A Penitent's Unrequited Love In Dreams
That I am now in deep sleep, yet awake in vivid dream, and find myself on a line with other souls must be my own illusion, or perhaps a mockery of my soul. And I do tremble, not knowing what strange thing is happening to me. We are all trembling. The unidentified Saint purveying our countenances is now in conversation with a man in front of me about his tee-shirt, but the sound and condensation of my breath prevents me from hearing clearly all he is saying. None speak between themselves on the line, so I appeal to you in earnest.
Can you hear me in the firmament below? I hope so. Please hear me. I beg you that if you do hear me that you listen carefully in absolute stillness and silence. Who else can I call upon now, here, in this but eternal moment?
I can feel the man’s anguish as though I heard it, but in truth the only thing I can hear is the Saint’s command that he “Hold it in your hands!” Now I see the man take off his shirt and I wonder on this. I too am wearing a white tee-shit (of all things!) and my legs are gone, covered in white cloth that is blurred beneath my waist. That I have reduced myself to this childhood conception of the hereafter is surely not something I entertained a thought of in my barely conscious adult life; yet, in the scheme of thoughts regarding my imperfection, my strife, my pride, perhaps I ought hurry and accept in this moment His perfecting me, before I arrive before Him at that point in time, if it is in fact that he found me lacking at all, which is likely from the apparent length of the line.
The absurdity of it all! Please accept my astoundment in all its humility. No, it is not oxymoronic. Don’t be stupid! Can I now say “God help us all”? or can I pray “God help me”? Do you see my quandary? Have compassion please, for once. After all, I am here, am I not? Do you think me spiritually unprepared, or bereft? Are spiritual connections relevant any longer once amidst the energy that is affected? Shall I will to stop thinking, or can He hear me all at once and everyone else besides? I need the answer to this question before I go before Him. This is all I know at this moment. Pray for me, you beneath me, pray for me.
I loved you once, but, remember, it was you who left me, seeing I found a New Love! I know you loved me too, even though you were so brutal towards me always, since birth until now; but here the ache in my heart is gone, filled with glory and love simultaneously in one full wave, distinguishable in words and yet not, at once and then the same. Can you feel it too when you feel me? Glorious, is it not? No wonder you are jealous, prior to your arrival and even now in your full departure, even though I know you’re always watching in envy.
Shhhhhh. The Saint is now making his way up the line towards me, although still far enough away; and I think I recognize him but not quite one hundred percent sure. Clarity of physical attributes is not entirely relevant here. At this moment, I ought to steal myself away to the man ahead holding his shirt. I need to ask him why he was commanded to hold his shirt, and why his countenance was honed in on, but I am trembling and do not want to bring attention to myself, lest the Saint hone in on me too.
How fearful is the countenance of that man, and, as you can well imagine, mine as well. [Be quiet my mind. Be still.]You also be still and I beg you, at once, to reveal me to myself as I was when you knew me, in your own opinion, to give me a “heads up.” But do not speak it. Let me know only through your cruel teasing, though loving effervescence, not whispers or noise of any kind. For what person can possibly let themselves be devoured by their own darkness through your conveyances that convict and lead only to that long hallway of nothingness that only you know so well? I could not bear it and I would burst now to be convinced of my loathsomeness and reduce this glory to nothing but salt.
I, for one, have afforded myself some luxury of seeking that truth of both good and evil. Was I not human? That I failed in all endeavor at truly knowing both makes me no less or greater than you, so please do not think yourself so grand! Please keep yourself shut up and do not esteem yourself so highly in the wretched hubris you cling to in regard to me.
I am now sailing to the man, legless as I am. I do not see where the Saint has gone. I am fairly certain I am beyond his view, unless I am deceived by my lost sight of him. Cautiously I sail. Their faces vie me as I pass, because I am skirting around and within them to avoid notice from His righteous.
[I have now reached the man. Can you hear me?] “Sir: Why did the Saint ask you to remove your shirt”?
[He is looking at me. His face is like that of death], “To save me from perdition.”
[Did you hear what he said? He said ‘perdition.’]
“What sin have you committed that warrants perdition”?
“Oh. It’s written on my tee-shit”?
“My tee-shirt, what it says.”
“What does it say”?
He is holding it up to me now. “It says ‘Shit Happens’.”
Please wake me from this absurdity of mind. If ever I am to know what He above needs of me to be, it is you below that have taught me and will teach me still. I am not ready, don’t you know? Is this your way of humor? How much more will you try me in the vanity of all things that only leads to despair? Wake me! You, whom I hate now but loved once and who even God will not do without, do you hear me?! Hit me more with your spears and arrows and cast me in the hell of your existence if you must – but first, please wake me. Chastise me yet again to know the fullness of my repentance so I am found worthy of my New Love, He in me and me in Him. Oh, my unrequited love below, wake me, please wake me.
© 2012 Cynthia Taggart