Cirith Ungol

For those of you unfamiliar with J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series, Cirith Ungol is a pass guarding the way into the evil land of Mordor. Frodo Baggins and his faithful friend Samwise Gamgee have been charged with casting the Ring of Power into the fires of the Mount of Doom. What they do not know is that Cirith Ungol is an Elvish word for Spider’s Cleft. The predatory spider lying in wait is a huge and grotesque monster named Shelob. Their only weapons are Phial of Galadriel, an eleven light, and the eleven sword Sting.

I do not want to go up the stairs to Cirith Ungol; up those long stairs upon stairs to the tunnel where Shelob awaits upon her thick and sticky web. Oh, yes, I have read the story a number of times and I know the ending, but even so I must confess that the dividing line between story and reality may occasionally be a little fuzzy. Don’t mistake my meaning. On an intellectual level I clearly discern the difference between fantasy and reality, but on an emotional level it may be quite another thing.

Ever since I was a child I was not just a reader. A mere reader is such a poor and paltry creature. No. I jump right into a story both feet first. In my childhood summers I fought in the American Revolution with Johnny Tremain, sailed with Mr. Christian on the Bounty, traversed the southern seas on the raft Kon Tiki with Thor Heyerdahl, and ran away with Huckleberry Finn and Jim down the wide Mississippi. To me good books, good stories, grow richer with every reading; but shallow books are briskly read and just as quickly traded at Half Price Books.

Tonight while I do not want to go up the stairs to Cirith Ungol with Frodo and Samwise, I also remember the wisdom of Sam’s father, the Gaffer, who said, “Where there’s life there’s hope, … and need of vittles.” I know that there is an end to the tunnel with its horror. There’s always an end to tunnels. I have seen Shelob, grievously wounded by Sting, retreat gibbering leaving a trail of green ooze upon the path. I have seen Sam rescue Frodo from captivity in the guard tower upon Cirith Ungol and I know that they are going to come out alright in the end.

Yet still I do not want to go up the hill to Cirith Ungol, not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow in the clear light of day I will climb that long and dangerous path to the Spider’s Cleft where Shelob waits with evil malice. Light more powerful than the Phial of Galadriel, Light of Christ preserve me, preserve us all in our waking and our sleeping dreams.

I have trod the weary steps up to Cirith Ungol once before, nay many times before with nameless dread pursuing me; but at the end no evil land of Mordor, but rather the first step on heaven’s table land, a golden platform in the sky, eight sides upon that platform wide, each side equal of golden lattice filigreed, and overarching all tranquillité d’esprit.1 He gives peace to those who climb and conquer fear.

1. Tranquility of the spirit and the mind.