The Ferryman on the river Styx.

The Ferryman on the river Styx.

Once when I was young, a long time ago, I waited on the coarse and rocky shores of the river Styx with the funeral cortege and strained my neck to see the boatman. The elders said, young man, you do not see the boatman do you, but we do. It’s not your time to cross the river of despair. Now I fear the night and I fear the deep sleep, that insomniac craves for. I am happy when I open my eyes and the boatman is nowhere in sight.

 From the distant shore, the river Styx looks like a very dark, forbidding, an almost colorless city on the waters with hues of grey and black. Fires burning everywhere, winged birds with scary large beaks, and many gruesome-headed animals howling about, on the isles in the river, and the multitude of restless souls looking for coins.

But now that I am old and the world has grown weary, and indifferent of me. I see the ferryman, and he sees me ever so clearly, waiting alone with no funeral cortege, to bid me farewell, clenched in my hand the fare that I need, the coins for the boatman, must he row so fast and so eagerly, I am in. hurry.

God Bless You

May all be well with you

DMD

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