a sailor for a short time and now am a professor of philosophy. Yet I’m the same person, only with a different identity.’

‘So how shall we judge you, as a philosopher or a sailor?’

‘I would hope you wouldn’t judge me at all, but rather look beyond the outward appearances of my vocations and see only my inward qualities.’

He nodded, as though in agreement. I then realized his question had been a ploy so I would hear the answer coming from my own mouth. Now he had corned me in a response of my own creation, or should I say his creation. In any case, it was an astute move that caused me to ask myself why I always seemed to need to know what others did in life. Was it because I needed to evaluate myself against them and their achievements?

Like many in my profession, I was in the habit of leveraging my outward credentials to gain an advantage over those with fewer accomplishments. Inward qualities often seemed incidental to the more obvious reality of degrees and appearances.

This may have been why I was so determined to have Mo and Eli tell me about themselves so that I may know where I stood in relationship to them. Based on my initial impressions, I thought I had Eli figured out, but Mo remained an enigma. From what I learned later, it was fortunate for me that he didn't feel it necessary to flaunt his credentials or I may have had to re-assign myself a place much lower on the pecking order.

Eli stepped outside with a loaf of freshly baked bread and placed it on a table with an assortment of what appeared to be homemade preservatives. He then cut me a big slice and poured each of us a coffee from a full pot he just brewed. They made it hard for me to remain upset with them while being so gracious and hospitable.

For now, I would swallow my pride along with the bread and let things remain as they were. Solving all these inexplicable mysteries could wait a little longer. Besides, they hadn't said anything in the least that would humiliate me. I did that to myself and now realized my initial umbrage mostly had to do with my inflated ego needing to be recognized and affirmed.

Still, I wished to believe that I didn't give a rip what others thought about me since I did not need to impress anyone. Yet it seemed I did since that's what I was just trying to do. Most apparently, my ego wasn't that detached from what others thought about me

 I now felt chagrined by how I reacted so irrationally because of my fear of being judged. This reaction was just the opposite of what I intended; so why did respond as I did? Probably, because I thought I hadn’t been afforded the respect I deserved. How disillusioning… I was no different than anyone else.

Strange as this place was at times, at least I was learning a few things about myself that I didn't necessarily wish to know. But, as I was soon to find, this was only the beginning. There was still much for me to discover about myself before I could know who I was, none of which had anything to do with what I did in life. Back then, I didn't realize finding myself would become my primary purpose for being here, just as I supposed it should be for everyone, wherever they might be.

Dark clouds were billowing over the ridge as the rain once more began to pour all about us. The rain didn't matter, however, since we remained sheltered under the covered pergola. I felt there still was much that I needed to come to terms with but could never seem to find the appropriate opportunity to probe them further. After they went inside, I was left to contemplate my situation and what I should do next. I was conflicted. Perhaps it was time to leave.

And yet, as I said, things seemed outwardly reasonable, but in reality, they weren't. Whenever I queried them, they seemed to remain oblivious to my concerns, with little or no interest in providing any rational explanation for all the weird things I had witnessed here. So, I wondered, what would happen if I stayed here much longer; where would this all lead?

Whenever I was around them, playing chess by the fireplace, everything was so calm and serene. It was after I stepped back from the situation that I could see how queer things were. Things just seemed to appear and disappear in thin air, whenever they wanted. And not only that; Eli still had a habit of answering my questions even before they were formulated in my mind. When I asked, Eli about that, he just said: ‘Oh, you mean precognition,’ as if it was the most common thing in the world.

‘Call it whenever you wish,’ I said, but no one is supposed to be able to do that.

‘And why not?' he asked chuckling. 'You should try it. Tell me, what am I now thinking?’

‘What an insufferable smart-arse, you are.’ I said. ‘Am I right?’

At times I wondered if I had somehow got caught in some warp in space and time.

I tried to rationalize away the voices I imagined hearing yesterday. At first, it seemed reasonable to assume it was just the wind's gyrations sweeping over the rocky slopes. I always seemed to be reduced to thinking it was nothing more than the confusion of my oxygen-deprived brain to account for. my twisted perceptions. As for the vision I had of the fissure route to the summit; was it just a lucky hunch I had in my mind's eye. Increasingly, I could no longer remain satisfied with any of these rationalizations.

Then there was the question of what in bloody hell they were doing up here in the first place? That didn't make sense either, not to mention the other mystery of how this old cabin like this could have been built up here in the first place.

And yet, here they were with every provision to live comfortably up here, including kegs of the Czech Pilsner Mo had stashed in the stone cellar below. They even showed me cases of certain exquisite Mediterranean and European wines littered about. Eli told me to be sure to help myself anytime I got thirsty.

Then I thought again about those flashing orbs of light that seemed to dart about on the summit. Or did I just dream that? Yes, of course, I did; in fact, about three months ago. Yet this was different. This time I was awake, or was I? I wasn't sure, but then I wasn't sure about anything else.

If the orb spheres were real, then Mo and Eli should have known about them since they were already here on the Summit. And yet when I asked, they had nothing to say. The more I thought about all this; the more determined I was to pester them until I got some straight answers before leaving.

As it turned out, I was soon to find out about everything, in fact, more than I might have wished. I found this wasn’t so much about what was happening without, but what was happening within – within me. Furthermore, by some strange quirk of fate, I was implicated in the very questions I was seeking answers to, far beyond anything I could have imagined.

‘James,’ Mo said, as he came to the door, ‘It appears the rain's not going to let up any time soon, so why not join us by the fire Eli just stoked up. We have a few things we wish to discuss with you.’

He caught me off guard; and frankly, caused me some concern where this might lead. Just when I was planning my offensive, it appeared I was on the defensive again. Anytime someone says they wish to discuss something with you, you already know it's most likely not going to be good. 

‘So, what’s on your mind, Mo?’ I said somewhat cavalierly as I got up and walked in.

‘Please take your favourite soft seat by the fire and make yourself comfortable,’ Eli said. ‘This may take a while. And here, may I cut you a slice of Mo’s banana bread. It's best when it's fresh.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said sarcastically. ‘And I'm sure the bananas in the bread are fresh too, just picked off the banana trees growing in these glaciers. But never mind. So, what's this about; is there some problem?’

‘No, no, not at all,’ Mo said, ‘at least not unless you wish to see it as a problem. But we hope you won't. What we wish to discuss with you is something we think you will find to be very significant. So significant, it could change everything for you. But before we get into that, if you don’t mind, we’d like to review the last several years of your time on earth. It will give you some context to understand what we have for you.’

‘Oh, so that’s what this is about, the story of my life.’ I said with a snide laugh. ‘No disrespect, chaps, but you hardly know me, even though you may think you do. And now you’re going to tell me all about my life. What kind of game are we’re playing here?

Ignoring my comments, Mo got down to what he had to say: ‘James, not long ago you had a dream. Do you remember? It was a very vivid dream about living in a dreadful swamp in the Lowlands. But later, you escaped to climb a high Mountain to free yourself from the ruts you had been stuck in below. 

‘Perhaps it was to this Mountain you escaped. Your dream was so vivid that upon waking, you immediately wrote everything down that you were able to remember. You were fascinated and intrigued with its stark realism; yet it seemed to frighten you at the very end when it began to feel more like a nightmare, although you weren't sure why.’

That was astounding, I thought. In fact… rather shocking. I hadn’t told anyone about my dream. So how could he know all that? It was true; I did wake up in a panic from my dream as if from a nightmare. My first reaction was to deny having any such dream. But obviously, he already knew too much. If I denied it, he would know I was lying; and, if he called me on it, he'd really have me.

‘So, what are you, Mo,’ I asked, ‘some kind of psychic? I’ve never told anyone about this dream. How are you able to tell me about my dream?’

Ignoring my question, he began to recount my entire dream, from beginning to end, scene by scene, all in sequential order. This was hardly what I was expecting. It was also peculiar how Eli sometimes took over certain segments as if they had together scripted their narration. Between them, they wove the tale of my dream most impressively, describing it in even greater detail than what I remembered, including its phantasms of miasmic swamps, bogs and thistles.

Next, they went on to describe how I stole away from my hovel in search of an elusive Mountain I envisioned far away. Eventually, I discovered the Mountain after drudging and slogging my way through the marshy Lowlands. They were also right about how it felt in the dream, as though I had struggled for years to ascend the Mountain.

As I indicated before, I had written all I remembered immediately after the dream, but then I continued to write more detail for several more weeks when new scenes of the journey came to mind. As I listened to them, many of these images flashed onto the screen of my consciousness like a movie I had seen before.

Though I tried to remain aloof, I could hardly believe what I was hearing. They were even able to conjure impressions I had forgotten about, such as the condors swooping at me like cacodemons out of hell, which as it turns out really happened on my way up. I remembered how I once had to swing my rope wildly to keep them at bay while crossing over a narrow ridge.

That’s another thing that surprised me; even while climbing up here in real-time, it never occurred to me I already had experienced this journey in my dream prior to coming here. It was all there, and now they were reminded of all that had been portended in my dream.

When they finished with their story, there was a long silence as I continued to stare into the flames as if indifferent to what they said.  Then, after a minute or two, I got up without saying anything. Although I was careful not to show my reaction, I felt stunned! This was disconcerting! Not only had they intruded into my inward life, but they were telling me what was happening in my subconscious mind as I slept. If they knew this much about me, what else did they know?

Still in shock. I walked to the stove and poured a cup of coffee, then stood by the window vacantly gazing outside, but seeing nothing except that the rain had stopped, and the sun was shining brightly again. After a few minutes, I returned to my chair and stared at them blankly. I still didn’t know what to say since I didn't have a rational answer for any of this except it should not have been possible to know all this. It was as astounding as it was disturbing.

Initially, I was taken by what Mo had said, but when I realized they knew all the details of what was being reflected back to me, I felt confused, exposed and resentful for them probing the inward sanctum of my mind. Considering everything else here I was grappling with, this was one more layer of intrigue to complicate my world: a world which was becoming queerer by the minute.

They didn't say a word as I sat there, but gazed curiously at me, waiting for a reaction. At last, I spoke, as I attempted to remain detached from what I was feeling at the moment. I may have been a bit rude and dismissive, but then, I hadn't exactly given them permission to intrude into my head to analyze my dream. Though I was aware of how effective allegories can be used as literary devices to communicate universal concepts, still I wished to remain sceptical because I didn’t know how else to deal with this improbability.

'In a swamp, you say? That's hilarious! Sorry chaps, I'm not Pogo.[5] And since I don't live anywhere near a swamp, I guess you must have the wrong opossum. This tale sounds like something out of a wild parallel universe that you dreamed up, and so I don't get what all the swamps, bogs and ruts are supposed to be about.'

I'm sure they saw through cavalier attitude since it was less than compelling, but I wasn't about to blithely accept everything they had to say. It was my life, not theirs. So rather than admit to the merits of their story, I became increasingly flippant while challenging their interpretations. If I was obnoxious, likely it was because I feared that my shortcomings might be laid bare. I'd rather have a certified shrink psycho-analyze me rather than have these amateurs meddle with my brain.

I also questioned why they were doing this, and what might be in it for them. Was it to show how smart they were? The more I thought about it, the more outrageous this intrusion felt, which caused me to be even more caustic. ‘I’m a rationalist,’ I said, ‘but nothing you’ve just said is rational.

However, they weren't about to be deterred as they carried on with their interpretations. According to them, my dream was presented as an allegory, ostensibly to illustrate how I had been led to pursue a higher purpose in life. Apparently, this purpose was symbolized by the Mountain. But to make it real within space and time, I had to physically ascend it, which explains why I felt so compelled to fly to Chile. At least, that was their story.

I had to admit, albeit not to them, how much these allegorical images paralleled many of the challenges I was encountered in my life over the last few years. Obviously, there was more to this dream than I understood. Perhaps it prefigured a desire I harboured to journey to another realm of existence. And now here I was, hearing this story, my story, being told by two mysterious blokes I just met. Were they here to awaken something within me, perhaps to hear some hidden message I didn’t wish to know?

I wasn't sure how to interpret the symbolic significance of the fogs, snakes, bogs and ruts that were supposedly entwined in my life back home. Were these representations of suppressed fears and frustrations I wasn't consciously aware of having? If so, then perhaps I needed to pay attention to what they were saying, even though I didn't want to. But there seemed to be something more that was missing, something crucial.

Oh, yes. The panic at the end. That's what was missing. I always wondered what that was about. But they hadn't said. Whenever I reviewed my notes on the dream, I didn't wish to think about how things might have ended before waking up. However, I still remembered the trauma I felt then. That would hardly presage anything good, especially for my future. Yet it seemed everything prior to the ending was to be understood as a preamble to something else that was to occur. But whatever it was, remained enshrouded in mystery.

Maybe that's what concerned me most. And so, I contrived a clever and intellectually plausible rationalization for them. Hopefully, they would agree with me on this so we could quickly resolve the dream's meaning. Possibly then, we’d be able to move on to the more critical questions such as what was going on here.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘I very well may have had a dream much like this, but I think that in many ways it's also everyone's dream… a splendid archetypal dream, don’t you think? Consider humanity’s universal struggle that takes him from the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy, from the Lowland swamps to the Mountain peaks. On another level, perhaps it could even be understood as a statement of evolution from the primordial swamps towards our upward ascent into higher realms of human consciousness.’

That last point, I thought, was most astute and even anthropologically plausible. I mean, who wouldn't agree with that?

'I don't think,' I said, 'this allegory of the swamp and mountain you've just described is necessarily just about me. Instead, it seems to be more of a universal archetypal experience that applies to us all, wouldn't you say? I'm sure everyone has a dream like this at one time or another with whatever unique symbols may illustrate the visceral struggles of life.’

‘For example, take Sisyphus rolling the boulder up the Mountain, or Prometheus chained to a rock while having his liver eaten each day by an eagle, only to have it restored so it may be eaten the next day[6] Don’t we all feel that enervation and fatigue at times as the struggles of life eat away at us?’

'As for me, I've visited various cosmopolitan centres throughout the world and wouldn't consider any of these to be swamps, bogs and marshes; not even figuratively. And though my flat isn't particularly elegant, I wouldn't say it's a hovel... not exactly. In fact, it's rather comfortable, conveniently located over a coffee and delicatessen shop not far from the Thames, where I often stroll. Further to that, I have a library of hundreds of quality books that insulate my walls against the damp drafts of winter.

'And then there's my wonderful career… the one I hope to consolidate someday. As for friends, I have several. Although somewhat unconventional, they can be engaging at times. Then, of course, there are the charming, and sometimes flighty women that come in and out of my life to keep things interesting. Some seem to like me, even more so after I get paid at the end of the month. All in all, I don't think my life has been that eventful these last few years, so we probably shouldn't get too carried away looking for symbols and dream metaphors where they don't exist.'

Though I suspected I wouldn't be able to bluff them, at least they might be less presumptuous in claiming to know everything about me. I found that to be most annoying, if not unsettling. Yet, it seemed they were always a few steps ahead of me.

As I mentioned before, Eli appearing much younger than me and had a youthful exuberance about him, and so I found it humiliating when I couldn't match his depth of knowledge on a variety of subjects. It wasn't just about him being clever, that's common enough with certain students in my more advanced classes; rather, he had a sage quality about him that he evinced with quiet confidence. I found myself both admiring and envying him. And now, to make his mastery even more apparent, he just described parts of my dream with an air of authority, as if this were his dream, not mine.

Again, I asked myself, how could he and Mo even begin to know all this? As much as I wanted to dismiss what they described as a joke, I couldn't deny what they said. Their interpretations were compelling, if not troubling. I had no rational box to explain how they managed all this. And besides that, it was even annoying that I wasn’t able to pry any information out of them as to who they were and why they were here. It was one-way street going in the other direction.

After becoming increasingly exasperated, I finally stood to my feet and raised my voice. 'You know gentleman; I think you realize I've been very forthright about myself. Apparently, I've even allowed you into my dreams. So, I think it's now time you come clean and reciprocate the favour: so will you finally tell me, once and for all, WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?’

‘Oh, don't let that concern you, James,’ Eli said, with a mischievous and disarming smirk. ‘We already know who we are; we don't even have to think about it. But we suggest it's more important that you find who you are, and then you'll know who we are too.’

‘So what in bloody hell is that supposed to mean?’ I asked.

'We understand why you may feel a little uncomfortable with how we seem to know so much about you,' Mo said. 'We sympathize completely… that has to be unnerving. So just be patient with us ol' chap, we're coming to that part. For now, let me assure you that we're harmless. As much as we know about you, we're definitely not associated with INTERPOL, Mi6, CIA, or worse yet, the British Internal Revenue Service. So, try not to be concerned, we're your friends wishing to help you along your way.’

‘But I didn't ask for your help along the way or anywhere else,’ I responded churlishly, as I headed towards the door. ‘I found my way up here, and if you please, I’ll soon be finding my way down.’

With that, I stormed out of the cabin to walk along the Summit ridge. With all they had thrown at me, I needed some time to decide what to do next. I wondered if, just maybe, my companions might be from somewhere other than earth.

Admittedly, that was a rather irrational thought, but perhaps there was a reason for the heebie-jeebies I felt yesterday as I was meeting them. That was no ordinary encounter. And now, on top of that, they just interpreted my dream… without me even telling them I had a dream. It made me wonder if I had somehow been drawn into the Twilight Zone.[7]

The longer I was here, the more obvious the quirks became. Things would magically appear as they fancied: food, drinks, firewood and even books. And yet, from what I could tell, there wasn't any smoke or mirrors to explain any of this. These manifestations had now gone far beyond trickery to something much more serious, if not insidious.

The more I thought about things, the more I felt I needed to leave this place before it was too late. I didn’t want to get caught in something I couldn't find my way out of. As much as I would have loved to stay longer in such an idyllic lodge under normal circumstances, I decided to begin my descent tomorrow morning, sometime after sunrise.

For the remainder of the day, I explored the summit ridge to determine the most direct and least precarious route down. It was important the slopes not be slippery, but for now, it appeared the current weather pattern might hold. You can never really tell from day to day in the mountains, or even from hour to hour. 

When I returned by late afternoon, I found them inside preparing something that appeared to be an elegant dining event. Indeed, these were likeable chaps, at least when they weren't tormenting me with their stunts. I heard it was to be Italian night on the summit, featuring pasta along with the most excellent Sicilian wine. As Eli said, ‘The neighbourhood’s very best!’

I wasn't hungry; at least not until I smelled and saw the oven-baked cheesy penne primavera. Eating here on the Summit was more like having a ravenous appetite for delicious food without needing hunger pangs. Funny, I thought, I couldn't even recall feeling hunger when I first arrived, although I was probably half-starved!

Despite their levity and good cheer, I continued to witness more weirdness. As an example, after dinner, we went outside to sit by a roaring fire Eli started in the fire-pit, not too far from the cabin. Twilight was fading into darkness as the stars began to poke through the indigo sky. After more talk, laughter and whiskey, Mo got up and took a long stick out of the fire that was enflamed on one end.

Standing near the leaping flames, he held the fiery stick up towards the night sky, as though it was a staff with which he would perform some ancient Celtic ritual. Perhaps it was the flames, but it appeared he had suddenly grown much taller, maybe even eight feet tall or more, much like Gandalf hovering over the dwarfs… with me being the dwarf. I remarked that he looked like a wizard against the glow of these towering flames.

‘Oh really,’ he said, ‘then this stick I'm holding must be my wand; every wizard must have a slat a draoichta. Then he cried out: ‘Oscail geata Flaithhis Délig an tsoilse mhór amach,’[8] as he tossed the flaming stick into the night sky. Amazingly, it began to rapidly spiral as it shot into the darkness like a blazing star. I never did see it come down. Perhaps it went down the chasm's abyss, or possibly over the sierras, but that would have been a long way for it to fly. What I witnessed was impossible, unless...  

Then he turned to me and said, 'I have even deeper wizardry for you, James. It has to do with the alchemy of your soul. It starts with knowing who you are. You still don't know that, but when you do, heaven's light will glow brighter within you than the flames of a wizard's wand tossed into the night sky. Are you prepared to find an answer?’

By now, I was dazzled and confounded. 'Fine,' I said, 'I'll see what I can do to find whatever answer you're looking for.'

‘Or more correctly,’ he said, ‘the answer you're looking for. It’s a simple question with a rather difficult answer. Think about it deeply tonight and every night; you may find that it takes a considerable amount of effort to receive an answer.'

There was a long silence; then he got up and before I knew it, he had walked out the door. Eli stared at me for a moment, then he too got up and slowly walked out into the darkness without saying a word. I felt very alone and wondered if I'd ever see them again. If I left at sunrise as planned, I likely never would.

As I sat in the glow of the embers, Mo's question began to haunt me. Who was I? Such a basic question, and yet I had never given it a lot of thought, even though I understood how important such ontological questions were to philosophical enquiry in the ancient past. Am I more than my body, such that my inner awareness makes me, me, rather than being just a function of my biological constitution? If I didn't know who I was, how would anyone else?

I struggled to find a meaningful answer but only had more questions. Where did I come from; where am I going and will I ever get there, wherever that might be? Or will I remain stuck in the bogs and ruts on a journey that leads to nowhere?

Whatever the case, I asked myself, why is life such a struggle; why did I always have to strive for more, even going to extremes such as scaling this treacherous mountain? What was I trying to prove? But then, why even bother to ask such rhetorical questions? That’s insane, and even if they're not insane, they may soon drive me insane if I don't get away from here by tomorrow.

Then, as I reflected further, I thought what if all these questions had been answered in my dream? Was it possible I had been answered, at least implicitly, in the very images I recalled and recorded, but hadn’t bothered to interpret? But now, my friends were doing just that for me without me asking. How were they able to do that, and furthermore, what if there wasn't anything more to ask. What if, hidden in this allegory, were the answers I sought about life?

Had these two beings, whoever they were, been sent to reveal to me what was already hidden within?

But sent by whom… and why?



[1] This is also known as the Principle of Parsimony, named after Franciscan friar William of Ockham (1285-1347), who postulated that where there are competing answers to a problem, the one with the fewest assumptions is most likely the correct answer.
[2] Interestingly, this wasn’t the first time I had experienced something like this. In Chapter Seven, I tell of a similar incident while camping in the mountains.
[3] In reference to Ockham’s Razor as discussed earlier in Chapter Two.
[4] Since I couldn’t decide whether to call it a cabin or lodge, I called it either. At times Eli refered to it as a chalet.
[5] Pogo was a popular and insightful American comic strip, published several decades ago, full of political satire and allegory with swamp animals in the southeastern USA.  Pogo, the lead character, was an opossum who often said such astute things as: “We’ve met the enemy, and he is us.”
[6] again. Hesiod, the Greek poet, wrote about Prometheus as a mythological character in his epic Theogony approximately eighth century B.C.  Percy Bysshe Shelley popularised this myth in the early nineteenth century with his poem Prometheus Unbound.
[7] The Twilight Zone was a weekly television series in the late 1950s and early 1960s that dealt with unexplainable events, often being paranormal encounters with beings outside the Earth’s dimensions.
[8] Open God's heavenly gate. Let the great light out. From the medieval Gaelic poem An Phaidir Gheal


This first book of the Elysium's Passage is published and available to purchase. For hardback, softback or eBook copy go to:





The following comments are among the first Amazon reviews of Elysium’s Passage: The Summit. All are Five Stars! Others reader reviews are included below, along with excerpts from two professional reviews. To read full reviews, go to READER REVIEWS on

"Quietly, gently, and without imposition, the Author unfolds the pages, creating an intricate, interlocking bridge spanning the chasm between mind and heart. Renewing, refreshing, restoring. In my bereavement, it was vigil and light…"

"A delightful mix of fantasy, reality, conjecture and humour; Mr Meyers draws the reader into the story with a gentle narrative that captures the imagination, leaving one anxious to get to the next page drawing you into his exceptional world.”

“Excellently written with an exceedingly deep understanding of this world and the next. The characters are very well written and engaging. I can't wait to complete this book!"

“Takes the reader on both a philosophical and spiritual journey, a journey that at times is both disquieting and tranquil. James, a British Philosopher can be irreverent and caustic, traits that should have left me cringing, but instead made me laugh out loud. Elysium’s Passage is a fun, enlightening and remarkable book.”

“This is a masterful fantasy, becoming a real possibility, as the reader is drawn into the story. The Summit leaves you anxious for the next book in the series, yet also leaves you totally satisfied with the world you have just visited. Genius! An exciting, yet calming, experience that is not to be missed."

"There was hardly a page on which I did not find at least one sentence worthy of hi-lighting for future reference. In addition, I thoroughly enjoyed the main character, James, whose personality and passionate verbal exchanges with the other characters, kept me coming back for more. I am reading the book for a second time while I wait for the next one in this series to be made available."

 “N.G. Meyers has clearly put a great deal of research and thought into what the afterlife may look like and I like his perspective. It’s an altogether welcoming and exciting vision. The book gives one a great deal to think about and a reassuring confidence that the end of our lives is truly the beginning of life in the next. I highly recommend it."

“The humour interjected into a serious discussion makes me laugh out loud. Totally unexpected....l may be in the presence of at least a master, if not a genius. A fair ride into reality... seeking that which is unseen, yet absolutely real.”

“An engaging story of adventure embracing man's deepest desire to search for meaning and purpose, N.G. Meyers takes the reader on an adventurous thought-provoking journey. This book has substance. It is a perfect blend of adventure and fantasy combined with spiritual philosophy. It ignited my imagination. The author magically weaves a good story laced with wit and humour together with deep philosophical wisdom. This book has it all!”

“An evolution in thought is triggered by many fresh philosophical themes which could inspire readers to re-think their reality and former ideologies that have dictated their lives… the author fires readers’ imaginations to view what could be possible when spirit vacates the body.”

“This is the book spiritual seekers have been waiting for. For me, it granted a great read as well as increased inspiration to live every day with a heightened sense of purpose. I highly recommend it.

“The Summit is capable of hooking readers and luring them to search for Book 2 to discover more about Dr. Philip’s surreal trek into the mysterious unknown universe. This thick book is well worth the read and to share…”

“Mind-blowing statements and speculation (‘…everyone is a non-physical thought form conceived in the Mind of God, preserved for all eternity because God’s thoughts never die…’). Many will find Meyers’ journey up the Mountain intriguing—and possibly even life-changing.” (BLUEINK REVIEW)

“In its effort to grapple with fundamental questions about the meaning of life, it raises questions that have echoed throughout the ages, including about where we come from, where we are going, who we are.”  (CLARION REVIEW)

For more READERS REVIEWS go to 




FACEBOOK: Elysium's Passage Novel Series, Elysium's Passage Public Group page, Elysium's Passage Author's Page, or to my personal page Neil Meyers

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LINKEDIN: Neil Meyers


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The following titles in the ELYSIUM’S PASSAGE series are projected to be released as follows: 

THE SUMMIT is now available

THE ASCENT fall 2020




HE ELIXIR fall 2021

THE RETURN sometime in 2022/23

ELYSIUM’S PASSAGE: THE SUMMIT, is now available for purchase on and

With the exception of the last novel in the series, the last three have been written but still require more editing before publication.