Brief little flashes of inspiration and spasms of creativity add some semblance of color and tolerability to an otherwise insufferable existential mystery. She had been a veritable Sun, a cosmic beacon of luminous warmth, a welcome aberration of joy and exuberance, until the vacuum of my patterns brought death to that magic. It has cost me so much to learn so little.
Focus on this one point, on this microcosm of life. Refuse distractions!
We clung together as we were being pulled out of the water. She chose to breathe. I decided to die instead. I cannot dwell on this. I have been given the opportunity to accept resurrection, and to accept it means the rejection of all that would negate hope and trust. Still, these fleeting chunks of debris tend to wash up on the shores of consciousness on a fairly regular basis, and when I see them as I pass, it pulls me away, and it pulls me down, and then I forget where I am. It seems like I’m back there again, back in the middle of that hopeless…glop. Not sure how to describe it. It’s awful. Too awful to use English words to describe.
What is the cadence of this life? Have I woken up in this envelope of time, only to experience the cessation of every good thing it was meant to bestow? Has this unspeakable gift itself become death to me? How can these things be?
I choose to believe that even in this does my salvation appear; even in the midst of this death. Unless a grain of wheat fall to the ground and die, it brings forth nothing, but if it dies, then it brings forth life. Death has to come first. I was (kind of) alive, and then I wasn’t, and now I am.