For fifteen months I've worked in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, taking care of urine-soaked beds, fractured memories, and living corpses. Death is a constant wasting disease. I clean them up and dress them so they can face a new day where they are a little bit more nobody, and I am a little bit more nobody.
Maybe they wish they were somebody more, and they realize their time is short. They're trapped inside their bodies and our building, and we won't let them leave. No matter how hard I try, I cannot find a way to set them free, for I am no one too.
I could hide behind a life, a family, some memories, some things, try to be someone, but in the end and in truth, I am nobody, and I don't have the strength for illusions. "Give me your bed," I tell them, "so I can rest too."
If we have souls, they must be fragile and temporary, because there is nothing we can't lose. In the end, most of our self is gone, our family cannot deal with us, and we wander the world strange, as a nobody.
But there are ghostly reflections of light down the hall. We chase them down, our breath caught in our throats and hearts racing, seeking the source, afraid to death we'll be overwhelmed by the light, yet drawn to it still. Where does life come from and can we find it a second time? Will I last? And can the power of something beyond touch me now?
From behind the cold window glass, I want to join the dawn. I sing of what I see. I want to find resurrection, the glowing eternity, existing in the moment my maker says, "You make me proud. I'm glad that I created you."
Your servant,
BJ
2 comments:
BJ, this post takes my breath away. Thank you.
I hope you find the answers to what you are seeking. I firmly believe there is more to this life than a death-end. And when we catch glimpses of that light, it can be beautiful.
Thank you for your kind words
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