Free

I think I can remember

though it seems so long ago

like a story I once imagined

a dream that blurs the edges of you and me.

I remember when all was still waters, green pastures

when my soul sang and needed no restoration

when all before me was ready prepared.

A deluxe ready meal from heaven.

I remember you beside me

as certain of your presence

as I was certain of your goodness

your continued goodness; always.

I think I can remember

though it seems so long ago

like a story I once imagined

before the curtain closed and darkness fell,

And I came to the end of me,

to the end of the world entire,

when all the goodness was gone

and all was upside down and darkness.

And thirst.

Horrible thirst.

That held me down and used me up

when all I could whisper was one thing

just one thing.

Where are you?

And all I heard was silence.

You were gone,

and I was going too, melting and hardening

my heart turned to wax inside me

disappearing inside me,

it ran out of me

down my face

down my arms

out and down.

Pooling beneath me, empty now,

then, hardening in the wrong places

hemming me in

freezing me where I stood.

Alone.

Totally alone.

Forsaken, to use a word you’d know.

And still thirsty.

And mad.

So mad.

Unheard and paralysed, now abandoned?

Where are you? I said again

but instead of a plea, it was a challenge.

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

I shouted, raising my voice,

A final time in angry desperation.

Then I heard four words

Just four words.

Tell me, and drink.

I was silent, my voice dried up

my eyes watching for a trick.

Tell me, and drink.

So I spoke,

and there was no filter, no pre approved language

I spoke and it poured from me

And onto him.

My toes began to twitch,

My legs moved inside their waxy prison.

It cracked and I felt a beat

It came from inside me

The beat of a heart that was not lost but found

Somehow.

Still I spoke, the words kept pouring

and with each fear, each pain, each tear

My thirst lessened, the darkness rolled away.

My soul began to bloom

Like a garden in spring that sneaks up when your back is turned.

This can’t be me, I think

The pain, not gone, but used

Instead of a dark cave

I find myself at the edge of a new world.

The cave at my back

I start out across this new landscape.

Past waterfalls, through valleys

And up, onto the ridges.

I turn and look,

The cave is not gone, but smaller

A geographical feature but only

One part of this great, big world.

Where are you? I whisper

Looking down from the mountaintop

A hand on my shoulder, scarred and worn,

I turn and see

Your feet, your face, your mouth, your eyes

Looking at me, only at me.

I drink you in, rest my head on your chest

Fall to my knees and cry and laugh and smile.

My thirst is gone.

For you are here.

Holding my soul in nail scarred hands.

Always, to the very end of the age.

Gillian Fox 2/4/2019