Darkwater
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Delusions of darkwater haunted my dreams on that defectless day, deriving into a decision that dared deviate from the dogged and drained doctrines of my more distant designs.
Devoted to discovery, I donned my various devices and dove into the docile depths. My docent, Dundun, dashed in beside me, while the depictor of our descent, Tom, dutifully dove in behind us. The initial deluge, a departure from dedication that is due those deliberately disposed to take such a dare, briefly draped me in a drizzle of water that both discomfited and delighted me, but the divagation and disorientation disappeared as I deliberately detached myself from the drab disentanglements of my diffident daily doings, and we three dove downwards.
Depending on a dim dream - and driven by desperation - I disembarked alongside my companions. The depth was in no way death-defying, dare I say a dawdle of two dozen meters or so, and the deferential disposition of our drawn-out descent delivered to us a delightful dawning for the dive ahead. Various denizens of this disparate dominion were drawn towards our direction, some merely distracted yet others distressed, even dragooned by our dull intrusion into what was theirs, this dark domain. Yet just as quickly, after being disturbed by a daydream they dared not discern, dismissed our disruption, resuming their dance in the deep.
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Descent into darkwater. |
Dedicated to our course, we dove ever downwards; when you have dedicated yourself to a doughty decision, no matter how delirious or demented it may be, despite the demoralizing distractions and dreary doppelgangers and, rarely, dastardly dispositions of those dwelling around you, the only way forward is through. Besides, at the derivation of a dream, when you drink deeply from a determined desire not devised by you, but by a distinctly more divine deity, these initial disturbances to a determined deed are easily dismissed, and our detractors deliquesced into the distance.
Drawn to darkwater, I descended.
Immersion
Diverted by our descent, we drew ourselves towards a desolate doorway, the entrance to a deserted den lying within the dirty dimples of the drowning sea floor.
Dallying towards our devoir, we momentarily dawdled, deliberating at this drab, demure portal that defended an even darker domain from the discernment of our senses. Yet this was the door of no return; that devious decision that, sooner or later, demands itself of everyone in the dash of life - to delay the discomfort of the devotion to a dream, or to directly and devoutly alter the dive forever? We made our decision, and in doing so, delivered ourselves into a divergent and different dimension.
Decelerating, we dauntlessly drifted inside. The depths of the darkness nearly destroyed the diversion devised by our lights, a dismissal of any deception that we were the sole directors in the drama of this devoir. Several dormant decoys dominated the mighty chamber, some with the potential to dangerously distinguish themselves should we fail to maintain due diligence; for example, a discrete departure from the dive simply could not be done in that dome, so any difficulty with air would result in drowning and death, which would have denatured our dive into a damnable dragnet.
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Dangling in darkness. |
Dangling in the dark, we drifted along the watery draft. Yet as the duration of our dive drew itself out, even as we dodged the diversity of detachments divorcing themselves from the drabness of that enormous duct, several distinctive delectations of that dank deep dome disclosed themselves. Directing our gaze dorsally at discrete intervals divulged at least a dozen disruptions in the ceiling, displaying a distant dormer and beyond that, daylight. Moreover, dallying among the developing dents and depressions around our dysbiotic presence could be detected the daily dwellers of that dusky domicile. Finally, we desisted, for it dawned on us that we had reached the deepest department of the cave, the denouement of our dive.
Dwelling in darkwater, I deliberated.
Release
Distracted by deliberation, a disenchanting disquietude draped itself over me as I realized that in the dispatch of our diving deed, my own demanding dervish had been disconcertingly doused.
Detaching myself from the discombobulation, we dove back the way we came, and yet my drive had diminished; I felt drained and dissatisfied. Why? Perhaps, in attaining that which we desire, we decree ourselves to disappointment - for it is often the dream never done that provides the most durable of destinies - but whether this dubious dilemma should delay us from dispatching our drive towards dreams at all, I dare not declare.
Despite this, as one drifts along, new discoveries continue to disclose themselves to the discriminating daemon, even along roads previously divulged. As the dilute draft dutifully delivered us back to its dark entrance, our dome demonstrated a dazzling and formerly disguised detail, an electric clam discoursing and discepting with the water over whether light or dark should decorate the duct, the display of an enduring discourse that could be detected long after we had drifted some distance.
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Drifting towards daylight. |
Dynamized by this new discovery, we dove onwards, and as we drew close to the den's somewhat dreaded entrance, that door of no return, I now descried it from its duplicate side. In the disarming darkness of that desultory dominion, several of my disillusions disappeared, and I discerned a doorway as divinely decent as it was diabolically deceiving, the distinction depending upon one's own delusory diagnoses as to their destiny dead ahead. Yet rather than deem, dither, and deliberate, it is better to dauntlessly do, and decide down the road whether the deed was deserving, dreary, or damnable.
Drawn from darkwater, I departed.
Solace.
