
Take my hand. Close your eyes. We will go beneath. Under the trees and grass, under my home and your home, under the small river. Aren’t you a little afraid?
Caves are journeys. Are paths to self-exploration and tunnels that lead to our-real-selves. The first human beings lived in caves. This was our first home. The cave men wrote on the walls and made portraits of themselves and their pray. They were playing. Or making a statement. Their drawings were who they were. Nowadays we search in caves for the remains and the clues left by our ancestors for the same reason. To find ourselves. To find out where we came from. Our past is our identity. We are caves. Think of the term: cave men. Caves are part of who we are.
In Fight Club, at one of the meetings where the narrator went for relaxation, at the cancer-patients group, Cloe guides the other patients in meditation. They go trough a palace, trough several doors. The last destination is a cave.’ Cloe talked us into caves where we met our power animal. Mine was a penguin. Ice covered the floor of the cave, and the penguin said, slide. Without any effort, we slid trough tunnels and galleries.’
The same identity search. The same quest for what is ‘under’ life and ‘under’ pain. And for what remains if you pull out these two from yourself. An attempt to find The Core.
In the Romanian novel ‘Ciresarii’, Constantin Chirita leads a bunch of teenagers trough a cave. The explorations of the cave, the dangers encountered by the characters are actually the road from childhood to adolescence. The cave is a tunnel of discovery. Going trough the cave is going trough the ‘other side’.
Caves can cause fear. And it seems okay, because self-exploration is scary. Because it’s dark in a cave and you don’t know if you’ll like everything you find. Because it’s hard to go back to the surface, and because you might get lost. We fear caves because we are used to associate sky and nature, generally ‘the world above’ with Good. With good fairies and good creatures. Something that lives in a very tight place must crawl to move and because of the darkness must be unattractive.
What can be good in a world that has nor colours, nor light? Where creatures lost their eyes during The (R)Evolution and grew unnatural glow-in-the-dark wings and even excrements (bats). It sounds like a nightmare, doesn’t it?
Caves are prisons. The stalactites and stalagmites are bars. There is no way out. In Plato’s ‘Republic’, the men in the cave are prisoners. Prisoners of the things they don’t know. The allegory begins with a graphic picture of the pathetic condition of the majority of mankind. We are like chained slaves living in an underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den. Here we have been from our childhood, unable to move or to see beyond, being prevented by the chains from turning round our heads.
In the Greek mythology, Zeus, the god of all gods, grows up in a cave. The cave is his exile. His hideout. He became a man and he raised from the cave and left Crete only for revenge. Searching a way to free his soul and mind from hatred. Caves were also the entrances to Hades, the realm of death, a place of devils and demons. A place where you would be a prisoner beyond life, beyond death, for eternity.
Caves are treasures. They are nor Good, nor Bad, just beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. In caves you find lost Paradises, but only if you are mature enough, only if you went trough a series of challenges. Only if you are a free-thinker. Only if you can see beauty with your hart, because sometimes, in the dark, eyes are useless.
Caves are words.