The Chasm

Originally posted on Twitter on January 19, 2020.

No one knew how long the Chasm had been there, only that it had been around for as long as anyone could remember. Lined along its crevasses, thousands of sculptures of faces, some known, some unknown, each a thousand feet high, carved in exquisite detail.

School was out that day, and you and your friends lounge around the usual spot, bickering about how to spend the day. Then, inspiration strikes:

You decide to see if you could find your own face in the Chasm.

You cross the bridge and see the familiar, but unnerving site. The roads lining the chasm aren’t paved, and your parents would kill you if you got the car dirty. You begin to walk along the Chasm and examining its faces.

You examine each face. Old faces and young faces, joyous faces and somber faces. You see the faces of historical figures and celebrities, of lifelong friends and one-time acquaintances, carved in the canyon across from you.

You see faces that seem familiar but you can’t quite put your finger on. Faces completely unfamiliar but that you wish you knew. Faces that instinctually provoke a reaction of fear and unease.

But not your own face.

After a while, you start hear a faint murmuring sound. Looking ahead in the distance, you see a gathering of people. Wondering what it was about, you pick up your pace and approach.

There are DJs playing live music, street vendors selling food and merchandise. There are retirees and college students, suited businessmen and disheveled backpackers. Was it a festival of some sort?

You can see longtime residents of the town, and also people carrying travel bags with them, speaking various languages.

You ask a few people what was going on, and they give the same answer:

They too, have been struck by the urge to find their own face in the Chasm.

Nearby, you hear a crowd gather around and excited woman’s screams. You nudge your way across to get a closer view. You see a twenty-something woman, an Instagram influencer type, posing in front of a carving of her face in the Chasm.

There is clapping and celebratory cheers as the woman’s acquaintances take pictures of her next to her carving. An increasing crowd of folks wanting verification that it was possible. You extricate yourself from the hubbub.

You leave the “base camp” and continue walking along the canyon. Along the way, you pass by people in both directions—those just starting their journey, and those exhausted from a day of searching. Occasionally, you hear cheers from the crowd in the camp.

After walking for a few hours, you take a rest on a comfy-looking rock, eat the snacks you bought at one of the vendors at the camp. It’s now the late afternoon, and the majority of people passing by are headed back towards the camp and the bridge.

You wonder if you should head back too. Your friends are probably wondering where you are, and your parents are gonna start worrying soon. But you can feel it. It’s close by, just a little bit more walking. You know it’s there.

You continue onward.

You begin to hear sirens in the distance. You spot a blip in the sky that looks like a helicopter. From the people that pass you by, you overhear something about “someone jumped” and “they’re shutting this whole thing down.” But you keep walking.

It is dusk now. You pass by couples bickering about whether they should keep going, children crying as their parents say “just a few more steps sweetie.” Behind you, you see a Park Service car and hear a ranger pleading with a group of backpackers to come with her.

It is nighttime, and you have to move carefully now, lest you trip and fall into the Chasm. Though it is dark, the faces across the canyon are still illuminated clearly under the light of the full moon. You would give anything to see your own face under that beautiful moonlight.

Looking back, you see the sirens and headlights of more cop cars and ranger vehicles. On the ground, flashlights are swung as rescue helicopters fly above, shining beacons down into the abyss.

In the distance, you hear a car approach.

Thinking quick, you hide behind a large rock formation as the ranger’s car drives past you. It stops at a tent a few yards ahead as a ranger gets out and shines a flashlight on it.

“Dude, what the fuck?” you hear.

“We gotta take everyone back, already… people killed.”

“But I’m close, I can feel it!”

“Let’s go, man, we can come back another time.”

“Sir, please come with me.”

“I NEED TO FIND IT! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

You hear a scuffle, and then a scream. A voice on a radio calling for back-up.

“Oh my god, oh my god, FUCK!”

Somehow, in the commotion, you manage to sneak past the car. Taking a peek, you see a man sobbing and the desperate ranger shining a light down the Chasm. Part of you wants to help somehow, but you couldn’t compromise your goal. You soldier on.

You have to be careful now. More cars pass you by, more rangers arriving to round up the few remaining seekers. You weave and dodge through the landscape, driven only by the thought of finding your face along the canyon.

After a time, it becomes quiet. You don’t remember the last time a car passed you by. You haven’t seen seen anyone in a while either. The only lights you can see now are from the moon and the twinkling stars, far from the light pollution of the town. Were you the last one left?

All that’s left of your water supply is a small drip in a water bottle you bought all the way back at camp. Your tongue is parched, your mind and body weary from walking all day and all night. Maybe you should rest.

But then you start to hear them.

“You can do it!”

“Just a bit more.”

“We believe in you.”

The statues were speaking, their voices ringing in your heads. The voices of your fellow seekers, fellow Pilgrims, all encouraging you to keep going.

You hear the voices of those who found themselves, and those who hadn’t. Those who gave up of their own volition, and those whose searches were abruptly cut short. The voices of Seekers from long ago, as well as those who gave their lives to find themselves in the Chasm.

In the distance ahead of you, you can see the faint light of the sun. The sky turns purple, then orange, then yellow. The voices of the Faces in the Cliff grow louder, becoming almost melodic, encouraging you to go on even as your body buckles under exhaustion.

And there, finally, faintly in the morning fog you see it. Out there, carved in stone, the profile of a face you’ve seen a hundred-thousand times reflected in glass and water.

You break out into a sprint.

The glare of the sun exacerbates your already tired eyes. You can’t see it well, but you know it is you. You run as fast as your tired body can take you, tripping over yourself, almost falling into the Chasm a few times. But you don’t care. You have to see it in front of you.

Your legs buckle and you fall to the ground inches away from the thousand-foot drop. Your entire body throbs in pain. But the chorus of voices across the canyon urges you to keep moving. On your hands and knees, you crawl forward.

And then, just as you’ve pushed your body to its limit, the voices across the canyon stop. You use your last bit of energy to turn yourself over and reorient yourself to face the canyon.

And there you see it.

An exact replica of your face, a mirror engraved in stone, stares back at you under the harsh sun. The voices across the canyon begin to sing again, cheering, congratulating, applauding as an uproarious noise fills your ears.

Your parched lips turn upwards into a smile. Your vision blurs, and you close your eyes knowing that the last thing you see is the familiar visage before you. At last, your journey was over.

You have finally found Yourself.