You are in a tunnel and you’ve been in it for hours so long it seems days. Ahead is a little round dot of light a dot that gets no bigger, no matter how fast you walk, but you know sooner or later you’ll reach that dot, and when you do, it will no longer be just a dot, but it will have grown to be an archway, and you will leave the tunnel. You know because you’ve been in other tunnels before and in every one, the little speck of light grew. The archway it became looked different every time, but how it looked never really mattered when you were faced with the relief of being out.
But now, while you are still trapped in this dank, dark, lonely, soggy, smelly place, the simplest and easiest way to stay focused is by picturing the end of the tunnel and what you will see. Fields and fields of trees and tall grasses, a house nearby, a main road. The smell, the sounds, the sights – you imagine it all, fix it in your mind.
Hours pass and you find yourself nearing the end. Hope for the earthy wind, smelling of green and the taste of that cool stream rushes through you like a burst of adrenaline. The arch nears. You are out.
But there is no stream. No grass. No trees. No house. Instead, dusty breeze, hot and dry skim over your sweaty body. There are rocks, foot worn paths, brambles, bushes, canyons. Your fantasy lies in shattered pieces and the disappointment and disillusionment make you wish to rush back into the tunnel you so detested, because there, your dream was so much more alive. The hope of the dream was better than no dream at all.
Should you stop and wait till the confusion and anger passes, you’d find that the canyons, though not a meadow, are still far better than the tunnel. There is open air, a fresh smell. There is space to walk. There is light. There is a path. The problem is not the canyon. You were imagining what you saw before you entered the tunnel – the past. But through the tunnel, you’ve travelled far and the meadows you left behind – miles behind.
There’s only one thing for it, really. You’ll meet another tunnel (you always will – that’s life) and this tunnel will be deep, dark, long and lonely. And there will be that little dot of light, steadily reminding you of the end. Just imagine the light. Don’t go beyond that. Don’t put a picture to the openness, to being out. Don’t put a smell on the wind, or an expectation on the sound. Just focus on the light and let it keep your feet moving.
Amandina Brook 