Verbal Visions

Voices from the Mist

Voices from the Mist


My legs were burning. It felt as if the hike would never end. But, something drew me upward.  The mist was so think, I felt I could take a bite out of it. And, not for the first time, I asked myself why this was necessary. Our ancestry had been charted by many family members before me. What could I possibly hope to find in this wild goose chase? My mind told me I was being foolish, but my dreams told me to move forward.

Every night, I dreamed of it. A crumbling manor among almost jungle like weeds. The two didn't seem to belong together. How could such a modern looking building exist in such a seemingly untouched environment. It looked as if was almost grown there, and then abandoned. Now, it seemed to be calling out for our return. It held a secret. One long hidden, that my family seemed to want buried forever.

I grabbed a huge twisted vine above me, and heaved myself up to the rocky outcropping above me. I dragged my tired body over it and laid there, staring at the sky and listening to my labored breath. This was ridiculous! Tarzan was not real, and there is NO way he existed in my own family line. It was a family legend and folklore and nothing more. At least I'd had a grand adventure. I rolled to all fours and pushed up to my knees. And then I saw it....

It looked exactly as it had in my dreams. I was breathless. How could this be. There were arched glass windows, stairways in the rock, and pillars and columns of stone. The empty balconies looked out over the cliff and seemed lonely in their empty, hollow, darkness. Suddenly I felt as if I were being pulled toward it. Pulled into the grand mansion. The secret longed to be discovered, The ghosts of my family demanded to be discovered. I entered through the crumbling doorway and began my search.

I could feel them in every room, watching me with baited breath, asking me to find them, to let the world know they were real. But how could I prove they existed. How could I show the world they were more than just one man's imagination. As I drew slowly forward, I found myself trudging up the steps, the crumbling balustrade falling in places as I climbed. Up and Up I went, until I found myself in front of a creaking wooden door. I could almost hear them, almost feel them, their joy at being acknowledged was palpable. What was behind that door. I slowly pushed it open...

Not much. In every corner stood old items covered in cobwebs. Although they were meaningless, they each had a story to tell. I passed many hours looking them over, and was ready to take a break. But something pushed me forward again, toward the far window. There stood a chest, Almost like a treasure chest with a key hole. Slowly, I reached out to open it. And there I found it. The proof I need to show the world that Tarzan had indeed existed, and had made a home here. Boxes and boxes of letters, photos, and his history written in his hand. It couldn't be  disputed now. I had found his treasure. Many thought, if found, it would be the gold and items from the destroyed ship, recovered from the bottom of the sea. That had no meaning to me. His true treasure, was the record of his life, the proof of his existence, the knowledge that he had lived. And that I live because of him. Now the world would know the truth. Finally, I closed my eyes, and slept in a deep sleep that had eluded me for so long. I had found him. And we were both content.

Day 16 Image: Crumbling manor home set on a jungle cliff face.