Two Path Research Paper

“Hello” I shout. “Anybody there” I yell into the darkness. My voice echoes far into the darkness of the world beyond. I don’t know where I am, and I don’t know who I am. Each day I sit here calling out into the dark hoping to see the light. I am trapped. I travel each and every hour searching for light or a means to escape this perilous abyss. I wait for the light to reappear each day, small slivers of light at first. But, eventually the bright gleaming rays of light pierce the abyss.

Men and animals alike began to lose loyalty and the ability to feel emotions and “earth was only one thought”- the thought of death. Faced with the thought of death, no creature on earth fared better than the other. As life was taken from all creatures, the realization of a terrifying end became apparent and “no love was left.”

North Americans use the term Two-spirited to refer to individuals who do not identify to male or female gender roles. Many tribes saw the two-spirited as possessing two spirits in one body, and they were considered a blessing.While two-spirited men were more common, there is evidence of both male and female two-spirits in more than 120 North American tribes. four common genders included : masculine men, feminine men, masculine women, and feminine women. The genders depended on their personalities, skills, and personal feelings.Able to wear both male and female clothing, particapate in both activites,and take either male or female sposes. Unfortunately,due to colonization two spirited people faced discrimination and ceased to exist .

I struggle each step, four weeks I have walked, and the cold drenching flood of exhaustion hangs at my heels. The crow urges me on and onwards I go. Sometimes I stumble, and sometimes I fall, and the crow calls again and I raise. I refuse to die like this, I will not fall to the weary. I will not die from the frigid cold. Only by blade will I accept death, and so, I continue. Over mountains I tread, my beard growing long bushy and white, shielding my wrinkled skin from the elements. Bounding over ice-frozen streams with walking stick in hand. Soon, the land loses it’s green, and becomes painted in only black ice and grey stone. The chill of the winter changes in feeling. Not only was my body cold, but this dark land chilled the very essence of my soul. The ice loses it’s reflection and instead shows the bones of the damned. Lost bodies entrapped to frost prisoners of their fate. Their skulls empty of emotion aside from the layers of preserved flesh in the snow. Yet, I continue on. I know well that I may be among these bones soon. Be it either the shadow giant, or one of its beasts. I cross over a frejold of black muck once had been snow. It clasps at my wolf-fur boots as though it desires a great hunger, and with each tearing step forward I grow

Worldwide the stories of what happens after a person comes back from the brink of death have fascinated people since time began. It appears there is so much more that we just don’t see. We see images in paintings, and some that are centuries old, all over the world of people and animals’ passing through what appears to be a tunnel hurling helplessly toward a bright light. Some paintings depicting death are angelic and beautiful and some range all the way to the macabre and bizarre. One thing that remains a constant in this depiction of “going toward the light” seems to be the stories that the people of recent times who have returned from the light bring back with them.

There are lost souls who wander out of the ring of light, fools who wonder what is in the darkness, what the darkness is. There are always those who don’t listen to sense and wisdom and leave the right of light, who turn their back on the fire, and venture outwards. They wander alone, stumble and grope their way through the inky wilderness, blindly picking their way over terrains they will never see. Sometimes they will hear another – footsteps, ragged breathing – and they will wonder if it is a human like them or something never meant to be seen in the light. Sometimes they will brush hands with another person, and sometimes those two will go on together. If they are lucky, they might find a few more, and each holding onto the other, they will find their way

My legs kick in the air as consciousness take the last gasps to leave my body.

Me lying on this cold immobile ground as I keep hold of nothing but isolation from this world unseen. Just when I was about to shut my eyelids forever, I saw a light coming from a distance. A shiny circular glow just about the size of pea beginning to flicker luminously giving hope to a room full of despair. Captivated by its exquisiteness, I unconsciously stood both legs and began to hurl myself towards the enthralling ray of light. Scampering down the trail of uncertainty, I felt little faith in me that somehow I can escape this miserable world of darkness. Extending my arms near the light, I took hold of every bit of it as if it was the only thing I that can keep me

To some people dark can mean sadness and to others it can mean comfort or shelter. To be in the dark is abysmal and depressing to some, but to others the dark is comforting and provides a safe haven, allowing them to rest from the stresses of everyday living. Sometimes the outside world is a frightening place and some humans prefer to seek darkness for comfort and to feel safe. Others are so deeply depressed, that they feel trapped in a world of a deep dark hell, unable to climb out of the depths

I grew up in a town called Cottage Grove Oregon. Many there worked in the timber industry. I come from a long line of loggers, road builders and log trainsmen. My grandfather, my father and my brother all worked their entire lives in the woods. I even worked in the timber industry for about eight years in a plant that made glulam beams. (Glued laminated timber beams) Growing up, on weekends we spent a lot of time out in the woods. Whether it was deer hunting, gathering fir cones to sell or cutting firewood; those are some of the most precious times with my family.

Darkness. All I see is darkness and the never-ending blackness never knowing whether I am looking around, seeing the world around me or if this is just my twisted imagination toturing me to take the final step. Am I even alive? I feel long red vines twist and curl around my lollipop stick, loveheart tube jabbing into my hard sugary head. But I blot it out, wait patiently like an obidient soilder. Like an obidient soilder I too am waiting for death for the pain to end but it never does. And days pass and nights pass and I lose track of time until I hear the hussle and bussle of children pouring through the door wittering on about trivial matters, did you watch the latest tv programme? Or can sit next to you? Or I hate school, didn't

As a freshman, I thought of Bard College as a place where I could discover what I liked and get to know myself. As a liberal art school, Bard College was the ideal place for me to get to know myself because of the opportunity to learn about and study multiple fields. I thought that I wanted to work in the STEM field because I have always enjoyed my math and science classes. I began my journey at Barf as a math major with a concentration in Africana studies. However, at Bard, I learned more about myself and found that math may not be what the best is for me.

“Why did you try to kill yourself?” “You told me to be happy.” Have you ever wanted to jump off the cliff? To feel like you are flying for that one split second until you hit the ground. Then the darkness would finally swallow you and claim you as its own. The darkness has been watching me. Listening to me. Waiting to come make me its own. I’ve been scared about leaving the light and going to the darkness but I’m not scared anymore. One day it will fully take me and I will be happy to leave this world where no one will know I’m gone…

Complete darkness. My heart is a desolate overgrown hillside a bubbling swamp overcoming me breathing in the muck it rejoicing at my agony celebrating my vigorous attempts at anything but complete pain. I take note of my withering pleasure with my laboured sad excuse for respiration. Seeking validation with vigor To no avail. The only glimmer is the endurance of this pain. My aches for comfort know no end I have searched all through this darkness and haze. Consumed and tormented to search this empty fields nothing but

Imagine yourself on a cliff face, looking down over a vast expanse of darkness. Above you the setting sun turns the sky crimson red, bloodstaining your ragged robes. Not a single cloud is in the sky, yet to you, the land could not be more dismal. The darkness taunts you, it laughs at you. You try to ignore it, to grasp the one thread of sanity you still have, but it consumes you. You have no power; you are only drawn deeper into its embrace. It is inviting, warm. You allow yourself to sink momentarily into its arms. Your life flashes before your eyes.