Have you been sent( 2 )

I always had a softspot for eschatology and seeing that by the age of 8 i was already exposed to alot,my urge for research on this grew. Memory is something beautiful we might say,but beauty is relative. She remembered. I had broken the bonds of her temporary memory loss, awakening her once virgin eyes again. She remembered the tears she shed when she was on a bed alone but the feeling on her neck; the strangling feeling of strong thick hands, squeezing, slowly limiting her breathing. She remembered trying to scream but her own voice was segregated from her and near-by ears alike. At this point in the conversation, she's warmed up to me, at least she was not screaming anymore. She had a confused and paranoid look though, searching, as if trying to see the unseen. Her memories took her back to childhood days, when she had been in the middle of strong spiritual battles. We had a connection now, her and i. I made her know she was not alone. Paranoia still kept creeping in and it was understandable. Prayers never seemed to leave her mouth but her preference in times of fear was the underside of the table, huddled up. She felt like someone had frogmarched her soul somewhere, but leaving her behind, under a table, hollow. Meeting someone who had seen or felt these spiritual battles had never happened for her. There was not a single soul who talked about spiritual warfare, instead, those close to her subscribed to bedtime stories with the ending the same as always; go to sleep, what you see and feel is not real, if you think about it, you will go mad. These words for a young child to hold are haunting, seeing as night after night what she saw was supposedly 'not real.' All that she believed in faded away, all that she hoped for, a word, a reassurance, they all fled from her presence and to her, hope became a myth. How could it be that now, of all times, someone who was not insane, not fearful, had been exposed to the same? As her guard lowered, so did her fear. We read scripture now, we prayed; she had not prayed truthfully in years. Her tears dried and calmness was restored. I stopped being the freaky guy and became a friend, a prayer partner, a confidant. She opened her eyes again but this time, she had nothing to fear. She chose to believe in He that vanquishes fear. She chose, for the first time ever, she made her own choice to believe. Fear would no longer bind her and the thoughts of insanity were banished from the kingdom of her mind. She opened a can of tuna, boiled some rice and made some curry. While making the tuna, she turned and said 'you know, God is showing me that im not as invisible as i thought, that not everything is just me and my family, that there is more beyond the view of the eyes, that He is there. Maybe, just maybe, my prayers have been answered and you have been sent even without your knowledge.' She breathed in then out, slowly, smiled then turned. Maybe, just maybe, i had been sent, even without my knowledge.

Midnight Expressions

I was going through old files on my computer when I came accross one of my musings. It's dated 2007 and even though I don't specifically remember writing it, it's unfortunate just how deeply I can still relate to the words I poured out so long ago. It's even worse that I feel there has been no progress. I should be the change I want to see in the world, I hear. So I suppose I am as much to blame for my tormented, seemingly unfeasible pensiveness but am I so cynical that it seems that the world has largely just not improved since? Or am I narrowing my measure of change too much?

COPY AND PASTE:

MIDNIGHT EXPRESSIONS

It’s 00h39 on a Saturday morning, the 7th of October, 2007 to be precise. I sit here before this computer bothered by my thoughts, engrossed by them once again and yearning to uncover my portion of contentment.

I am considering the futility of life, like a flame in the wind, a bubble in the ocean…how it quickly fades. My heart is troubled by the condition of our humanity, my humanity as well. Ruthlessly, we devour our fellow beings; we shed blood that breathes, the very blood that pumps through our veins. With our swords we pierce flesh, with our minds we deceive the feeble, with our words we kill spirits, all in all demoralizing the soul, bringing it to an end…leaving an empty vessel to roam the earth.

Many are lost without a hope for more. Love is a concept we have found to be far as fantasy…is it the detriment of our generation, the curse of our society? Are we doomed to carry on the burdens of this world to the grave? Or is redemption nigh? Is change possible?

Laughter seldom comes from the depths of our beings, true joy is being lost in the edges of our innocence, and the days of our true youth have become distant memories. It seems that from then, there is an imminent search for more, the burning desire that propels us to reach…but into what? What is there to be found without that wasn’t lost within?

My sleep is troubled and my thoughts plagued, language proves to fall short of the expression I wish to adhere to. Life is tumbling, changing, and a rolling stone out of control. The raging seas speak volumes of this torment and the whispering trees tell of the heart of my hurt. Our salvation seems to lie beyond our grasp and to each his own, settling for less than is theirs. Are we bidding for that which is not ours? Are we selling what does not belong to us? Are we falling short of our destiny? Are we losing purpose and forfeiting true fulfilment? Are we digging our graves for generations to come? Do our eyes even project further than the very next moment?

This love, this peace, this joy we once knew, is now seldom met…Are we substituting it all, afraid of the truth? Are these chains of fear going to be our demise? Will we rise again? Is there hope? The tales of old speak of more, there has to be more. The morality of our spirits has been ruptured, buried by our actions. Hovering above the surface, guarded by a fort of safety, we keep out that which may lead us to our emancipation.

Superficially communicating to keep up with the façade masking the intricacies of truth, we are stealing from our humanity. Are we all not of the same flesh? Of the same blood?
Why do we sift by colour, race, kin? Why don’t we meet at our similarities and rather chose to divide at our differences? How then can we possibly have hope?

I sit here reminiscing. I try to feel the hearts of those who are said to rest in peace. Did they build this road we tread? Can we divert to a greater path? The causes they fought for, died for…The tears shed and the blood…the expenditure of strength, the pursuit for an improvement? Was any of it to any avail?



How can I further express what I find hard to understand?
The decay of my own spirit, my own soul, my flesh and my heart…
The loss of my hope, my joy, my peace…
The worthless sacrifices…
The unrealized dreams…

What more can there possibly be? Have we deceived ourselves in our intent for more? Are we ignoring the inspection of the underlying cancer in the name of protecting the disguise we uphold? True satisfaction must have a source; few have discovered it and whether peasant or nobleman, those died contented. But our misconception or false confessions, our misunderstanding, our lies, they all steal…snatch from that truth…

Many of my thoughts remain an enigma. I’m bound by my own mortality, explore as I may, my questions will forever outweigh my answers. This is greater than I, than our mere human lives, it’s greater than I can expand my mind to conceive, it’s beyond any comprehension yet it eats away at me nonetheless. Everyday it devours the truth! There needs to be change, there has to be change and we are the only ones with the power to start the process!