At some point in life, everybody must pause whatever they’re doing and take a long, hard look into The Abyss.
Staring into its fathomless depths, we experience the most piercing moment of self-reflection as our spirits are cleansed and we finally come to understand the meaning of our meagre existence along with where we put that spare set of keys for the garage.
Philosophers believe that staring into The Abyss is good for you, for it is when we look into The Abyss that we see our true selves.
Still, it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to. Couldn’t the same be achieved with a bathroom mirror?
Yet we speak here not of the physical, but of the metaphysical. The Abyss serves as a reflecting surface for the soul.
Many have reported life-changing revelations while teetering at the lip of The Abyss, asking deep and important questions that can prove frightening.
What is our place in the cosmos? Is earthly purpose negated by the concept of Infinity? Does Paradise await us in the Afterlife? And if so, does it have adequate parking?
When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you.
So said Friedrich Nietzsche, renowned 19th-century philosopher, thinker, cultural critic and the least sought-after dinner party guest in history. (He once declared “God is Dead”, a quip that got him banned from every dating app in Prussia.)
Staring into The Abyss is mandatory. You can’t glance at it, you can’t wink at it and you certainly can’t flirt with it – unless you’re willing to take it out for dinner and drinks, and then maybe some dancing.
You have no choice but to confront The Abyss because when it enters your life it takes up all the available space. No matter what you do or where you go it’s there, demanding your attention.
You can ignore its phone messages, friend requests and spam its emails all you like, yet one night while you’re quietly watching sovereign citizen videos you’ll sense an eerie presence next to you on the couch and who is it?
It’s The Abyss, feet up on the table, helping itself to your snack bowl of dried pineapple and banana chips.
Some speak to The Abyss, asking The Big Questions of Life, hoping for a response full of meaning and penetrating clarity. Such questioning can yield powerful answers:
You: Have I led a good life?
The Abyss: More or less, but do you have to wait to be asked about mowing the lawn?
You: Do I care enough about those less fortunate than myself?
The Abyss: Yes. But remember the time you got that promotion with the big pay rise and were in such a good mood on the way home you went up to that blind charity collector and put a five cent coin in their tin? That didn’t count.
You: Will I go to Heaven or shall I spend all eternity in Hell?
The Abyss: Heaven. But be sure to bring a plate.
Being summoned to the edge of The Abyss can be dangerous as there are no safety rails, no clearly marked walking paths and no yellow signs reading “Mind Your Step: Sudden Drop Into Bottomless Void Ahead”.
As for the impenetrable bleakness of The Abyss, there remains one overwhelming question: couldn’t they brighten the place up a bit with a string or two of fairy lights?