The End

image source:Bing images

image source:Bing images

I was sure this was it. I’d been expecting it and here it was. Finally. It had to come in-spite of all the global warming deniers and those right-wing nuts who can’t see the inherent damage fracking will do, plus the war mongers who want to spend and spend and spend building up a surplus of war machines and train innocent young people to sacrifice themselves as soldiers in some unauthorized invasion of a third world country.

At last reality and sanity have been pushed over the edge of the survival cliff. I knew it would happen. This had to be the end. I mean, really, how much more could the natural world take? The fragile ecology is being murdered, stripped bare, decimated by the ugly plundering of big companies. Is it any wonder the world is imploding in on itself?

I wanted to scream: I TOLD YOU SO. At least that was my thought the split second the sky went black. It was 9:03 a.m. and hot. Over 100 degrees yesterday and was headed there today. Until it got dark. Then the temperature went mild. Like it does after a summer rain storm in the New Mexico mountains.

The dark only lasted about a minute or so, which I suppose meant that if you were in a windowless room or in a corridor in the center of an office building, you wouldn’t even know the sun was gone. You couldn’t miss the next bit, though.

It was a like a lightning bolt that lit up the entire atmosphere in bright gold. It was too bright to look at. It glowed from everywhere. As if the light came from inside the room to meet the light outside. And the noise was like a trumpet sound that would hit the guys in the seats in the nosebleed section at the same time and with the same impact as the guys in the front row seats. Everyone heard every word. It was a sound that would wake the dead.

It was loud, but it was also a whisper that seeped down into my ears and jagged at my heart.

“Holy, Holy, Holy.”

I didn’t know who or what was holy. Wasn’t that like some religious thing that people in big old mausoleums of dead religions were always saying?  Maybe I was having a stroke. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die and I was remembering things I’d done and said that I hadn’t thought of in years. I was seeing dead people, like Grandpa Joe and Aunt Lizzy and my buddy, Larry, who crashed off the pier when we were in tenth grade.

The sky was full of these flying men. They looked beautiful, like the statues of Greek Gods, and they were all saying the same thing,

“Bow down before the King of Kings.”

How could this be? Was the world really coming to an end because of some religious hype? All that stuff that my grandparents and that weird old guy down on the corner tried to tell me?

How could anyone really believe in a vindictive supreme being who liked giving kids cancer? Or who stood by and watched while Tsunamis destroyed entire countries?

I would not give in to this delusion, this hype, this fear mongering.

Why wouldn’t the flashes of my life stop? I was still breathing, so I wasn’t dead. I stood still in the middle of the room. A room that I like dark with heavy drapes. This light, this bright gold was everywhere. I couldn’t see shadows under the trees outside or under the carport next door. Just bright gold everywhere.

The noise of those voices and a rushing sound like thousands of bird wings kept on. My ears hurt and my heart felt pressure like it was trying to leave my body. A heart attack. That’s what this was.

I wiped the sweat out of my eyes. The sky was getting crowded. I swear I could see something like people of all sizes in long robes floating up from the ground.

I blinked. I was nine years old again and sitting next to Grandma in church. The guy down front was saying, “the dead in Christ shall rise first.”

It was like a door opened and truth came rushing out. For the first time in my life, I got it. God was real. He was pure and couldn’t look at selfishness or murder or anger or all the ways we try to hurt ourselves and others. He gave up his own son, Jesus, to handle all the mean, evil stuff in the world. All the things people had done, like mass murderers and despots who killed their own people, and babies slaughtered while still in the womb, I finally understood. God gave me a choice and I decided to be my own god. Most people I knew had decided to be their own god. The whole world was living with the end result.

What was this new feeling? Love? Flashes of blue light swirled around me. It was a pulsing thing that rubbed against my ears and made the hair on my arms stand up. If I’d had any hair left on my head, it would have stood up. My scalp vibrated.

What was the voice saying now? “I never knew you.” Just like that, the pulsing, swirling power around me floated away, as if I had a personal shield that kept the light and the love from moving through me. My heart lurched again and I knew the awful truth. I lived in the black, dark, selfish part of life and I had missed the light. I wouldn’t know the love. I had been dead to truth. Truth was dead to me.

The gold everywhere was being swallowed up by black waves of pain that lived in heavy dark clouds with a smell like a burning garbage pit. Black, ugly monsters flew through the air towards me.

“No!” I jerked and flung my arms up to fight against the black creatures. The thud when I hit the floor and the pain in my hip woke me. The night stand was on its side next to me and the digital clock was on the floor. I picked up the clock. 6:57 a.m.

Oh, my God. What a nightmare. I rubbed my sore hip and dragged myself off the floor. I shook my head, but it wouldn’t clear.

Jake. I tolerated him at work because he was good at the job. I hated the joy and love he always seemed to have. I never let him get any further when he’d offer to pray for me. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still time for me to get it right. Jake. Jake would know if God would still give me a chance. I moved to the heavy drapes and opened them to let in the morning light.

Advertisements

Grass Green Blade

image source:Bing images

image source:Bing images

Dig deeper, plumb
the depths.
Pull out all the nasty
black pieces that
lurk
in dank, covered, pitiful spots.

I’m told, go, go.
Find
great inspiration
there.

I resist.
I lean back against
the pull, dragging my heels.

Must I go?
Do I have to?

My heels furrow-plow the green
back lawn,
trenching straight between the
house and the
fence at the alley.
I stop
under the
pink Nectarine bloom.

I look down. The pit yawns.
Come in. Take a dip.
Dig through
the mire.

What’s the harm? We’re there.
All of us.
We’re there. It’s our common –
ality.
Who is not touched?

There sensitivity waits for
embracing;
understanding yearns
for hugs.
Acceptance replaces
transformation.

My toe slides in, just a bit,
just to speak to humanity’s
need.
Numbness slides up my toe, touches
the ball of
my foot.
Cramp grabs,
tightens. I can no longer see
my ankle.
Writhing snakes touch.
I hear the rattle.

I remember the throb.
I remember the blush.
I remember the shame.
It’s me looking for
satisfaction.
Can’t get no satisfaction.

There’s no joy there.
There’s no overweening
love for another.
There’s no self-sacrifice.
There’s just self.
Grasping,
groaning
self.

Can I go there? Would it help?
I dig; tentative.
Too soon the worms
start across my flesh. My
breath catches,
coughs, sputters, dies.
The pressure
tightens around my heart;
the band constricts.
Panic pushes
red in my ears.
The beat booms, booms,
booms.

My wings are caught.
My flight stuttered.
Any beauty is splayed shattered
on the grass.
It reflects a cracked
splintered gleam.

Where did hope fly?
Where did beauty die?
Where did joy drown?
Did they ever live here?

In desperation I grasp the blade
of grass.
The green life pushes up.
Up.
Not down.
The down knows only sorrow.

I guess it’s my choice.
Which direction
will I push,
will I look,
will I reach,
will I live?

No. NO. N. O. I won’t
take that dive. I
don’t want to drown,
all breath shallow and tight.

I don’t want to
lose all softness of
sweet skin
and come out
shriveled and darkened.

I swim faster,
ploughing through
the air that hovers over
the green lawn.

I look up;
up into the blue
above. It stretches wide.
I see promise, not fracture.

Perhaps I could
tell my perception of the
black cesspool;
maybe I could
say I understand because
I’ve felt.

Must I feel it again?

My ears are
too sensitive to hear
the retelling.

My heart too
damaged by the black to
re-live
it’s drag.

My senses too tuned to its lure.
Pavlov speaks.

I run across the lawn
as a child
squealing to cover the sound
of the chasing hoard.

It shouldn’t be thus.
I had wings.
They weren’t man-made. Their
iridescent glitter reflected infinity
and eternity.

Free me. Give me upward reach.
I stretch my arms up and wide out.
There’s a prison break
waiting, else why
would I even know beauty exists?
Love lives? White purity floats
its banner in the
breeze?

Give me back my wings, great creator
of all. Move
me above the lawn,
above the pull of
life’s undertow,
above the dark
into the light.

Light.
Light.
Jesus said,
I am the light of the world.

You left heaven’s brilliance, Jesus,
You stuck more than your toe
in the morass;
life’s bloody mess.
If I must go into the pit,
show me how to keep
my wings;
keep them shining and pure.

Keep me flying free.
Whole; not factured;
a conduit that points upward;
points to you.
Points with the grass green blade.