There are certainly moments in one's life where you realize with startling clarity that the circumstances and decisions of every day are far more significant than you would like. You decide to skip a friend's invitation to coffee, perhaps avoid making plans for the next month, ignore the warnings of someone who loves you, or perhaps put down a book instead of picking it up. Easy to shrug off. Not a big deal. Nothing changes. There will always be another chance.
But the lies ring hollow. Your friend has drifted away, you missed your chance at what your really wanted to do, the girl loses hope in you ever caring enough to change for her, and the life-changing words lie unspoken between closed pages.
And so, you wake to reality. But you find you've slept a very long time. Your legs are so weak you cannot stand. And countless days and nights of dust and dew have fallen on you. The mixture hardening into bonds of such rigidity and strength that you lie embalmed in a debilitating concoction of lies, waste, and helplessness. And you seem powerless to slow your descent.
You know you should fight it. You know it doesn't have to be too late. But maybe it is. It really could be. Your feelings and your actions laugh in your face. Yes, they say, it's far too late. And really, if you can't trust your feelings and you can't trust your actions, then what is left?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Elevator Ride 1.5
Lying prone on the floor. Shivering. Too cold to register fear at the rattling rate of our descent.
Life. Death. Some wait their whole lives to start living. Some live their whole life like they are dead.
Hope. Despair. Flashes of the past. Moments where I choose my own destruction. Once you lose hope are you still alive?
The cage is shuddering and groaning. We are moving dangerously fast. I make no attempt to stand, doubtful at my ability to keep my feet if I tried.
The guide though, stands bolt upright, apparently unaffected by the trembling floor. I try to read his expression with little success. He seems lost in his thoughts.
Then he leaps into action. Grabbing for the brake, he throws all his weight down on it, desperately trying to decrease the our speed. Screeches, tearing, rumbling, and the twing of a metal cable under extreme stress.
Miraculously we are slowing. He hangs on the brake. using all his weight to finally bring us to a shuddering halt.
He gives me a strange, lingering glance of empathy tinged with anger. A strange expression, difficult to grasp. I begin to question him, but he ignores me and flings open the elevator gate.
An explosion of brilliance. Color and light so vibrant and irrepressible I throw my hands up to shield my eyes.
"Look," his voice demands of me. I slowly uncover my eyes. The gate opens up into a room of such immense grandeur and size that my breath is stolen away in awe. Impossibly high arched ceilings, stain glass windows streaming sharp rays of colorful light down through the polished wooden rafters, heavy rich brocade tapestries hang twenty feet wide and high on the marble walls, and vast and intricate tile mosaics paint pictures on the distant ceiling. I unconsciously step out into the luxurious beauty. Slowing turning in place, I try to take it all in. A thousand candles burn on a thousand polished candle stands. Dancing light and color overwhelm my senses.
At the front of the room sits an altar of simple hewn rock. A cross of rough ceder hangs on the wall behind.
And I feel the presence of unprecedented beauty and power. Unmeasurable strength and glory. I know whose house this is.
In this moment I feel my smallness. I'm weak, I'm little, I'm insignificant. Its a shocking feeling. My mind is so used to revolving around itself. A dog whose sole interest has been in sniffing his own tail suddenly bumps into the legs of his master.
I feel the invitation: Stay. Be awestruck. Worship. Enjoy My beauty. Be My servant. Live in My house.
I cower before the power of His voice. And yet I still hear the weaker but persistent words of my pride within me: I'm not ready yet. Am I so weak that I need a god? I can't make it on my own? I'd rather take my chances and be free. I'll run wild. Maybe just for a little longer. Don't need His help. Not now. I'll find my own way for now. Don't want to disappear in the shadow of His glory. Besides, I'd just fail Him. Can't play by His rules. I am my own god.
And so like a rebellious dog when called home by his master, I turn with a snarl and run towards dark, cold, and certain death.
The gate slams with a bang. We rocket downward.
Life. Death. Some wait their whole lives to start living. Some live their whole life like they are dead.
Hope. Despair. Flashes of the past. Moments where I choose my own destruction. Once you lose hope are you still alive?
The cage is shuddering and groaning. We are moving dangerously fast. I make no attempt to stand, doubtful at my ability to keep my feet if I tried.
The guide though, stands bolt upright, apparently unaffected by the trembling floor. I try to read his expression with little success. He seems lost in his thoughts.
Then he leaps into action. Grabbing for the brake, he throws all his weight down on it, desperately trying to decrease the our speed. Screeches, tearing, rumbling, and the twing of a metal cable under extreme stress.
Miraculously we are slowing. He hangs on the brake. using all his weight to finally bring us to a shuddering halt.
He gives me a strange, lingering glance of empathy tinged with anger. A strange expression, difficult to grasp. I begin to question him, but he ignores me and flings open the elevator gate.
An explosion of brilliance. Color and light so vibrant and irrepressible I throw my hands up to shield my eyes.
"Look," his voice demands of me. I slowly uncover my eyes. The gate opens up into a room of such immense grandeur and size that my breath is stolen away in awe. Impossibly high arched ceilings, stain glass windows streaming sharp rays of colorful light down through the polished wooden rafters, heavy rich brocade tapestries hang twenty feet wide and high on the marble walls, and vast and intricate tile mosaics paint pictures on the distant ceiling. I unconsciously step out into the luxurious beauty. Slowing turning in place, I try to take it all in. A thousand candles burn on a thousand polished candle stands. Dancing light and color overwhelm my senses.
At the front of the room sits an altar of simple hewn rock. A cross of rough ceder hangs on the wall behind.
And I feel the presence of unprecedented beauty and power. Unmeasurable strength and glory. I know whose house this is.
In this moment I feel my smallness. I'm weak, I'm little, I'm insignificant. Its a shocking feeling. My mind is so used to revolving around itself. A dog whose sole interest has been in sniffing his own tail suddenly bumps into the legs of his master.
I feel the invitation: Stay. Be awestruck. Worship. Enjoy My beauty. Be My servant. Live in My house.
I cower before the power of His voice. And yet I still hear the weaker but persistent words of my pride within me: I'm not ready yet. Am I so weak that I need a god? I can't make it on my own? I'd rather take my chances and be free. I'll run wild. Maybe just for a little longer. Don't need His help. Not now. I'll find my own way for now. Don't want to disappear in the shadow of His glory. Besides, I'd just fail Him. Can't play by His rules. I am my own god.
And so like a rebellious dog when called home by his master, I turn with a snarl and run towards dark, cold, and certain death.
The gate slams with a bang. We rocket downward.
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