Like a bird alone in the desert or an owl in a ruined house, I lie awake and I groan. I am like a sparrow lost on a roof, the ashes are the bread I eat. I mingle tears with my drink ~~Psalm 130
~ Even from the womb, I loved Jesus.
My faith is firm. I believe in His power. I pray deep prayers of thanksgiving. In truth, I have never pursued other Gods, or Gurus, or Goddesses. There was no need. No. I found my stillness and solace in Christianity.
Pleasure. Purpose. Promises.
I have a sort of contentment that surpasses human understanding.
But not today. Not today.
Instead, I cry out in anguish, in pain, in a vocabulary I do not recognize. I am like an injured bird that cannot fly. I weep for what is lost. I scream for what will never be. I moan for what is yet to come.
I lie in bed watching the ceiling fan revolve-revolve-revolve. It hums above me like an unfinished life, an incomplete prayer, a hollow space.
Oh, God, I miss her. I miss her. I want her back. I want….I want.
Help Me. Help Me. Will You please help me?
Last night I had a dream that I was gazing in a enormous picture window and several sisters were laughing, hugging, talking, confessing their deepest secrets. When I tried to open the door, it was locked. I walked in the corridor alone.
I am so alone, so alone. Like a bird in the desert. Like an owl in a ruined house. Like a child who has lost her mother.
Like a woman without a soul.
And I ask my God, “Why? Why? Why?”
I ask my God, “How can you expect me to go on inhaling and exhaling? How can you expect me find pleasure from the sun upon my face?”
What is the use of anything?
I cannot hear Him. I cannot see Him. He is silent.
So I drink red wine. So I pace around aimlessly. So I wail. So I write worthless words.
I cry from a place inside myself that I’m not familiar with. A place reserved for the inconsolable. A place where sorrow rises up from the depths of the earth.
The world has changed colors. A negative instead of the entire photograph.
Yet, even through these intolerable, unbearable, inescapable tears, even now, through this salt that covers me; I know He is there. Undeniably, I know He is waiting.
CS Lewis said that we find our true path through unfathomable pain; we find who we truly are.
I don’t give a damn. I don’t give a damn.
I’d rather not know. I’d rather be who I was. I’d rather have her sitting next to me, warming me, both of us filling one another up.
I’d rather be in that room with the other sisters laughing, hugging, and revealing our deepest, darkest secrets that nobody else knows.
“WE must Be Still and Still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.” –T.S. Eliot