Maps and Moons

I climbed up some rocks, knowing in some part of my body that I would not be able to get back down.  There, in the wild and happy breeze of the island, stood a small man, barefoot and wearing a checkered scarf. 

"Hello," he said with an Irish accent.  "I've been waiting for you."

"Oh?"

"Yes.  I've been waiting for you and I want you to know that it's a good thing you climbed up here."

Until this point I had been hanging halfway off of the rocky slope.  He reached a small hand down and handed me an old map. 

"You won't be able to read it right away.  In truth, you'll probably get lost if you try and follow it, but keep it with you for now and soon it will make sense."

I examined the piece of paper then tucked it into my pocket.  The view around me was astonishing.  I sipped in the green, the white peaks, the blue, I sipped the vast blue of the ocean until he tugged at the bottom of my shirt. 

"Don't forget the moon," he said, pointing to the faded crescent, barely visible in the bright day.  "She has no light of her own, but reflects that of the sun."

"I know."

"But the only reason she can reflect light at all is because she knows her darkness."

I thought about that.

"Shall we go then?" he asked, interrupting my thoughtfulness and pointing to the treacherous route I had just finished ascending.

"Okay," I said.  "But why would I go back down?  I just spent all that time climbing up.  And where will I go once I'm there?"

"Don't worry so much.  You have an unreadable map, that inconsistent satellite and your own confusion to guide you."

"Will you hold my hand?"

"Nope.  Though you can hold your own hands if you like, but it might make climbing down harder."

I didn't go down with him.  I just sat still on that high hill and looked at how beautiful it was.  I just waited for a while.  He went down. 

A long time passed.  I saw a hand reach up and tug at the grass.  A young man was pulling himself up. 

"Hello," I said as he scrambled to lift himself, "I've been waiting for you."