The Cube

I picked up a used book several years ago because of its square shape amongst the typical rectangular shaped books. The description on the back of the book was this: "The Cube is an imagination game—and more—that holds a secret you are dared not to reveal. Last seen making the rounds in the coffeehouses of Eastern Europe, the Cube is rumored to be of ancient Sufi origin, but no one really knows for certain. This mystery game just seems to reappear when and where it is needed. Now it is here!" I took notes of my imaginative experience and wrote it down as follows...

through the darkened corridors of my mind

caught in the expanse of an endless and dreary desert

we find a cube

it is mine

solely of my own creation

it is perfectly balanced on one corner

as if frozen whilst in mid-spin

once a majestic formation rising high above the horizon

now lies buried in the sands of time

showing only its pyramidal grandeur

its horizontal line of symmetrical bisection

lies below the grainy surface

hiding its true form and majesty

solidly chiseled from stone

hewn from faraway hills

its once awe-inspiring adornments of etched wisdom

now weathered and beaten almost beyond recognition

in dormancy it will lie

shrouded in mystery

until its rebirth

climbing the face of my cube

a ladder

rigid bamboo stalks

overlapping

interlocking

tied with ropes of imported island grasses

scaling my cube as a venomous serpent

legs anchored firmly in the sand

far below the visible surface

leading upward to the pinnacle of the cube

yet serving no practical purpose

denying entry into the cube

for what lies within the cube will forever be a mystery

tethered to the ladder

an Arabian stallion

as white as the impossible snow

rearing up

snorting

trying to break free of the ladder to which it is bound

the ladder giving sway

but no more

the horse struggles to retreat to safety

sensing an impending threat

approaching overhead

the skies turn to shades of black and grey

light has been vanquished

all but a sliver of blue on the far horizon

the billowy darkness above

sends swirling winds

to stir the sands around the cube

the horse becomes increasingly agitated

the ladder seems torn between

clinging for security

or flying to safer grounds

the cube remains steadfast in the circling tempest

it has survived this way for centuries

even when there was nothing to support it but itself

it stood steady and sure

in the midst of the storm

batted by the brutal breezes

are tulips

purple

fencing in the four sides of the cube

close enough to the cube for the petals to touch its base

hundreds, possibly thousands in array

leaning against the cube for safety during the storm

passionately struggling to remain rooted

in the lifeless sand

their mere existence an impossibility

yet they have survived for years

there will be no end

for there was no beginning

by Derek Herzberg