The Challenger Deep

"Please, please!" I shouted as loudly as I could. "Don't leave me alone!" I started to sob in despair. "Don't leave me!"

But the woman glanced back at me with pure panic in her eyes and then appeared to push herself even faster.  I tried to follow, but my feet were stuck in the mud deeper than I had realized. I was completely trapped. Terror overcame me as I thrashed about, attempting to break free, but each wild move only seemed to sink me deeper and hold me tighter.

Only mere moments before, I had suddenly found myself back again in

this dank, dreary swamp.  I had learned, whenever life carried me here, to take a breath and get my bearings.   I began to look around.  Although it was as murky, muddy, and foggy as usual, something felt different. As I surveyed the surroundings, I noticed unfamiliar vegetation and could dimly discern through the haze, large boulders with strange silhouettes dotting the landscape. It occurred to me that this might be a new part of the swamp that was foreign to me.  

It was then I recognized there was a fellow traveler a few steps in front of me.  Happy to find company that might aid in identifying our location, I moved slowly as I did not wish to startle her.  I gently touched her arm in friendship and camaraderie.  

As she felt my touch, she turned around, and I watched in shock as her face turned white with terror. She let out a blood-curdling scream as she spun around and began to move like she was shot out of a cannon in the opposite direction. 

I stood there, miserably mired, and filled with dread. A sense of confused hopelessness washed over me. The fog enveloped her, and I could no longer even hear her splashing footsteps.

And that is when it hit me…the eerie quiet. There was no buzz or mosquitos or slap of a reptile hitting the water. I had a feeling that my ears were clogged, and I shook my head, and looked around. No snap of a turtle, no flap of a wing. Had I gone deaf? Then I heard a soft growl from behind me.  Immobilized, I strained to see what dark creature was approaching to seal my fate. What I saw made me gag.

His skin had blistering pustules between the scales, oozing putrid fluid. His hair was long and matted, but his face was the most horrific part of all. His features were stiff and exaggerated, with a wide-eyed smile that held something deep and dark.  As he advanced, he had a swagger, almost dancing down along and skimming the top of the muck. One odd detail stood out: despite being otherwise caked in mud, he wore a very nice tropical print shirt, khaki shorts, and immaculate canvas boat shoes.

He moved effortlessly, reaching my side, and began to speak in a surprisingly soothing voice. "Now, there, first-timer?" he inquired.

I responded with a vigorous shake of my head. "No, I've been in the swamp before," I replied with my voice thick and unrecognizable.

He let out a mocking guffaw. "The swamp? Sure, but have you ever been in this neck of the woods? I didn't think so. This," his eyes piercing mine, searching for…what?  He quickly turned his gaze and gestured around, "This is the swamps Challenger Deep. Some of us have also nicknamed it the Sea of Shame, and others have named it…well, let’s just say you shouldn’t use those words in polite company."

"What?" I protested. "What are you talking about?"

He took my hand and raised it so I could see it, now misshapen and grotesque, with long talons where my fingers used to be.  I screamed in horror.

He spoke in a slow, low, and calm voice, as if coaxing a frightened child out of hiding. He softly pushed my hand down, so it was blissfully out of sight, and began to explain. "Most of the swamp is filled with creatures you must avoid, making it

exhausting to get to the other side; but this is different. This is where you confront your own demons that have driven others to the swamp. That’s why she ran from you.  When you are here, you appear as the monster you hide.”

Is it possible that others fear you? Is it possible you are wearing a mask disguising a monster’s shadow?

I was horrified. What was this maniac talking about? I was a good person; no one could be afraid of me! That disfigured hand must have been an evil curse placed upon me. There was no way this was indicative of anything other than a new swamp sorcerer attempting to trick me.  As I was trying to consider what might defeat this dark magic, my hand began to relax, and the grip around my feet and calves started to lessen.

He shook his head disparagingly. "I see what you're doing. You're smart, and I promise you that it will work! Denial is fabulous. Toddlers and politicians have found it  a tried and true method for never  ending up here in the first place. You have to remember that you chose to come here," he said, raising his hand to stop any protestations. "Everyone here chooses to come, right, folks?"

What I originally thought were boulders gave acknowledging  grunts and moved slightly, and the grip on my legs gave a quick squeeze in response.

He stared at me intently. “I figured just that little glimpse of your hand was enough. None of us would ever wish for an actual mirror.  To truly see our full alter ego, with all the polite and civilized masks removed from it would be too traumatic for anyone to take in.” I looked at his face and agreed that if I saw that looking back at me, I'm not sure I could recover. 

He continued, "Hitler never challenged himself to visit the Sea of Shame, and R Kelly? No way! Social media influencers tend to be too busy getting that perfect selfie while hanging off the cliff, holding their baby, and making sure the sponsor's product is prominently featured. Not a peep out of most of them in these parts. I mean taking the perfect picture is hard enough, so why not take advantage of those special filters that disguise complicity, appropriation, racism, ableism, pretty

much all of the ‘isms. You get my point.  And you know that guy that almost ran you over the first day you tried to grocery shop without a car? Remember when you crossed the street with your little girls? You blamed yourself that day but didn’t realize he sped right through a red light. He never gave it a second thought."

The creature could be right about that incident, I hadn’t thought about it in such a long time. Years ago, as my sight had dimmed, I recognized I was becoming a less than stellar driver, and since I knew my vision would continue to decline, I went  to the DMV and turned in my driver's license. I knew there was never going to be a good day to do it. I was dreading the independence I was relinquishing, but decided I was going to have to figure it out someday. I wanted to do it under my own terms rather than put the people I loved through the misery of coordinating an intervention. I appeared confident to those around me. I know this because they told me so, but my hand trembled a bit as I held the card out to the confused clerk behind the desk. I guess most people just stop driving rather than hand the physical license back, but I didn’t want any temptation left hanging around.

The day my swamp companion was referring to, my baby, my toddler, and my oldest, who just started elementary school, were walking home with me from the grocery store. Unfortunately, I purchased too many items to carry home in the double stroller and was juggling bags on my arms while pushing the stroller and keeping an eye on my 6-year-old. I swear I didn't see the car that honked loudly and swerved to miss hitting us. The driver yelled  obscenities at me as he drove away, which I didn't

comprehend in my own trepidation over the near miss. It never occurred to me that the driver was at least partially at fault. I completely blamed myself for not watching closely enough, for not judging the amount of food I could carry, for being such a fool who put my children’s lives at risk. I wondered how I was going to keep them safe as they grew up if I was so inept. 

Have you ever taken on too much responsibility for a situation that is not necessarily all your fault? Why?

I shuddered at the memory and then shook it off, bringing myself back to the current situation. It almost felt like the fog around us was getting thicker and that creepy silence, unnatural stillnesss was pressing me in. I thought about the name of this place, the Sea of Shame? The Challenger Deep? Still not connecting it to myself, but asked, "I just don't get it. I don't remember choosing to come and why would anyone in their right mind put themselves in this situation. Do visitors want to punish themselves?"

My companion drew back in mock horror. "Punishment? Oh no, never. This is a gift. We choose to come here and take a good look at ourselves. It takes a lot of courage to see and be seen in this way, and, as I said, stay in denial, and you will find a simple, easy way home. I warn you, however, that once you make that choice once, denial is a very thin veil that doesn’t keep you warm and it can even wear you down. Many go through several cycles of this before they accept the choice they made for themselves and stay for a while.  They come back here over and over, and the denial gets harder and harder to access.  Justification is right up there with denial. It provides a stretch limousine that will pull right up and bring you back in style. I took it once, and not only did the driver offer me champagne, and cranked up a super fun playlist. It totally shifted my mood!” he paused, “for a little while.”

"But then, after the limo, you chose to come back?"

He squirmed a bit.  It seemed difficult for him to talk about himself. "You see, once you say your name and admit you are in the Sea of Shame, the real work starts. It's hard, but you will remember why you came here, and if you stay very still, don't struggle, or try to run away, the path you need to get back to yourself will be revealed.  Some people choose to take the Deep’s challenge, but then go right back pretending they don’t understand the pain they caused, or admit the evil they  colluded with. Others can see why they are here, but turn away, unwilling or afraid to walk the path, or climb the mountain, or swim the ocean that is required for redemption. Personally, I have already seen my path. I am just staying here in the comfort of the Deep a wee bit longer, until I am really ready to return."

 I pondered the depths of despair necessary for him to find solace in this swamp. "I don't mean to pry," I hesitated, feeling the sting of impertinence.

 "What did I do?" he preempted my inquiry, his voice tinged with resignation. "It's not just the actual substance of what you have done, but the repetitive cycle that wears you down. Time and again, I return home, convinced I gleaned wisdom, vowing never to repeat my mistakes, yet here we are, meeting once more, Sharon." His laughter, hollow and bitter, echoed in the desolate swamp.

I wasn’t really sure what grotesque color covered my obviously monstrous face in the murky marsh, but I am sure in that moment the hue paled significantly after what he  just revealed. “What are you talking about? We meet again? I don’t know you. You even said I was a first timer!”

"No," he shook his head ruefully, "I was asking what you thought in order to evaluate your SDRI. That’s the Shame and Denial/Remembering Index. Scientists in the late 1940s developed it while they were here.  You know, Oppenheimer and the gang. They found shame inversely correlates with the ability to retain lessons, hindering one from applying them to new situations. Your SDRI surpasses 1,000, while 556-732 is deemed normal," he explained.

I was no longer listening. Surveying the

swamp's gloomy panorama, populated by shadowy figures frozen in shame, I shivered, gripped by a haunting sense of déjà vu.

A silver grey stretch limousine suddenly appeared through the fog.  It startled me as it made no noise, just seemed to silently slip through the cloudy vapor. As it pulled up, however, the driver slid the tinted window down, and loud, jovial, off-key singing that crossed over to screeching could be heard from the back passengers. That was bad enough but then I also got a dim view of the driver, a beast whose face was stretched so tight over a skeletal skull it would be featureless if it were not for the false eyelashes that framed the sunken, lifeless eyes and the other stark makeup she wore.  Her beautiful silken blonde hair was long and full, and I wondered if it was a wig.  The tight splash of lipstick opened slightly and she spoke like a ventriloquist, barely moving her mouth as she asked, “New Jersey?”

“Karen, you are looking great!” the creature next to me shouted, so Karen could hear above the song being blasted from the back of the limo, Lizzo’s It’s About Damn Time. “But isn’t this LaToya’s shift?”

“You haven’t heard? She left the other day.  I really think she might make it this time!”

“Here’s hoping,” he said as he raised crossed fingers. 

“I can tell you’ve got a group in the back.  So let’s just give my friend here a few more minutes.”  He stepped forward and said, softly, “It’s Sharon.”

She nodded her head, rolled up the window, and set off.

While there was actually no longer any sound, I felt I could still hear the singing, long after they were out of sight. I reflected on that forced merriment being used to drown out all potential for vulnerable conversation.

“It’s awards season.  The justification limo can get pretty busy, so they try to combine trips.” He shook his head, “Karen told me that sometimes when they get in the limo they don’t always start off singing, but try to share their stories and bolster each other up. So many people think that an explanation of their behavior is the same thing as an excuse for it. If you’ve ever had someone apologize to you by telling you why they harmed you, you understand what I mean. Explanations are an admission of your humanity, which is important for all to recognize while they are here in the Sea, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The real work is in acknowledging the shadow that is telling you your intent was more relevant than the pain and suffering you have caused.”

Have you ever called “the justification limo?” What do you use to drown out the noise of your conscience, or fill the silence so you don’t have to reflect?

I turned to him and looked more closely,  struggling with the fog of memory. "Joe?" 

"Yes," he whispered, his grotesque frozen grin seemed so painful to keep in place, stretching his mouth muscles beyond their normal capacity.  I could now begin to recognize the permanent distorted expression was a testament to his own fear, a shield against an unseen threat. His immaculate attire contrasted sharply with the neglected, weeping sores they were attempting to cover. I recalled the aggressive driver from our earlier discussion, a fleeting connection sparking in my mind as I thought about the obscenities he screamed at me, after running the red light and almost knocking me down.  What fear was that man hiding?

"What should I do now?" I implored.

"You know," he murmured. "State your name and acknowledge your presence in the Sea of Shame. When you take the challenge to truly dive down deep within yourself, your Path of Restoration will begin to glow…if you let it. But remember," he smiled, "the justification limo is always nearby, its engine idling, ready to take you wherever you want to go.  We have all fallen victim to its temptation."

 Reluctant yet compelled, I knew I had to try, if only for a moment. "My name?" I faltered.

 "Your name and acknowledgment of your whereabouts."

 Recognition dawned—a ritual familiar from friends' tales of 12-step programs. Perhaps Alcoholics Anonymous had gotten it from HERE.  Or perhaps it had been imported from there. With a shaky breath, I uttered, "Hello, everybody. My name is Sharon, and I choose to be in the Challenger Deep."

 A muffled chorus of primal sounds greeted me. "Hello, Sharon."

 Beside me stood "Joe" (My friend? My mentor? My tormentor?), as still as the creatures around us.

 With trepidation, I resolved to give it a chance. As I stood there, fighting the urge to squirm, clarity washed over me. I remembered. I chose to be here. Tears rolled down my stony face as I examined the horizon. I realized it was not just my actions that led me here, but also the hypocrisy of how I judged others so much more harshly than I judged myself. It was so easy to see their faults, and I was so condescendingly flabbergasted by their lack of the kind of insight I possessed. I never wanted to connect their transgressions to my own shadows. My arrogance coldly paraded around, trying to correct what I still did not fully own within myself. I often  taught classes, preached sermons, and counseled patients with the lessons I  learned in the Sea of Shame. But I   started to forget that I not only needed to speak the words, but had to walk the walk down a new path, perhaps just remembering how to use the map that was already in my pocket.

I started to giggle, and then grew to  a full belly laugh. Joe looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Well at least that part only took me a few minutes this time,” I whispered.  “Remember that time we took the limo back together and…” I saw his grin start to droop a little, for him, I knew from experience this was a good sign! “Got your back buddy,” I patted him on the shoulder, and then stood very still as I continued to reflect on the series of events that had brought me here.  I knew I could do

 it, like I did before.  And I also knew that the wisdom I would gain was beyond priceless.  Even though I often hated the swamp and the Sea of Shame, I also gave thanks for its murky depths, for only by surrendering to them, could I ever know true healing, true freedom, and true love.

What makes diving into, and then submerging yourself in the deep stillness so challenging?