Chapter 1: The Mud Within

In a distant realm of thought, I conjured the image that humanity emerged from mud puddles—dark, viscous forms. This notion, perhaps more a dream than a conviction, has lingered long enough to morph into a belief. Absurd as it may seem, the idea that we crawled from such primordial beginnings resonates with me. I often see myself as a product of mud, catching glimpses of my fingers and toes, yet predominantly, I perceive mud.

The universe is replete with gateways, yet they seldom manifest in the manner we desire, presenting themselves instead as choices. This is perhaps the crux of the issue; it becomes challenging to discern the extraordinary when everything appears so uniform.

It was an unexpectedly chilly day, one of those moments in the grocery store where I felt like a ghost among the living. I observed the myriad identities surrounding me—the firefighter selecting tomatoes, the woman gazing lovingly at her spouse.

It wasn't as if I lacked purpose, but rather that I felt distanced from it, akin to a long-term separation from a beloved. The sensation of fading away was palpable, as if I no longer belonged to my own essence.

Take a moment to glance around. I see the multitude of people I am not. I feel alien, not due to any difference, but because they seem to hold significance with their bright smiles and polished appearances.

I emerged from mud, and eventually, I shall return to it. Sometimes, breaking free from my designated role in this world feels insurmountable. My origins—a single-wide trailer—seem to dictate my worth.

Then I find myself back home, confronted by my aunt's lifeless body—devoid of spirit and riddled with illness. In my condo, I numb myself with substances, too preoccupied to visit my dying grandmother. I pace, feeling trapped, as if in a cell.

Mud.

Navigating through the rain-soaked forests of Fort Benning, I experienced a type of downpour unique to Georgia. When the skies unleash their fury here, it's a reminder of the fragility of life, echoing the promise of not flooding the Earth again—yet the possibility remains.

We marched until our feet were blistered, the rain transforming the clay into a red sludge that trickled down my skin. Lying prone, guarding against shadows, I felt as if the mud enveloped me, reminiscent of a primordial existence.

This discomfort felt strangely familiar—like home. Acceptance was all that was required.

In Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Toru Okada descends into a well, unsure of his purpose. He leaves behind an escape route until a capricious girl ascends the rope ladder, abandoning him to the depths while she sunbathes nearby.

"I was the only one who knew you were down there and couldn't get out. And when I thought about that, I had this incredibly clear sense of what you were feeling: the pain and anxiety and fear. Do you see what I mean? By doing that, I was able to get sooo close to you! I really wasn't gonna let you die. This is true. Really. But I wanted to keep going. Right down to the wire. Right down to where you would start to fall apart and be scared out of your mind and you couldn't take it anymore. I really felt that that would be the best thing — for me and for you." -Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

What captivates me about this surreal encounter is that Toru feels fear without succumbing to irrational anger or madness. Instead, he possesses a profound understanding. The girl is merely a catalyst; her actions are part of a greater narrative. A choice made long ago led him to the depths of this well, leaving him without the means to escape. Even her existence is a consequence of decisions from his past, and he seeks to comprehend that choice.

This scene embodies a beautiful sense of surreal ownership, where Toru doesn't lash out but instead delves inward.

I yearn to descend into my own well, to unearth a portal leading to a pitch-black sarcophagus devoid of dimensions, enveloped by empty voids. I desire to illuminate the darkness with my flashlight, journeying deep into the abyss where shadow meets shadow. Sometimes, I gaze into puddles, pondering:

What if you are a well?

Peering into a puddle allows me to see myself; plunging into a well grants me the knowledge of who I truly am. I remain composed, even in the depths where escape seems impossible. There is a cosmic design at play, forces working in my favor.

So, when the rope ladder vanishes, I turn inward. The girl who withdrew my escape route? She isn't my adversary. She's simply fulfilling her role. Somewhere in my distant past, I made a choice, and I am determined to understand what that was.

Hey, I'm Roman, currently crafting my debut novel, 20XX, a work steeped in magical realism. I also share my experiences as a writer on Substack.

Chapter 2: A Journey into the Abyss

The first video, "Into The Well: 100 Miles. 32 Hours. 200 Racers," is a documentary that dives into the challenges and triumphs of ultra-runners, showcasing their extraordinary journey through endurance and self-discovery.

The second video, "Into The Well: 100 Miles. 32 Hours. 200 Racers (Official Trailer)," offers a glimpse into the gripping world of ultra-marathons, highlighting the intense mental and physical battles faced by participants as they push their limits.