Fear of being left behind
Fear of dying
Fear of thinking you are and finding you are not
Fear of rejection
This is life after repentence, before life in the spirit. Hope, faith and love shall conquer these, perfectly. But in the meantime, I must override my fear. There is nothing else until you come and rescue me.
Sometimes it doesn’t seem fair, to have to live shrouded in a mystery, to know the promise, hope in it and even experience it at some level, and yet be exposed to such effective attrition that you despair of surviving. I can only surrender, because there is nothing else worth dying for, whether you save me or not. After confession, and before the unction, is as close to purgatory as I ever hope to be.
Am I quickened, or not? Indwelt, or not? Awake, or asleep? Saved, or lost? It doesn’t matter anymore, because I know that there is nothing else in this creation but you, and there is nothing worth living for but you, and there is nothing I can give you beyond what I have already given, which is this life of mine. I am your prisoner, and sometimes I feel like I must endure the lowest chambers, dark and far away, and all my pleading will not reach you. Pleading gives in to enduring. I wait.
Meanwhile, there are the longings. Longings for love. Longings for knowings. It is at the heart of my reality, and although it will give in to endurance, it also cries out when it canot endure any longer. What am I supposed to do? I cry out for you.
Measuring time against time, we discuss the times. Are they worse now?
It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all. I have no way to register against what went before or what shall come after. I must endure my time, whatever it is, and what I shall cling to, I do not know.
So, in the light of this uncertainty, I ask, How far will you reach for me, and how will I know you? There is the rub, because of the longing in me to be loved and to love, to be known, and to know. Will my loving and knowing ever be enough to get me to the finish? What if I go crazy? What if I get senile?
Will it be enough to save me? To keep me awake? It’s all I have to give. It isn’t enough, and I know that.
Only your mercy will save any of us.
So I continue in faith, trusting myself to that which I cannot see. Hope?
I haven’t hope, yet, or perhaps itt is something for children, and I have had a hard time keeping alive the child whithin me. She exists, but she is very fragile. She wants so much to hope, but she is very gragile, and I cannot always hide the horror and the scars from her eyes. She sees me growing older and tired, and the hope that she cherishes for me, I cannot hope to fulfill.
And love is something for I know not what. Love is not of this world. Sometimes love excapes out of me, and it hurts. I haven’t untangled love yet from desire and symbols and the things longing had to escape into when I was a child of wounded parents. I learned the language of my kind. Love is a wound.
Love is a wound.
Hope is for children
Faith is a mainstay.
Friend, how I long for you! How miserable life shows itself after I glimpse into your realm, hoping.....Hoping to see you.
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