Chapter Fourteen — The Entity of Depth

The descent into the cave began with steps hewn in stone.

The guide walked before us with a lantern, and we descended after her carefully, one after another.

Every few steps the light coming from the entrance weakened, and the voices behind us grew more distant.

I laid a hand on the wall.

The stone was cool and damp.

In the air stood a smell I could not define exactly. Something between wet earth and old stone.

"Soon we will reach the great hall," said the guide.

But I actually thought about the place we had come from.

Of the lit street that remained above us.

Of the people who walked in it for years without knowing what lay beneath their feet.

Only a few days earlier I had stood on the shore of the Dead Sea, at the lowest place on dry land on the face of the earth.

There I could see the sky, the mountains, and the water spread out before me.

The sign noted the height below sea level.

Depth was a number.

Here, inside the cave, I did not know exactly how many meters we had descended.

But I felt the distance from the light.

⸻

I tried to imagine Depth as an entity I could converse with.

This time there appeared in my imagination a thin older man.

He wore simple clothes and held a small lantern.

There was nothing especially mysterious about him.

He simply walked before me like a person who knows the way well.

"Are you not afraid to be down here?" I asked.

"Of what?"

"Of the darkness. Of the possibility that we will not find the way out."

"But you know there is a way out. You descended with a guide."

I smiled.

"True. Perhaps that is why I allow myself to think these things."

"And what would have happened had you not known?"

"Probably I would have been more afraid."

"So perhaps you are not afraid of depth itself, but of what you do not know about it."

I looked at the steps before us.

"Possibly. But the deeper one descends, the harder it is to return."

"Sometimes. And sometimes the way back simply requires more effort."

I did not answer.

I went on descending.

⸻

Along the walls appeared thin stalactites.

Some were very short, others stretched from the ceiling almost to the floor.

The guide told us how they form, drop after drop, over many years.

I looked at one of the long stalactites.

It was hard to imagine how much time was needed for it to reach its size.

"You are very patient," I said to the imagined entity.

"Why do you think so?"

"Because here everything forms slowly."

"Not everything found in depth forms slowly."

"True," I admitted. "There are also things that change in a moment."

I thought of rocks that crack.

Of water finding a new way.

And of things within us that can build over years, and then change following a single event.

"Sometimes I feel I have thoughts in me that formed over a long period," I said. "I did not notice them when they began. Only one day I understood that I already think differently."

"And do you know what caused them to change?"

"Not always. Sometimes it is an accumulation of small things."

He nodded.

"Like these drops."

⸻

We reached the great hall.

The guide stopped and asked us to look up.

The light from the lanterns revealed an enormous space.

The ceiling was far higher than I expected, and the walls receded into areas I could not see clearly.

I stood there surprised.

The narrow corridor that led us inside had not prepared me for this sight.

"I would not have believed all this is here," I said.

"Why not?" asked Depth.

"Because from above there was no hint. The street looked entirely ordinary."

"And do you think that what you do not see does not exist?"

"No. But sometimes it is hard to imagine what hides behind a simple appearance."

I thought of people I know.

Of how little one can know about a person only from the way he looks or speaks.

There are people who look happy even in hard periods.

There are those who speak little, but whose inner world is rich and complex.

And there are people we think we know well, until one day they tell us something we never knew about them.

"Perhaps people too are like caves," I said.

He smiled.

"That is an interesting comparison."

"From outside one sees only a small part."

"And what about the one who is inside?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does a person always know everything within him?"

I thought about that.

"No. I think that even to ourselves we discover new things over the course of life."

⸻

We went on walking after the guide.

"I have a question," I said. "Why do people attribute so much importance to depth?"

"What importance?"

"We say of a person that he is deep, of a conversation that it is deep, of a thought that it is deep. Usually it is a compliment."

"And do you think it is justified?"

"Not always."

"Why?"

"Because sometimes people complicate simple things only to sound wise."

He laughed quietly.

"And do you not do that sometimes?"

I smiled.

"Possibly. Especially when I start asking too many questions."

"So what makes a thought deep in your eyes?"

I tried to think.

"Perhaps the ability to see something I had not noticed before. To understand that there is more than one side to a matter."

"And must such a thought be complicated?"

"No. Sometimes precisely a simple sentence makes me think for days."

"So perhaps depth does not depend on the number of words or their complexity."

"Apparently not."

I thought of the conversations I imagined along the way.

Some of the questions were very large.

But the long answers were not always the ones that stayed with me.

Sometimes precisely a short question managed to touch something I did not know how to explain.

⸻

"And what about people who do not like to go deep?" I asked.

"What about them?"

"There are people who prefer not to analyze everything. They live their lives, enjoy what there is, and do not search for a hidden meaning in every experience."

"And do you think they lack something?"

"Once I might have thought so. Today I am not sure."

"Why?"

"Because not everything needs an explanation. Sometimes one can simply enjoy a good meal, a pleasant conversation, or a beautiful day without trying to understand their deep meaning."

"And do you manage to do that?"

I laughed.

"Not always."

"So perhaps you too should sometimes stay on the surface."

"You, of all entities, suggest that I not go deep?"

"Why not?"

"Because I thought you would always want me to search for what is underneath."

"I ask nothing of you," he said. "You are the one who decides how far you want to go."

I liked that answer.

Perhaps not every question needs to lead to a long investigation.

And not every thought must end in an insight.

⸻

The guide led us to a small lake inside the cave.

The water was so still that the lanterns reflected in it almost without movement.

I approached carefully.

It was hard to distinguish where the stone ended and the reflection began.

"There is something beautiful in places people almost never reach," I said.

"Why?"

"Because they remain as they are, without anyone trying to change them all the time."

"But here too things change."

"True. Only at a different pace."

I looked at the water.

"You know, there are people who think one must expose everything hidden within us. Every fear, every memory, every thought we did not understand."

"And what do you think?"

"That not always."

"Why?"

"Because there are things I may not be ready to cope with. And there are memories I do not have to return to again and again in order to know they are part of me."

"So you prefer to leave them in their place?"

"Sometimes yes. And sometimes I simply need to choose when to approach them."

I thought about how not every discovery brings relief.

There are things that knowing them changes us.

There are things we need help to cope with.

And there are also thoughts it is better to leave alone for a while, without feeling we are avoiding something.

"So perhaps one needs to know not only how to go deep," I said, "but also when to stop."

⸻

We began to climb back.

The steps were the same steps we had descended, but the climb demanded more effort.

I felt my breath grow a little heavy.

Now and then I stopped and looked back.

The light in the great hall receded, until only faint gleams remained of it.

"Why are people afraid to descend into the depth of themselves?" I asked.

"What do you think they are afraid of?"

"Perhaps of what they will discover."

"And what else?"

"Perhaps of not knowing how to return to the feeling they had before."

"And can one always return?"

I thought about that.

"Not exactly. Sometimes after understanding something, one can no longer see it as one saw it before."

"So perhaps understanding itself changes us."

"Yes. But that does not mean one should fear it."

"Nor does it mean one should search for it at any price."

I nodded.

I went on climbing.

⸻

The closer we came to the entrance, the stronger the light grew.

I could already hear voices from the street.

Cars passing, people talking, footsteps on the sidewalk.

When I came out of the cave, the sun blinded me for a moment.

I stopped and waited until my eyes grew used to the light.

The street looked exactly as it had before we entered.

The same buildings.

The same sidewalk.

The same people going on with their affairs.

But now I knew that beneath all of these lay an enormous hall, with stalactites, stalagmites, and a small lake.

"Strange," I said to Depth.

"What is strange?"

"That nothing up here changed, and yet I look at the place differently."

"Why?"

"Because now I know what is beneath it."

He did not answer.

I looked again toward the cave's entrance.

I thought of the people who passed me in the street.

I did not know what they carry within them.

Nor did they know anything about me.

And perhaps that is good.

Not everything needs to be visible to everyone.

⸻

I began to walk.

The air outside felt drier and warmer.

After a few steps I stopped for a moment and looked back.

"Do you know what I understood?" I asked.

"What?"

"That I do not have to choose between depth and simplicity."

"What do you mean?"

"I can love deep conversations, ask questions, and try to understand things. But I can also enjoy what is right before me, without always searching for something more."

"And do you think you will succeed?"

I smiled.

"I can at least try."

I went on walking in the lit street.

I no longer thought of the cave with every step.

I looked at the shops, at the people, and at the light falling on the sidewalk.

I knew that beneath my feet lay a world I could not see from the street.

But at that moment I did not want to return to it.

It was enough for me to know it was there.

Continue to Chapter Fifteen: The Entity of Height

© 2026 Nurit Rozenblat. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed without the author's prior written permission.