I was stillborn. I was dead and yet still dying. I was dead to love. I was unfeeling. My death throes sent me grabbing for any sliver of pleasure I thought might hold me up, but I sank down in the dark with fists that could not hold the happiness for which I longed.
I was born blind. Slivers of light would dart across my eyes, but I could not tell from where they had come or where they went. So, I cursed my darkness and swelled with hate.
I was born ignorant. My thoughts could not grasp the truth, and I raged that there was none to be had. No food for my starving mind, only ceaseless thoughts that could not satisfy my famished, dead, and dying soul.
I could not taste. All of life soon became bland, even the sweet pleasures I stole became tasteless in my mouth. I wasted because I could find no savory food.
And then I saw you, my God. You offered me your body, and so I took it. I ate your flesh and drank your blood. I felt and tasted your love between my teeth. I saw the truth of my death and my life in your death and life. I put my hands in yours and felt the nails pierce my skin. At last, my misery died there with you in your embrace, and so I finally began to live.
We Must Do the Impossible
1 year ago