In Plato's Cave,
by J. W. Cassandra
My short piece, "In Plato's Cave," is more an essay than a short story—an abstract, philosophical, and poetic meditation. Yet it also offers hope: the visible, tangible world is only the reflection of firelight dancing on the cave wall. Despite this, there are those who glimpse the true world and may discover the path leading outward. The path is unknown, but at times reveals itself in unexpected ways. Truth beckons in all the colours of hope.
I included this piece in my anthology, "Unknown Pathway," as the book is a collection of unconventional writings—a kind of seeking the way.
I recommend this short essay to readers who appreciate abstract, thought-provoking works.
The fingers of rosy dawn paint the memory of Orient inside the cave: a tamed spray of blood-red, rosy hue spreads across the cabinet, which laughing fairies sprinkle onto it with merry joy, dancing on the golden rays of the morning sun. And when they cast the rays of their eyes upon this spray of rosy hue, upon the golden beams, they coat the walls and furniture with longing, which reflects the wonders of the heights and the depths: the wonders of such a world, which is not merely a reflection of the firelight dancing on the cave wall, but far more than that!
It is the hues and colours of real existence, its bursting buds, its smell, its honey-coloured yearning, the richness of golden honey, which sets the strings of presentiment vibrating in the heart of the cave-dweller, and the silent music of these strings ripples out beyond the cave, beyond the outer world, proclaiming the visionary realm of the fairies everywhere. And the cave-dweller can once more contemplate the honey-golden radiance, the rose blush of presentiments, if he has the inclination: at nightfall, when the Sun sets out on the path of its nocturnal secrets, it scatters its farewell kisses upon the clouds, and from the rosy islands of the clouds, with the steps of the fairy dance, it once again paints bands upon the walls of the cave and upon the cabinets, and when the Moon appears in the sky, sprinkling silver dust on it with both hands, which by its magical power plates the shades of honey-gold and rosy spray, covers its shadows with a flood of light, and now the strings in the heart are plucked by the Secret: the secret of EXISTENCE, forever forbidden and unattainable to the cave-dweller locked within a cave, yet it instills in his heart a longing, and even if he cannot reach the heaven to answer this call, he still escapes into the world outside.
And then, when he is outside, if he is lucky, longing continues to vibrate on the strings of his heart, and every dawn and nightfall in the outer world awakens memories of the mysteries refined with honey gold, rosy spray, and silver light in the cave.
And if this memory is alive, this cave-dweller – for whoever comes from the cave into the outer world will forever remain a prisoner of the cave, bound to it by an invisible bond, even if an invisible bond binds him to it, even if the dance of fairies carries him out into the outer world on its wings; even if he is singled out by the Moon's magic silver–he begins to search. To search for the source that, at dawn and at nightfall, adorns the cave walls, and furniture, with its honey-gold rays, rosy spray, silver dust, and the laughter and dance of the fairies...
The fortunate cave-dweller finds the path...
And if we listen to the vibration of the strings of our hearts, we understand that we are all cave dwellers: the tension of the invisible bond tells us that, although we strive for the heavenly source, our roots will always remain in the cave. Plato's cave, where the echoes of the outside and the divine world set the strings of our hearts vibrating.
And if, nevertheless, we follow the music vibrating with honey-gold, rosy spray, silver light, and fairy dance, this silent music leads us into the hall of the Eternal Being, where the merry dance of fairies plays out the music of the heart.
This is the duality of existence, and we are all prisoners of this duality, for otherwise we could not be here...
18 / 09. 2024., by J. W. Casssandra
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