"the Shadow was only a small and passing thing"

Day 1:

I wrote a letter to myself. Unfiltered. Brutal. Honest. I scanned the top of my mind with a net and gathered all the fluttery bits that floated on the surface. I wrangled with the creatures that teemed just beneath, the ugly sort that lash out when its victims would least expect. I raked the bottom, the ocean’s ghetto, the sea’s morgue. I trailed my shovel along the bottom where the carnivorous leeches lie sucking, chewing, devouring the rotting depths. As I pulled, their teeth shuddered across the rough surface, their tongues grasping for some means of resistance, their writhing bodies kicking up dirt. I held them all in my hands, and squeezed them until their life blood seeped out of their lustful, leering, unbounded jaws. I threw everything into a pot. Stirring, searing, scouring, boiling it into an unholy brew. All my life sat tossing around in a volcanic stew. Past mingling with future, regret conspiring with hope, and hate cavorting with love. I called the concoction Rock-Bottom and I chugged it. No chaser.

Day 2:

Blinding white light. White walls. White curtains. White doors. White. White. White. Light. Streaming through the windows, through the cracks, through smiling, radiant teeth. Chandeliers catching the sun. Bodies warmed beneath the pure, rugged gaze of the Cross. Hymns rolling around on the tongue. Sugary, sweet. Like the promise of ice cream after a hard day’s work. Cleansing. Like ice water running down over sweaty backs and aching joints. A voice. Clear. Radiant. True. Speaking forgotten words. Reminders of what Once-Was. Tantalizing hints of What-Will-Be. Sharp slashes at twisted ideals. Dexterous fingers undoing tangled knots. The light that surrounds suddenly invades. Cracks against my skull. Numbs me. Blinds me. Subdues me. Revelation. Slow and soft. Like fiery warmth spreading over frostbitten joints. Like sunlight creeping over dew-ridden mountaintops. A glimpse of freedom. Of newness. Of serenity. Forget what’s past. Look up. Look beyond. Look forward.

Day 3:

I’m running. The pain sends me to walking. The pain of neglect. Once you start, never stop. Muscles awakened start to ache. Music fills my ears as my bones are reminded how to move. My feet are leaded, and my legs unwilling. Once you start, never stop. A song comes on and a note starts me weeping. I see trees. Nothing but trees. Rushing water and trees. The sky is veiled, but the trees are green. I keep going. Two spirits come to rest on my shoulders. I ignore them. Focus on the breath, on the movement, on the pace. They start talking to each other. Louder and louder. Sound increasing, above my breath, above the sound of rubber meeting pavement. Turn music up. Eardrums blasting. Mouthing lyrics. Sinking into rhythm. Ignoring the arguments in my head. One speaks of my Father. Another of my sins. I blink. And blink again. Ignore it. Focus on the breath, on the movement, on the pace. When one is matched against the other, there is One that always wins. When Love is matched against Lust, the Greater will always win. There is one who would Care, and there is One who would Die. Tears seep from my eyelids and collect with the sweat from my stride. Nothing, I whisper. I’m nothing. I feel it all too well as I suck air into my lungs. Butterflies saunter around my feet, and dragonflies flit between stems of grass. We are bound to the dust, but our souls yearn for the stars. I cling to this as I slow to a walk. Slow down. Rest. Music off. Thoughts unfurled. Let it come. Let it flow. Hide no longer. Embrace both dust and sky. Perhaps they both belong inside of me. Perhaps they both define me. One must abide with the other. Find peace in the balance. Isn’t that what running is? A leap between heaven and earth. An attempt to hold hands with high and low. Slow it down. Hide no longer.

Stars and Roots

The stars were above me. I could see them. They sparkled as if for me, as if for the world. Someone made those, I thought. Someone made those for pleasure, for love, for pain. They represented another dimension, another world. Tiny, little, rockets, small comets, teeny stars all of them encompassing a life elsewhere, all singing of a place that felt like home. They winked and nodded at me. This way, they said. Yes, said I, for home is where I yearn to be. I stared at them until my eyes glazed, until my thoughts seemed to explode with light. How badly I wanted to hold one in my hand, or to be held in their hand. They’d belong to me, or I to them. Just so long as one of us belonged. Just so long as one of us could nestle in, find safe haven, find peace. A sanctuary. Constructed by God. Somewhere in the great cosmic universe, the great Out-There. I stretched my hands above me. I reached for the stars until my fingers ached, and my shoulders dislocated. So close. So I called for my friends. They knelt in the dirt and made hand baskets for me. They gave me their shoulders, their knees, their encouragement to stand on. I planted my feet in their confidence and reached still higher. Almost there. My fingertips brushed a star and it burned. I tasted sulphur in my mouth and I wanted more. The human ladder beneath me began to tremble and whimper beneath my efforts. Not yet. I told them to endure it for me. Be patient. I’m almost there, I said. I broke their fingers, and their shoulders crushed beneath me. Their toes dug in the dirt for me, splintered in the decay for me, and I ignored it. I ignored their pain for the stars. Then I saw a light beneath me. The human ladder was sparkling. Stars gleamed from the pockets, and lining, and skin of my long-suffering friends. They were glowing on the bottom, while I disappeared into the grey on top. Suddenly the stars above me seemed to move away, further and farther up until they slipped into the blackened sky. I stared into the void. Disbelief spread over my body. I felt the tremble beneath me and the grey above me and I faltered. And I fell. Face in the dirt, hands covered in waste, body converging with earth. Dust to dust. I belong here. Not up there. These thoughts wash over me and I cry out. I cry towards my friends with their stars and their light. But they slink away, they lick their wounds, their broken bones protruding, tears mangled with dirt, confidence melting into hopelessness. I spat at them. Leave me here, I said. I prefer it this way. I felt my heart pound in me as I said it. Leave me alone. Alone, alone, alone. It echoed through the hallways of my heart as something indiscernible defied the impending darkness. I lay there and listen to the drums of battle within me. Something Hopeful and something Despairing. Two things wanted to possess me, reign over me. Neither is victorious, but they won’t leave. They can’t. My innards seem like the place to wage war forever. I listen to the drums of battle within me. And nothing else exists. I see the muck beneath me and I grab a handful. This is tangible. This is life, I say, knowing it isn’t. I fill my pockets to the brim and I let it languish; let it belong to me for a little while. It owns me. I pretend to possess it, but I can’t get the stains out, so who holds who hostage? Salt tears don’t cleanse like they should. Rain doesn’t fall here anymore. So, I wait. I wait in the ground, like a forgotten seed. Perhaps my hands will become vines, and my feet roots. I’ll intermingle with the earth. It’ll become me and I it. This is where I belong, I say, knowing it isn’t. Scoop me up. Plant me in the stars. Leaves clinging to me, roots fused to my bones, scoop me up. Dust creeps in my eyes, but not before they catch a glimmer above. My atrophying heart leaps for a moment. Thorns bore deep, and branches entrap, but I belong up there. I belong up there, I say. Uproot me.