Does it ever end?
She felt it again. The feeling with many names, characterized by an aching in her chest and a sickening lurch in her stomach. She didn't fight the momentum of the acceleration of the car, letting her head fall backwards against the seat. The scenery passing at an average rate outside the window was unimpressive. The colors rushing by were faded and dull.
When does it get better?
It had been much too long since the incident to still feel the way she felt. The moment when her world shifted from pressing on to pressing in. Or perhaps it had always been that way. She didn't want to accept it as truth. She fought the acceptance of a new reality as hard as she should have fought to hold on to what was once hers. The darkness, a catalyst to a desperately late appreciation of light.
Why did this happen?
The car's wheels swallowed yard after yard, mile after mile. She contemplated answers to this question, each answer in a different language. She spoke the language of the one who sat atop the lofty tower. But the words tasted bitter in her mouth and sour to her stomach. For they had not been processed by the one who spoke them before they were taught to her. She could repeat the answers of the knowing ones word for word. But their advice chapped her soul as with a dry wind for it did not originate in the fresh springs of compassion but rather the harsh desert of carelessness. Fear of silence had spoken that particular language into existence. And there came a point when it became noise no longer heard due to overuse. She also fluently spoke in tongues of the one who reasoned. This language was circular and left her feeling somewhat comforted for a short period of time. What-ifs and how-abouts begin each sentence. She would follow as best she could until it made her dizzy in the attempt to keep pace. There was also another language. It was sweet. Too sweet. And there were times she wished she had never tasted it on her tongue. It was the language of the one who pitied. This language was easier to speak then all the others and it brought her to a place of great despair. For this language tore her in two; half of her senselessly empowered in her helplessness and half of her drowning in the knowledge she was a victim.
Did it have to be her?
A bump in the road brought her attention crashing back to her surroundings. She glanced slightly to the left. Her mind was diverted from her tortured thoughts when her eyes fell upon the driver's hands. She noted the effortless way they gripped the steering wheel, taking them to their destination almost automatically. For a brief moment she envied their confidence. Her soul was no longer certain of the right path because she knew the path she desired was far behind her. She wondered if she was purposely being led to a place where her desires no longer mattered. Her chest clenched a little tighter and aching waves crashed as recklessly as the ocean's when she realized half of her wished it to be so. Why feel so much when so much of what you feel is pain?
What is that sound?
She chanced another glance back to the driver to see if there was a witness to the tears balancing on the brims of her eyes. But there was none. Then came the voice. And this voice spoke a language she did not understand. The meaning of the words she had not yet been taught. And yet, they brought feeling into the numbness of her heart. It was a blazing fire that burned, a cool water then quenched, a soft breeze that stirred. It was too much and it was not enough. It was overwhelming yet, she wished it would never cease.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
For I am the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior."
For Ash.
She felt it again. The feeling with many names, characterized by an aching in her chest and a sickening lurch in her stomach. She didn't fight the momentum of the acceleration of the car, letting her head fall backwards against the seat. The scenery passing at an average rate outside the window was unimpressive. The colors rushing by were faded and dull.
When does it get better?
It had been much too long since the incident to still feel the way she felt. The moment when her world shifted from pressing on to pressing in. Or perhaps it had always been that way. She didn't want to accept it as truth. She fought the acceptance of a new reality as hard as she should have fought to hold on to what was once hers. The darkness, a catalyst to a desperately late appreciation of light.
Why did this happen?
The car's wheels swallowed yard after yard, mile after mile. She contemplated answers to this question, each answer in a different language. She spoke the language of the one who sat atop the lofty tower. But the words tasted bitter in her mouth and sour to her stomach. For they had not been processed by the one who spoke them before they were taught to her. She could repeat the answers of the knowing ones word for word. But their advice chapped her soul as with a dry wind for it did not originate in the fresh springs of compassion but rather the harsh desert of carelessness. Fear of silence had spoken that particular language into existence. And there came a point when it became noise no longer heard due to overuse. She also fluently spoke in tongues of the one who reasoned. This language was circular and left her feeling somewhat comforted for a short period of time. What-ifs and how-abouts begin each sentence. She would follow as best she could until it made her dizzy in the attempt to keep pace. There was also another language. It was sweet. Too sweet. And there were times she wished she had never tasted it on her tongue. It was the language of the one who pitied. This language was easier to speak then all the others and it brought her to a place of great despair. For this language tore her in two; half of her senselessly empowered in her helplessness and half of her drowning in the knowledge she was a victim.
Did it have to be her?
A bump in the road brought her attention crashing back to her surroundings. She glanced slightly to the left. Her mind was diverted from her tortured thoughts when her eyes fell upon the driver's hands. She noted the effortless way they gripped the steering wheel, taking them to their destination almost automatically. For a brief moment she envied their confidence. Her soul was no longer certain of the right path because she knew the path she desired was far behind her. She wondered if she was purposely being led to a place where her desires no longer mattered. Her chest clenched a little tighter and aching waves crashed as recklessly as the ocean's when she realized half of her wished it to be so. Why feel so much when so much of what you feel is pain?
What is that sound?
She chanced another glance back to the driver to see if there was a witness to the tears balancing on the brims of her eyes. But there was none. Then came the voice. And this voice spoke a language she did not understand. The meaning of the words she had not yet been taught. And yet, they brought feeling into the numbness of her heart. It was a blazing fire that burned, a cool water then quenched, a soft breeze that stirred. It was too much and it was not enough. It was overwhelming yet, she wished it would never cease.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
For I am the LORD your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior."
For Ash.
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