These Times We Speak Of

Too often I have seen relationships torn apart by a lack of humility. You will not listen to me speak, for though I am a few years behind you, and my experience not so extensive, I cannot be a fool when I look at how you treat each other. I surpass you in wisdom and maturity, and despite my lack of years, I see you dying. Your love cannot live on this way, you trials will only increase. My words go by the wayside as you kill for authority.

The day your love has died, you will scream at me and beg me to tell you why I didn’t try to stop it.

Oh, but I did, dear friends. You would not heed my words. Who is really to blame?

I am exhausted and to the point of falling face first forward into the floor just to get blessed rest. But no, it cannot happen, not this way. I must not give in to weakness. The depression that threatens to smother me until I gasp for mercy will not win. I am not a simple pawn of trial or of pain. I will run with blood and tears before I let it consume me.

I don’t understand the way people work anymore. They hope for better things but they constantly aim themselves at the edge of the cliff. They say it’s going to change but then they plop back down in their same old easy chair and swig back the same old self pity. They beg for help but then let their hand snap your head back when you offer words and consolation. You were there at their sick bed but then they swallowed the toxin you’d rescued them from. It was nothing to be proud of in the end.

Sanctuary of Blue Light

I’m sipping on hot spearmint tea and wondering whether I should have made the Nepali green tea instead. It’s perfect, warm in my throat and my hands, sweetened lightly by a spoonful of sugar and patience.

My room mate is sick and coughing harshly in her sleep, and I can’t help but want to give her my tea, my health, my rest, just to stop that awful sound. It hurts me to think that she’s ill, not for my own well-being, but for hers.

I’m starting to lose focus, glassily gazing into the buzzing calm light of my Christmas lights. So clear and so blue, like pinpricks of a perfect glimpse into a deep sea… They put me to sleep, they make me think, they give me hope of beauty in such a tiny form. I want to touch them, but there’s this fear that if I do, they’ll explode in a shower of sparks and never return. I can make them glitter when I wave my fleece blanket by them. Oh, the wonder of static!

Only a few more hours… I need this schedule to work out or nothing will… putting these thoughts aside, I close my eyes and bask in the sanctity and sanctuary found in night. The fridge hums softly, my breathing, the occasional clinks in the heater. Curling up closer with my snuggie, I gaze again into the sea of azure. I just watched a Honda commercial about dreams and suddenly remembered how much I love Clive Barker… every brushstroke, every letter… so beautiful and terrifying and sweet and cold. Such a tumultuous wave of emotion and art that it takes my breath away every time I turn the page.

Everything about the night seems sacred. The whole dorm heaves and contracts with hundreds of souls breathing, windows expanding and doors swinging open and shut. The sounds are scarce, the heater, the fridge, a cough. Even outside, if the weather is rough, there is a window through the storm to the eye, calm and still and clear. I am trying to find that eye in my heart, and am still fighting the cold and snow, but I know it’s here somewhere behind the clutter and some pain. I will find that clarity, that breath of fresh air. I can’t wait until it snows.

Closing my eyes and laying my head back against my chair… so soft and so warm… only a few more hours. I can make it from here. I don’t want to sleep, not yet. My body is screaming to rest, but night hushes it with a engulfing rebuke. These moments are sacred, the only one awake in a sea of those sleeping. The halls are so still, taking a well deserved rest until the waking of the early few who break that solemn code.

Night is solitary, contemplative, sacred and still.

Cheek and neck illuminated, gazing at the wall. What will tomorrow bring? How long will I sleep? How many hours until home, until the only people who truly love me unconditionally will have me in their arms? How can I escape from this void of utter lonliness? Christ is an assistant in this time, but there is a part of me that craves my family. I have given up on my friends for that kind of love. I have shaken the dust off my sandals and walked a separate path. My heart hurts too much to stay where I’ve been.

Three more hours… I will make it still.