Friday, March 6, 2009

A Soul's Slow Transformation

My imagination out for a run. Here's what I'm dreaming as I build a necklace for keeping myself focused in times of need.
The Red and Black Land of my Heart

The heart keeps better when left to whisper alone, but souls drawing near whisper loudly and, for wont of light, my heart keeps their company.

In memory I am lost. I see him there, standing alone amidst the tall trees, two hands raised in devotion, eyes lifted heavenward. Expressions of loss, mystery and heartfelt gladness touch his face, but I am not with him anymore. Our parting was long ago.

I miss him so much these days. It's as if a coal burned it's way through my soul, leaving me to search amidst piles of ash and want for the hands that once took hold of me, the palms warm and smooth. Those hands transformed my essense, changed my world.

Sometimes I see them in the night, those long hands of his, at the edge of sleep. I reach forward knowing that it is only the spurious nature of agony, the feeling of emptiness at our terrible parting. Never again will I feel that embrace, but my blind soul craves what was once whole.

The last vision - the one of red and nothingness. The ending time hidden from view.

Upon the stony ground he lay bleeding, trembling as dark life fled from him. I remember the hot sun scorching my shoulders as the dust choked the air. Bound in violence. Slashing knives and sweaty arms. They tore at him, stabbing him through the neck, the heart and eyes, but his powerful will kept him completely silent.

Within a moment they rent the fleshly bond that had once kept us so close. Through my heart's darkness I heard him speak: "In eternity, my love. I will wait for you there." I became silent.

When will eternity come?

I am done with waiting. My patience is slack with the years that have built upon my soul. I grow old within this shell, each fibrous cord of true learning made from the soft wraps of blue I wore before drifting away on a sea of wine. The color of mourning. The color of a stolen sky. Blue like the eyes of Gods and the lilies I once gathered to fill his arms.

But from that stone he flew away, a vanishing ember torn from the dusty land. I wanted so much to follow but the killers were watching, their blood thirsty rage denying them the vision.

When will it end, brother?
When will all the suffering be gone from this world and this body be turned to ash? On my knees I beg for guidance and strength, but the answer is always the same: patience.

There are millions of years in only one flash of moment, but in Patience an eternity.

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