Stretch
out the thread of my life. See where it
begins and where it ends and how it’s thin in the middle. Be careful where you cut it. Not too close to my heart and not at all if
you can help it. Between your fingertips
is a life, my life, and it hangs in the balance. I thought I was strong enough to unravel it
myself, but I have been tried and found wanting.
I
traveled down the valley, enclosed by snow-capped peaks which scrape the
heavens. The long and arduous journey to
the sea. And now I stand on its shore
and stare at the distant horizon. So
small. So fragile. Plunged into the icy breakers my heart beats
quicker, threatening to burst its delicate walls. Pounded by a thousand waves of truth and
despair I watch the sun fade into the distance.
Pain gives way to numbness in the watery grave. No more feeling, no more needing. Only the icy embrace of Death’s cold fingers
on my flesh.
Words
are the passageway to meaning. Giving
form and shape to ideas. A heart is not
a heart. Heart is a word that describes
a thing. The thing pumps blood through
arteries. Talking about the thing
requires more words. When did mine stop
having any meaning? When did they start
returning to me empty? Words without
meaning are useless. Words without meaning
are nothing. The thing in my chest, that pumps my blood, that hangs in the
balance on that flimsy string is buffeted and battered by the waves. But just before it quits I remember. And I choose……
Life. With all its chaos and struggle. Its lows and lowers. Its agony, excruciation and its beauty. Laying in the sand, covered in blood, gasping
for air. That sweet, sweet gift that
surrounds us yet goes unnoticed. Until
we need it. Until it is all we have
left. Numbness gives way to pain in the
pale light of morning. Thawing out in
the misty arrival of the dawn and feeling my heartbeat slow. To its final beat or back to normal. Normal?
Does that exist any more? The
rising sun brings its warmth and I am made new in it.
Bloodshot
eyes survey the distant mountains. Who
can ascend their heights? Who can stand
on their peaks where heaven and earth meet?
They are the dwelling places of the gods and their foreboding slopes
appear unassailable. But I have survived
my crucible. The midnight descent to
blackness and back. And I will make my
assault, undaunted by the seeming impossibility of the task ahead. You’re holding that thread, spread between
your hands and wrapped around your fingers.
Now let me climb. Let me walk
among the heavens.
I
don’t know how it will end. Will I stand
at the summit of Zion, turn east to the rising sun and greet each new day from
above the clouds? Or will I find my
final resting place somewhere along the way?
It doesn’t matter. The end is not
the goal. Who I have become was. My heart-string is still thin, tattered and
worn. But for now it is uncut, and I
will continue. On. A slow and steady endeavor. No one said life was supposed to be done
quickly. Who wants to live in a
blur? Blue eyes pierce into the full
blaze of a new day’s light, feet rise and fall.
I’ve
begun my masterpiece. My Mona Lisa, my 9th. The world will see and hear, and will know
that I was alive. And that my heart was
on fire.
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