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Come further up, come further in.
This narrative begins with a most unusual allegory that came to me in a dream one night which, as it turned out, would foreshadow the direction of my future life. The symbolic nature of the objects and environments I encountered reminded me of the symbolic meanings I read of in Pilgrim’s Progress. My dream experience felt it had a similar quality: the most provocative interpretative expression of my life up to that point, including various deficiencies not so evident to me, though they were likely to others.
Also, note that I have included the quote above, come further up, come further in. These few words sum up the primary theme of this book and my new life. If you are familiar with the literary works of C.S. Lewis, you may recognise this phrase from what was cried out by the characters as they ran further up and further into the New Narnia, as described in The Last Battle, the concluding book in the Chronicles of Narnia series. Only after my adventure did I understand what meaning Lewis intended to convey with this short phrase.
As we ascend our Mountain further up and further in, we gain greater clarity and vision in seeing who we are while we remain on Earth. Whatever path we may be on, we are all on a trek through life. I now wish to share this most peculiar venture that took me further up and further in, far beyond what I could have imagined.
A REALLY CRAZY DREAM
It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road,
and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to  Bilbo Baggins
It had been a stressful week at university as I lectured by day in several over-enrolled introductory philosophy classes while diligently marking stacks of midterm essay examinations by night. After barely making the Friday afternoon deadline submissions, I returned to my flat and collapsed on the bed, knackered.
There was too much going on in my mind for my body to rest. Partly, I was concerned about how this evening might go with a woman I hardly knew. I don’t know; perhaps I felt intimidated by her. Finally, I poured a half glass of rum, then another and another. Now, feeling much lighter and relaxed, I offered a prayer to my favourite god on Mount Olympus.
Officially, I would have described myself as an agnostic or atheist, as would many philosophers in my department who pride themselves on their scepticism. The prayer, or whatever it might be called, was ingenious, or so I thought.
In jest, I said, ‘Zeus, if you’re hiding up there in the clouds, I need you to come down to give me a break. I’m afraid things aren’t working out too well these days.’
It was true; I felt increasingly disenchanted with my life. I wanted to experience more fulfilment but wasn’t sure what that was or where I might find it. I even considered dropping out for a few years to search for whatever I lacked. Possibly, if I went to Tibet or the Andes, I would find what I was looking for. These mountain regions appealed to me after becoming an avid climber while completing my Master’s programme in Canada several years ago. As I considered doing this, the cynic in me would say if I couldn’t find myself in London, I wouldn’t find myself anywhere else either.
I was troubled with my fledgeling career, which did little to allay my financial instability. Also, my inability to establish even one satisfying relationship with a woman was beginning to frustrate me. Outwardly, I had several things going for me, including my academic credentials, physical appearance and roguish charm.
Whenever it served my purposes, I assumed a debonair persona to attract various women into my life and bed over the years. Keeping them, however, was another matter.
This evening, I was hoping to put all my worries behind me after arranging a dinner date with the attractive brunette I recently met at a charity event at the university.
I was impressed with her confident demeanour; not only was she well-read and articulate, but she recently earned an MBA degree working now as a senior analyst for a prominent investment firm located on one of the top floors of an office tower in Canary Wharf.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go too well for us. I suppose I should have imbibed something less toxic while impatiently waiting for my date to arrive. By the time she turned up at our table, over a half-hour late, I had already decided I was not pleased with her game.
It appeared this was a power ploy to let me know who was important with a real job. Likely, this was her way of saying she had more pressing matters to attend to than marking term papers. At least, that’s how I interpreted it. Considering her pretty face and revealing cleavage, I thought I’d make the best of things by attempting to be as pleasant as I could to see where things might lead, hopefully, in the direction of my flat.
My problem in attempting to have an engaging conversation with her was that we lived in two very different worlds, which is why I found her incessant talk about international commerce so difficult to relate to, not to mention her stellar career. I suppose I should have been impressed, but from my critical perspective, I had already decided she wasn’t authentic.
Her upwardly mobile pretences didn’t do anything for me except make me feel emasculated, which wasn’t exactly a turn-on. I would have been willing to tolerate these affectations had it been to impress me for some amorous intent. It seemed; however, she was more interested in impressing herself.
I tried to be civil and attentive, though I’m sure she could tell the bored look on my face, except on occasion, when my eyes may have inadvertently drifted down below her neckline. After a couple more glasses of wine following dinner, I was no longer on my best behaviour, suggesting we take a taxi back to my place to get to know each other a little better. Possibly, the problem was how I said it.
Evidently, she wasn’t stupid as she curtly declined my less than subtle offering. I felt further chagrined when she insisted on paying her half of our dining tab as if to make it clear I had no pretence of a claim on her. Most ungracious, it seemed, certainly not how I had planned the evening’s outcome.
As she walked out to catch a taxi to go home, I muttered something she probably didn’t hear. If she did, I didn’t care. I can be as obnoxious as any pickled bloke under the influence. And by then, I most certainly was. I was distraught with how things turned out and how she had rebuffed me, cold and dismissive as if passing on some marginal investment option at her office.
Things might have turned out better that evening had I taken my lumps and gone home to bed. But oh no, I needed to recover some of my esteem by finding my way to a somewhat less dignified establishment to chat up some new acquaintance who might be prepared to ride home with me for the night.
No such luck, even when I was prepared to compromise my previous standards for the night. I suppose drunk isn’t considered very sexy unless the other is just as drunk. As the saying goes, a wink is as good as a nod, although I wasn’t getting either.
Worse than the rude dismissals, rejections, and rolled eyes was a little skirmish I had with an oversized Godzilla bouncer standing at the door. I noticed he had been observing my deteriorating condition for some time, so I decided it was necessary to inform him of my professional credentials.
I walked over to him, not all that steadily, and told him who I was. Not surprisingly, he didn’t seem that interested in hearing about my career or the papers I planned to present among some of the finest academic institutions in Britain. I don’t know why I felt it was necessary to tell him all that, yet I did.
Instead of being impressed, however, he seemed to consider me more of a common drunk than a scholar. Sure, I told him, maybe I was a bit blotto, but dammit, I wasn’t drunk. As I staggered to the water closet, he suggested I find a cab to take me home. It likely didn’t help that I had a contrary opinion by venting some of the more creative expressions I had acquired during my short bout as a sailor.
Slurring to him, saying, get stuffed, you fuggin ape, might have had something to do with my intimate encounter with the cement walkway outside after being unceremoniously escorted out the door. It probably didn’t help that I took an inept swing at him. Not surprisingly, the only thing I came away with from my bender that night was a bloodied face and a severely damaged ego.
I guess he was only doing his job; still, in my stupor, it felt like the greatest humiliation of my life. On my way home, I pondered how I would explain my new face art to my classes, not to mention enquiring colleagues in the faculty lounge. Even if it was true, I wasn’t sure how credible my story of falling on the sidewalk would sound.
It also occurred to me how thin the veneer of our civil personas can be, particularly when in an altered state of intoxicated consciousness. I was angry with myself, knowing how I would have stood up to him as a sailor in the days of my invincible youth, having survived several late-night brawls of decisive wins for fun and frivolity. Mostly, I came out relatively unscathed from these pugilist forays when docked at various Mediterranean ports.
Now, look at me, sipping on lattes with all the stiffs in the faculty lounge! What happened to the street fighter? It was apparent that I had relapsed after years of becoming outwardly genteel in the refined academic world. I was out of my element on both fronts tonight; neither much of a fighter nor remarkably genteel.
It was sad how my salty sea life had become eclipsed by the stifling civility around me. Muddled reflections of my misspent youth swirled around in my mind as I lay sprawled, half passed out, across the backseat of the cab, my nose still bleeding.
Like most of us, I have my quirks, strengths, weaknesses, a variety of charming idiosyncrasies, and I suppose I always will. Whatever my foibles, let’s just say, notwithstanding my doctorate, I had a lot to learn about life. As was evident with my date that night, it would never have occurred to me that what I perceived in her had everything to do with projecting my fears and insecurities upon her. It was an established pattern I wasn’t yet aware of having.
I recognise that, at this point, I’m not presenting a very flattering picture of myself, especially regarding my conduct that evening… hardly what you would expect from a man of letters! As it turned out, this would be the low point from where I would begin my mountain ascent, both literally and figuratively.
I could never have imagined at the time that this would lead me towards discovering new unimaginable dimensions of reality. Unbeknownst to me, while riding home that night, something extraordinary was about to happen.
I felt my battered body aching from the evening’s dissipations and inflicted wounds as I collapsed on my bed and passed out. I don’t know exactly when, but in the hours that followed, a most unusual dream intruded into my fitful slumber. Possibly a lucid dream; I’m not sure. Whatever it was, seemed like nothing I had ever experienced in my sleep before.
In it, I found myself transported into an altered world of colours and images that seemed exquisitely real and yet felt eerily surreal. That might be normal for some, though not me, at least not since experimenting with DMT. More significantly, this dream had a disturbing scene at the end, a most dreadful climax without having any explicit resolution.
I had no idea what it meant; however, as I awoke in a panic, it seemed I was about to fall into an abyss. I’ve had dreams of flying before, but this one didn’t promise to be a happy flight. Now fully alert, I stumbled across the room to my desk to record my vivid impressions.
Detailed scenes remained emblazoned in my psyche, feeling larger than life. Because it was so unusual, I wanted to capture as much as possible, even with a splitting headache. I didn’t bother to turn on the light since the sky was beginning to lighten with the dawn. The more I wrote, the more came back to me with images of strange lands and people that eventually led me to an excruciating yet exhilarating mountain climbing adventure.
In the days and weeks ahead, I often reflected on what I dreamt and what it might mean. The more I did this, the more images and extraordinary experiences came to me. As I kept adding these impressions to my journal file, I increasingly felt my life was taking on a whole new trajectory. It was subtle; something seemed to be unfolding within me that would eventually alter the course of my life.
I’m not one to remember my dreams that well. Even when I have one, I tend to ignore it unless it has some uninhibited young feline jumping into my bed. That doesn’t happen too often. Although, on rare occasions, significant reoccurring dreams will stick with me, with some extending back into my troubled childhood.
Nevertheless, this time I knew something profound had happened in the subliminal spheres of my mind. Rather than fading away, it continued to become more pronounced, to the point the impressions intruded into my consciousness throughout the day, at times distracting me as I lectured.
Everything in life felt intriguing as my mind continued to drift towards some rarified mystical domain. A bit unsettling for a linear philosopher, yet my thoughts seemed increasingly profound and meaningful, as if there was a destiny I was headed towards without knowing where.
Even though I didn’t recognise specific places or objects in the dream, what I saw still felt like symbols and metaphors that seemed to represent the struggles I encountered in life. Unrecognised aspirations were given new meaning, along with the many accompanying sorrows and disappointments, which made my dream experience so unforgettable in the days ahead. I couldn’t shake it, so I remained puzzled by the curious impact it was having on me. There remained many contradicting images and messages that made me feel both sad and hopeful at the same time.
At times while sleeping, I would awaken shrouded in fear. And yet, whatever impending doom awaited me wouldn’t reveal itself. On other occasions, as when walking along the Thames, I would receive exhilarating flashes of ascending to an exceedingly high and challenging Mountain. Whenever this occurred, I would later sit on my favourite bench near the river and contemplate what had been evoked within me, perhaps a longing to experience something more than what life was currently offering me.
I often wondered if there was some hidden message in the images intended to jar me out of the mediocre existence I was bogged into. Some of the dreary scenes at the beginning reminded me of feeling stuck and disempowered in my academic career. Other images suggested I was becoming liberated from everything holding me back. Before I go further with how the dream proceeded, let me provide a little background of my life to give more context to what these images may have been telling me.
As an orphan, my earliest years living in various foster homes in the Liverpool area were not happy. Mercifully, I was finally taken in by my father’s uncle, who must have pitied me, or possibly he was more concerned about how I may end up tarnishing the family name. After a career of teaching in a prestigious boys' school, he developed an appreciation for advanced learning.
With me being endowed with a degree of intelligence, his assistance served me well in making my education relatively easy. Under his influence, I opened myself to a world of utopian ideals.
Later, when I became a young adult, this background provided me with an ideological basis to get caught up in several de rigueur liberation movements, as envisioned and espoused in the humanist writings of Voltaire, Marx, and Huxley. What few religious moorings I held from early childhood were soon tossed aside, and I no longer believed in God or prayer.
By the time I entered undergraduate studies, I had already become disillusioned and cynical about life and the world’s direction. I had hoped philosophy would help me find purpose on earth and what I was doing here. However, after reading Nietzsche, Hegel, Freud, and Sartre, I fell into an existential weltschmerz as I despaired of ever finding meaningful answers to life’s questions.
I finally broke this sullen spell after enrolling in my Master’s graduate programme at the University of Calgary in Canada. The Philosophy department was recommended highly for its excellence, with many of its philosophers having strong ties to Britain. My two years there did much to improve my attitude towards life, as I developed several significant relationships, both academically and socially.
Nothing could have been better for me than climbing the highest peaks throughout the majestic Canadian Rockies. With the help of scholarships, I advanced towards more academic achievements, yet none of the answers I hoped to find were forthcoming. By the time I completed my doctorate in Edinburgh, Scotland, I was resigned to whatever deeper meaning I was looking for would likely remain unknown, at least to me.
Now, in my early thirties, I have increasingly grown weary and cynical towards science, religion, and even philosophy. It seemed that throughout history, they had all become contrived, distorted and exploited for power and gain. After feeling disillusioned with the world order, I indulged in wanton promiscuity until I finally grew bored with its futility. It seemed these affairs only reinforced my existential angst.
Even with my frustration in finding meaning and purpose, something in me never gave up, at least not entirely. I wanted to believe I would ultimately find a way to reach higher ground, somewhere far beyond the bogs where I remained stuck. At times I would think of the words of Lao Tzu: The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step; still, I couldn’t seem to get my feet unstuck for long enough to take the first step.
So, it was that infamous night at the pub when I felt I had hit bottom, both literally and figuratively; this dream came to me as a flicker of light, dimly shining through the cracks of my broken life. A line in Leonard Cohen’s lyrics from Anthem speaks of how the light enters through the crack. And Rumi, the Sufi Persian poet, made a similar observation centuries ago: The wound is the place where the Light enters.
I first became aware of this light when the dream shone through a crack in my soul that night. Thereafter, what I heard and saw in my dream remained indelibly inscribed in my psyche. More than just a dream, it was an extraordinary premonition that would lead me to several more cracks and almost fatal wounds.
Interestingly, I seemed to hear a commentator during the beginning stages guiding me through various images, events, and peculiar landscapes I observed in my sleeping consciousness. I didn’t understand it at the time, yet I could feel this was my story told to me on several levels. While sleeping, it occurred to me how peculiar it was that someone would presume to speak to me about my life.
Mysteriously, the sonorous voice seemed to emanate from far beyond: a plane identified as being on a Mountain far above the clouds in my life. I later wondered if Zeus had possibly deigned to answer me after all.
Wherever the voice came from, it spoke with uncompromised authority. I was disturbed at first by how it urged me to accept a new calling in life. To what fate was I beckoned? I wasn’t sure what to think.
At first, it seemed a distant echo: ‘James, prepare to leave your world.’ I half awoke, startled by the abrupt words. Was I about to die? Then I fell back, this time into a deep slumber, as the voice returned, becoming more apparent than before.
‘Listen to us; we speak to you from a high plane on a Summit where you have often unawares sought to join us. From our lofty ridge, we view your life in the lands far below. We may appear far away, but we are very near; we dwell here even while we dwell within your mind to which we now speak, for we are all of one Mind.
‘As we survey the magnificent vistas beyond us, we regret those who have no wish to leave the Lowlands below to discover the wonders of what might lie beyond. Although you remain unaware of who you are and where you’re going, we can tell you the Lowlands are no longer your home; you belong here with us… because you are of us. The people you dwell among corrupt you with their perspectives and opinions, believing their forlorn reality is the only reality.
‘They say you live, you die, then return to the elements from which you arose, and that’s how things are. That, however, is not how things are. One day, you will live to tell the true story.
‘Yet, you can only speak to those who, like you, envision this Mountain where we wait far beyond the flat horizon. Most will neither see nor hear; they have already decided what is real, but what they look upon is not real.
‘In your sleeping consciousness, you’ve oft heard our faint voice and questioned whether it came to you from afar or if it was only from within your mind. It matters not from where; the message is one, and there is no separation. You sometimes long to join us here on these high vistas to discover new mysterious realms on our side. We speak to you now since you are ready to be answered, just as all are answered who open their eyes to see what others cannot and will not see.
‘As we stand above on this Mountain ridge with you in our sights, we ask that you put aside all thoughts of how you think this may be and try to understand what we have to say. When you discover the wondrous sights that lie far beyond the Lowlands’ foggy images, you will know. You may not understand, for you were never told; we are telling you now. Your perceptions, formed in the Lowlands, are a chimaera you chose to believe and live.
‘Ask yourself why you cannot see this Mountain upon which we stand. Is it real? What if it is more than all you consider to be real? Tell us if you are able; what is real? What makes it real, and how can you tell?
‘Though you need not answer, consider these questions as we invite you to join us for a season by ascending to this Summit to understand, not as your world understands, but as we know. We have something more significant in mind for you than just knowledge. It will remain your choice: to join us or stay unaware for the rest of your days in your Lowlands.
‘We didn’t make our dwelling on this ridge overlooking your world when we entered this threshold between the old and new worlds. It’s a special place where you can join us for a spell to discover new vistas of existence before you return. Once you depart your plane below, you will have begun your journey into the infinite landscapes of wondrous splendours. You will then realise there is no end to the ineffable splendours of indescribable dimensions. So, it will always seem you are only beginning to ascend further up and further in.
‘You have long considered this quest, so we call out to you now to join us where your soul longs to be, a domain you have long forgotten. Then one day, you too may reveal to your weary world something of the resplendence you have seen, heard, and touched.
‘We have often watched you unwittingly gaze off into the distance towards our misty and mysterious peaks. There are others in your domain who, at times, share your vision, yet few give much attention to what lies beyond the flat plains. But you did. As you gazed longingly in our direction towards heights unseen and unknown, you yearned to know what lies beyond your marshy planes.
‘Then, ever more frequently, you began to dream shadowy dreams with strange images and voices calling out to you. From where? You didn’t know; still, it felt right because it came from somewhere beyond, possibly in a land much higher. You hoped someday you would be shown a way that would lead you away, far from the stifling Lowlands.
‘As your unconscious dreams continued to ebb and flow over the years, they seemed to drift and meander without having any specific meaning. At first, these were just visions of subliminal impressions, but as they congealed, something called out to you. You didn’t know what it was, perhaps a reminder of who you were and what you were to become.
‘Finally, within the deepest recesses of your ancestral memories, someone began to speak softly to you, saying you are not abandoned; you belong with us in a reality, not of the Lowlands. You hadn’t heard this voice since you were a child.
‘After years of innocence, you forgot who you were and why you came to this world! Now, finally, you are becoming aware of what’s calling out to you from within. You wonder if you should leave the Lowlands to seek the higher grounds you didn’t know existed on a Mountain longingly envisioned when your mind was quieted.
‘At such times, you drifted towards deep mysteries more beautiful and majestic than you had ever before known. Yet, they also confused you. Such hallowed stirrings were contrary to everything you had experienced, just as they are contrary to what the brooding muckraking inhabitants of the Lowlands understood or wanted to understand!
‘Whatever these inklings might be, you felt it would be best to remain silent. Such frivolous speculation is not well tolerated in the Lowlands, so you spoke nary a word.
‘As time passed, these callings didn’t go away as you continued to nourish the hope engendered in your soul until it became an exciting presentiment of what could be. Then you began to muse that one day you would take the risk and leave the Lowlands where all was safe and secure to venture beyond. Whatever was calling you was more sublime than what could be heard in the Lowlands.
‘However, you continued to grow tired of the amorphous fog hovering in the air where no one in the Lowlands could get excited about anything other than their predictable affairs. With no firm convictions, the air stagnated into dense swamp gases of debilitating apathy.
‘In its mist, you found no one had clarity, so nothing had purpose or meaning because nothing mattered. Perhaps it was the Lowlands’ somniferous aether; still, it didn’t seem necessary or even advisable for one to think beyond their mediocrity since that might disturb the slumber. So, it was considered best not to stir things too much lest they awaken.
‘Making one’s way along the boggy base was soft and accommodating for you. The ruts required little effort to meander through, so there was never any concern about where to go since all paths eventually returned to where you started. For what purpose you continued to wander about, you weren’t sure, yet it didn’t matter. It was what everyone did.
‘The deepest ruts, you found, were always the shortest and most accessible paths to get to where you were going. With so many treading the same way, these kept wearing down deeper and deeper, making it increasingly difficult for you to go off-course. Not that you would want to. What would be the point? Life’s path, you decided, was predetermined; the very notion of exercising free will was a fanciful illusion.
‘At least that’s what you were told by those who believed they had no choice in life. This belief made things easier and more secure, much preferred over the uncertainties and responsibilities of choosing one’s path. There wasn’t much for you to strive towards or be concerned about. Neither was there anything to become inspired about; they already had enough meaningless amusements to occupy themselves throughout their meaningless existence.
‘Sometimes things changed when the rain continued to pour for extended periods. The soft ground would become very sticky, and one could sink and perish in a rut while the misty drizzle persisted for days. You knew about being stuck, and it wasn’t a great feeling. As you reflected on your life, it became increasingly apparent that there had to be more to life than what you had subjected yourself to.
‘At some point, you realised you could no longer ignore your call from beyond, although you remained tentative and unsure where to go. Since you were told there was nothing worth seeing beyond the Lowlands, you couldn’t see past the Lowlands’ veils of mist.
‘Nevertheless, as you continued to focus your inward eyes on what may lie beyond, you would catch vague images and shifting shapes of something you didn’t know. As you gave more attention to your visions, an image appeared as a Mountain, causing you to wonder if there might be something higher that was beckoning you, or was this just your imagination deceiving you? You didn’t know where to go until a time came when you realised you must leave in search of it.
‘You didn’t know what direction you should go, so you followed your inward longings, trusting this would lead you to higher land. This hope, though indistinct and undefined, became irresistible. So, late one rainy evening, you stole away into the darkness, leaving behind the mud, sludge, drudge, and all that felt familiar and safe to you.’
With that, the oratory faded into the distance. I heard no more of this enchanting narration; my dream continued as I saw myself embarking on a journey out of this land the voice had called the Lowlands. Lucid images continued to impress my mind throughout this improbable but epic trek into the unknown.
It felt like days, or even months, wandering aimlessly through the Lowlands’ boggy marshes. Then, gradually, much to my amazement, I sensed a slow and gentle rise under my feet as my leg muscles constricted from the incline’s strain. This sensation felt peculiar since flatness was all I had known in the Lowlands. Yet here I was, inwardly compelled, ever upward to a region I had never gone. It seemed an unknown universe.
For a time, the fog obstructed my vision; still, I forged ahead, believing I was on the right path to wherever I was destined to go. I remembered thinking how the Lowlands disapproved of adventures such as this, so few strayed very far away from where they felt safe. As my austere hovel in the Lowlands retreated further into my forgettable past, I sensed a tingle of rebellion within me.
Yes, I was finally becoming my own man! No matter what I might encounter ahead, be it life or death, I would now live my life as a lion for a day rather than a hundred years as a sheep. I swaggered onward and upward with a touch of disdain towards the mediocrity and smug complacency of my past. The inhabitants of the Lowlands would always remain insular. It didn’t matter; I had left their fold.
‘Look at me,’ I shouted while glancing back towards the Lowlands, ‘I’m no longer a sheep; I’m a lion. The lion has left, and he’s not coming back!’
As I continued upward, far beyond the marshes below, I noticed the ground becoming firmer and higher up, just as I had envisioned for so long. Being in the rain, I didn’t realise I was beginning to ascend a mountain I couldn’t see. I knew the journey was becoming more difficult as my weary lungs laboured for more oxygen on the upward thrusts. No, it wasn’t easy, but it was exhilarating!
Despite the gravitational stresses, my body became vibrant as I felt my muscles strengthen. When it became apparent that I was ascending a mountain, my determination extended to every molecule in my body as I surged forward, stoked by what challenges I might find around each corner and over every precipice.
What was driving me to ascend further up and further in? I didn’t know; it had come from somewhere. Was it a call from above? I remained unclear where this journey might lead, yet I knew I must continue. Possibly, this was the Mountain I had envisioned through my hovel window.
There would be no going back to the soft bogs. My footing was now secure on the granite, providing a welcome contrast to the marshes below. With each step forward and upward, I acquired more resolution and confidence to overcome whatever obstacles lay ahead. The terrain was strange and challenging; nevertheless, I ignored my fears as I scaled steep vertical escarpments, balancing precariously on the narrow ridges as I leapt over deep fissures and glacial crevices.
Over and over, I told myself there had to be a Summit where I could view unseen vistas on the other side. Then, at last, I knew I was on an adventure where there was far more to life than languishing in the Lowlands. I had no idea what, but it seemed something extraordinary was awaiting me.
After what seemed a very long time of plodding with increased fatigue, I wondered if there would ever be an end to my meandering through the fog and rain. Then, one day, to my amazement, I emerged out of the clouds into the bright blue sky. I could see the sun’s full orb as it shone warmly on my face, unfiltered by the gloomy clouds that shielded the Lowlands below. I can scarcely express how excited I was to see my new bright reality.
At first, I felt slightly disoriented, observing the clouds swirling below me instead of above. It was a new way of seeing things, a vision of how life could be different. As I continued, something inexplicable was drawing me further upward while a complementary force seemed to push me from behind. I thought, what strange magic this Mountain possessed.
Though I felt a heightened state of awareness in the brightness, the way upward became increasingly confusing as I encountered sheer vertical rock walls that, at times, seemed impossible to ascend. Sometimes, I had to retreat to lower altitudes to find new passages that opened upward.
On other occasions, my body grew cold, weak and weary as I shivered through the night. I was uncertain whether these chills were from the glaciers or my fears. More than once, giant condors would swoop down towards me on the side of a cliff with a hideous hiss, like that of a prehistoric archaeopteryx.
Besides all these adversities and fright, my provisions had become depleted, leaving me with little more than the clear Mountain air and splashes of freshwater that trickled down the glistening cliffs.
I wondered what the Lowlanders would say if they knew I was attempting to ascend high above them since they would never understand why I would do this. Likely, they would consider me quite insane for not remaining where things were flat, smooth and easy. With the stilled, stale air remaining trapped in the marshes below, it wasn’t necessary to endure the lashing mountain winds of sleet and rain.
I admit I often wondered if I had lost my way in life, causing me to pine for the safety of the hovel I had left behind far below. Indeed, it can be disheartening to struggle towards a destination you can’t see, especially when attempting to climb loose scree on steep slopes, only to slide backwards again. At such times, I would question why I was putting myself through this, seemingly toiling forever upwards like Sisyphus.
In these moments of doubt, imagining what everyone in the Lowlands might think, it became difficult for me to remain resolute. Likely, they would say it was foolish to search for an illusionary, make-believe Mountain. I tried to maintain an attitude of what do they know? Still, I wasn’t sure what anyone knew about anything, including me.
I even found myself struggling to justify my decision to answer this call. At times, my journey seemed more delusional than real. In the end, what would I have to show for all my efforts other than scraped, bleeding knuckles, twisted ankles, blistered feet and a sun-scorched body?
In the depths of these dark and despairing nights, I hunkered down into a narrow fissure to escape the wicked blast of frigid winds as I tried to rediscover the vision within me that had drawn me further in and further up. In these times of fear and adversity, this vision would fade from my mind, becoming elusive and seemingly ridiculous. Conflicted, I felt the torment of self-doubt picking at my heart like the vultures I imagined hovering over me.
When the storms rolled in, pelting me with sleet, I heard voices in my head taunting me to return to the Lowlands’ safe and secure mediocrity. Even if life in the Lowlands is tediously dull, at least no effort is required to survive with everything so simple and predictable. When it drizzles below, the slippery mud prevents anyone from wandering off on rash adventures. Except for me, of course.
I considered how safe things must be in the Lowlands right now and how unsafe I was. Though there remained hazardous patches of quicksand on the Lowlands’ periphery where the odd dweller might wander off to and sink out of sight, all in all, most remain there secure, provided they don’t stray far from the ruts.
Safety is essential to the Lowlanders; in fact, the word safe is their favourite word. Yet, if they were honest, most don’t feel safe since they always have an underlying fear of vulnerability, especially towards anyone they consider different. Many suspect predators might lurk about somewhere in the distant hills, so they are sure to keep their doors bolted.
The more I considered my secure life in the Lowlands, the more I realised I could never go back, even when feeling lonely and disheartened. It would be difficult to lower my body down the precipices without possibly incurring a fatal fall. Letting oneself down each ridge, trying to find secure footing while dangling above the ledge below, is more dangerous than pulling up to the next ledge. I had to keep moving upward.
Even if I made it back down, I would have to explain where I went and why I left in the first place. Likely, I’d never be accepted in their fold again after deserting them. The scoffers would never believe me if I told them what I had seen and experienced on my adventure. I could hear them: ‘something wobbles in that young man’s brain; he’s not like the rest of us… thinks strange thoughts… probably best not to have anything to do with him.’
To hell with them, I thought, as I continued upward with no trails, guides or companions to show me the way. I only knew it would be up the whole way; never soft, never flat, but always dangerous. The sun, however, continued to shine, lighting my way and spirits. I felt more confident than ever that I would find a Summit somewhere up there if I persisted. And if there were a Summit, there would be a world vista I could never have experienced in the Lowlands.
After enduring several dark nights of the soul in the most challenging terrain imaginable, I again felt the clarion call that had drawn me away from the Lowlands. With my doubts and fears mostly below and behind me now, I felt ready to meet whatever fate awaited me when I reached the Summit; something that would forever change my life; what I longed for yet could never have imagined.
Upon the dawning of what would be the last day of my long, arduous ascent, I slung on my backpack to continue along the narrow ledge, trying not to glance over the cliffs. I took one careful step at a time as I clutched the jagged sides, fearing the dark void beneath.
After a great deal of struggling up a very steep and challenging crag, I found a clearing on a broad ridge with patches of grass and moss. It was a perfect place to relax and soak in the sun’s warm, rejuvenating rays. Having endured so much, I fell into a deep and peaceful slumber. When I finally awoke, my mind and body felt considerably refreshed; my way to the Summit felt more promising than before.
I rose to my feet and stood there, amazed at how expansive the views had become and how clear everything seemed compared to the Lowlands. I wondered if the dark clouds covering the Lowlands were projections of their brooding minds, casting a veil over the land. After living there for so long, I was no longer sure, uncertain if they had consciously or unconsciously drawn darkness to themselves, dimming and obscuring the vision of whatever might exist beyond.
Whether they were aware of it, this Mountain existed for everyone. What they had to say no longer mattered to me; I had now come too far. Leave the past behind where it belongs, I told myself, and look to where you’re going, not where you’ve been.
As I continued to survey the vastness of all before me, I felt a renewed surge within, as though I was beckoned to ascend further upwards without further delay. Was this destiny calling me, I wondered? I grabbed my backpack in haste and slung it over my shoulders while half-stumbling towards the escarpment awaiting my attack.
By the time the sun had almost lowered to the horizon, I had scaled most of the way up. Then, the realisation hit me like a boulder catapulting down from the ridge above. Yes, this was it, just over the rise. I could see it; not much distance remained to reach the summit now. The long, weary ascent was almost over!
Having pulled myself to the top of a plateau ledge, I felt like jumping up in celebration, but my leg muscles were too strained and fatigued from this last frantic scramble. So, instead, I staggered to my feet and stood there in awe of my impossible feat. I was almost there! I raised my right arm in victory, fist clenched.
Then, looking towards the summit, I noticed something far above, near the pinnacle of the eastern ridge. I had no idea what this was, except it appeared to be an orb of shimmering light moving about erratically. I slowly dropped my arm. Hardly discernible at first, it approached the edge as it continued to glow.
The longer I focused on it, the brighter it seemed to shine… now appearing as two, three or more spheres, although it was difficult to tell what was going on since they kept shifting. Then, suddenly, they disappeared! Most peculiar, if not startling!
I moved slowly forward, my eyes firmly fixed on the summit ridge. The euphoria I felt minutes ago was now displaced by whatever had me spooked up there. My heart was beating harder than when I scaled up this last ridge.
Then came an eerie premonition that something extraordinary was about to happen, possibly an encounter with something unknown, whatever that might be.
How strange it seemed that at this moment of triumph, my gut felt twisted into knots. Possibly, this was delirium setting in from the high altitude. Was I losing my mind from oxygen deprivation? Or were the Mountain gods not pleased with my intrusion into their sacred domain, sending flaming chariots to hold me at bay?
I knew something was about to happen; I just didn’t know what. I sensed something there that was not of this world. And it wants me! Oh God, I thought, not only am I delusional, but paranoid too. Whether anything was out there to get me or not, the air felt charged with electrified ions, like when lightning is about to hit. Except there were no storm clouds in the sky. So, was Zeus about to strike me down?
Despite these unnerving premonitions of doom, I burst forward to meet the adversary, if that’s what it was. Perhaps it was reflexive, yet that’s how I deal with fear: head-on! I’ve always despised cowards and do the opposite of what I think they might do. Or, I wondered, was I more like a moth drawn towards the candle, only to be consumed by its flame? Lurching now with all my might towards the summit, at times faltering, I clambered up the next craig, the final precipice for me to conquer.
I was most of the way to the Summit when my legs would no longer carry me further. As I stood hunched over, gasping for air, I felt watched from above. Then, as I looked up towards the summit again, I saw the orbs hovering on top. At the same time, I felt something impinging upon my brain. Next, I heard what seemed to be a voice in the air.
Perhaps I only imagined this from the winds sweeping over the Summit. And those throbbing lights… probably just the sun reflecting off something or another. Off what, though? It couldn’t be from the shrubs and boulders. Nothing natural could have that brilliance and then vaporise into thin air. Whatever it was, flitted about like fireflies at night, even though it was still daylight. Aliens, I wondered.
I realised there would be no way out if they wished to abduct me. With my body now overwhelmed with exhaustion, I didn’t know what to do: stay here, continue upward, or attempt to lower my way down the precipice, and then run like bloody hell all the way back to Santiago.
No, I couldn’t just slink away. I’d rather die. I had to continue forward! Was I mesmerised by subliminal trance-inducing waves emanating from the orbs, like the hapless Eloi who would passively stroll into the caves and clutches of the cannibalistic Morlocks?
Whether it was an irrepressible impulse, I forced my legs to proceed again until I couldn’t go further. I was at an impasse. On the right was a vast chasm, possibly the result of an earthquake or some cataclysmic overthrust from millions of years ago. I couldn’t proceed upwards to the Summit on the left because the vertical rock was too smooth and sheer to grasp.
Bloody hell, what was I to do now? Earlier in the day, while deciding how best to proceed upward, there were two alternatives. Unfortunately, I chose a trajectory that brought me to this abyss.
Had I taken the longer route towards the right, I might have been able to spiral around to the other side to reach the Summit. It may have been much more accessible, although my aerial photo showed evidence of a steep glacier that would most likely have been difficult to traverse without ice picks. If I were to retreat down to the ravine below where I had rested, it could take another half a day to recover this altitude, provided I found another way.
Before me, the canyon walls appeared steep and unforgiving. Would there be enough of a ledge to make it across to the other side? I didn’t know; it would be risky… very risky! Once across, however, I could do a few switchbacks and then scramble to the top. It wouldn’t take long; then, I would be able to confront whatever was waiting up there for me.
I looked into the abyss. It was dizzying. Attrition over aeons of time had created a formidable dark void that I couldn’t have anticipated from the angle I approached the Summit. No person in their right mind would attempt crossing this without proper equipment. It would be insane. I inhaled a few deep breaths to steady my nerves, relaxed my muscles, and offered a quick Hail Mary just in case Mary was listening.
I leaned inward to the rock face, using my hands to secure my balance. Provided the footing held, it seemed I might make it across. Then, after a dozen or more steps, my knees began to tremble as I realised I had gone too far; the ledge was now too narrow to turn around. You committed yourself, James, I heard myself say. You have no choice; it’s either do or die.
Looking down was something I preferred not to do; still, I couldn’t help but gape into the dark chasm below as I continued to position my feet one step at a time. With each step, I thought of what Nietzsche once said: When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.
Indeed, it was staring, most terrifyingly. Any slip would be a drop into oblivion, with nothing to break my body’s fall until hitting bottom. Almost certainly, it would be fatal – my final demise.
‘Oh God,’ I said, as I breathed out frantically, ‘what have I gotten myself into?’ With about another twenty feet to go, things weren’t looking good. No fissure was close enough for me to wedge an anchor to rappel out. Even then, my rope wasn’t long enough to swing far enough off to the side to find grounding. It was difficult to determine how thick the protruding ledge was or whether it would be sufficient to hold me.
If only I could offset some of my weight by finding something to grasp; even a tuft of grass would help. Yet, there was nothing to cling to. Again, I tried to turn around but couldn’t. Why didn’t I heed my instinct on how treacherous this would be before I began to cross over? Probably because I was afraid and too impulsive to make a rational decision!
So, here I was, not a believer… still, out of nowhere, came the words: Father, into thy hands, I commit my spirit.
Now, I, too, must commit; there was no choice. Stepping forward, I placed my foot down. My last thought was, careful, James, this could be your final…
And so, the dream ended…but was it just a dream?
 Likely the most famous example of an allegorical story in the English language is John Bunyan’s 1678 classic Pilgrim’s Progress.
 From The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973)
 Weltschmerz is a loaded German term often found and elucidated in the works of Herman Hess, Heinrich Hein and several other literary luminaries exploring man’s pervasive condition. The word conveys a meaning of world-weariness associated with anxiety, pain and existential despair.
 Several well-known philosophers such as Anthony Flew, Kai Nielsen, C.B Martin and Terrence Penelhum were part of the faculty at one time.
 You will find the lyrics to Leonard Cohen’s copyrighted lines of Anthem on the Web.
 Rumi was a 13th century Persian, Sufi poet, born in Tajikistan.
 An old Italian proverb
 Greek mythology of futility whereby Sisyphus was forced by Zeus to eternally push a giant boulder up a mountain only to have it roll back again and hit him each time.
 Dark Night of the Soul is the title of a poem by Spanish mystic Saint John of the Cross (1542 1591). In reference to H.G. Wells’ science fiction novel, The Time Machine (1895) and the 1960 film version of the Eloi falling into sound-induced trances that caused them to saunter into the dark tunnels of the brutish Morlocks to meet their fateful demise.
 Friedrich Nietzsche, German philosopher, Beyond Good and Evil, 1886
 The words attributed to Jesus as he died on the cross, as recorded in the Gospel of Luke; 23:46 (New International Version, hereafter referred to NIV)
CHAPTERS AND LINKS IN ELYSIUM'S PASSAGE: THE ASCENT
Prologue to the Series
Chapter One: A REALLY CRAZY DREAM
Chapter Two: WHERE AM I?
Chapter Three: STORYTIME
Chapter Four: THE COMPANY YOU KEEP
Chapter Five: THE FALL
Chapter Six: SUMMIT UNIVERSITY
Chapter Seven: DOWN AND OUT
Chapter Eight: THE SCEPTIC’S DILEMMA
Chapter Nine: THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER
Chapter Ten: A NEW GIRLFRIEND
Chapter Eleven: LAMENT TO LOVE
Chapter Twelve: MY BIG BREAK
Chapter Thirteen: DOUBLE DOUBLE TOIL AND TROUBLE
Chapter Fourteen: NOT MY FIRST RODEO
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SUMMARY OF ELYSIUM'S PASSAGE SERIES
The Elysium’s Passage series are narrations by a young British philosopher named James Phillips who finds himself living in an altered state of reality while still remaining on earth.
After experiencing a near-fatal fall while climbing to the summit of a remote mountain in the Andes, James awakens in a new dimension. He soon encounters two mysterious beings who provide him with a very different perspective on the nature of his existence. Over the next year, before his body recovers from the coma, he is challenged to re-examine his understanding of life’s meaning and purpose far beyond anything he previously believed or could believe.
An engaging and sometime surreal adventure with intimations of impending romance, the narrative explores the most important questions about life, death, reality and our ultimate destiny.
The Plains of Elysium (Champs-Élysées) was described by Homer, Hesiod, Virgil and many other poets as the paradisiac afterlife realm reserved for heroes. As the title suggests, this is about a journey through a passage that leads towards Elysium’s exciting realm of existence.
Press review: https://www.prweb.com/releases/2018/05/prweb15515775.htm
PENDING PUBLICATIONS OF
CHRONICLES ELYSIUM’S PASSAGE
The ELYSIUM’S PASSAGE novel series is projected to be released online in the spring of 2024 and then published in hardcopy after a published is secured:
With the exception of the last novel in the series, the last three have been written but still require more editing before publication.
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 www.elysiumspassage.com
"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 READERS REVIEWS go to https://digitalbloggers.com/arts-and-entertainment/reader-reviews
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
TWITTER: N.G. Meyers@neil1113
INSTAGRAM: meyersneil or elysiumspassage
LINKEDIN: Neil Meyers
BLOG POSTINGS: https://digitalbloggers.com/articles/elysiumspassage or the Elysium's Passage website