Room To Run - A Short Beginning To A Long Story

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So here I stand, perched on this tightrope, with death on my left hand and life on my right. I spent my entire life thinking that I was living and never realized that I was actually asleep until death snuggled up beside me. Now—with the opposites of existence singing their joyous songs on either side of me—I can hear the truth laughing at its own joke.

This coma is a gift from God.

Every day that I walked the earth was an n abomination to humankind. The reason is really quite simple. While I was nothing of a monster in the usual sense of the word—I did not rape, murder, steal, adulterate, etc.—I was as arrogant as the ninety-five percent of the people in this world that walk around from day to day thinking that they now what the truth is.

God—and God alone—knows the truth. To think it any other way is a sin against existence itself.

Now my body lies here in this hospital bed, and my mind floats everywhere but there. I remember every detail of the journey that brought me here. The clarity of it all is like a dull ache in my soul. The circumstances hurt, and the participants are nearly enough to destroy—but these are all points to be made later.

For now—as it has been from the very onset of the coma—there is only the description of the darkness to be told. It is a darkness so all encompassing and black in its pitch that it devours all things—including itself—and makes them as the brightest light to have ever shown in the eyes of man. The sun would be blinded by this absolute brilliance. The world exists because of it and would disintegrate were it to be unveiled.

And from it issues a voice before which the likes of warriors and priests have knelt—sobbing!

It speaks to me as if it has known me all my life and—for the life of me—I cannot understand why I have not known it just as long. The words we exchange are like echoes in the womb; they are but the pre-suffering gurgles of a child first observed—and then answered—by the living, breathing, life-force that the understands to be its home. And then the realization that I have been deaf all these years shatters me and my soul begins to weep.

I have communed with my Holy Guardian Angel (the one that we have all—at one time or another—mistaken for the overseer of all the things except that one of which it truly is) and it has laid waste to my preconceptions of the world. I am baptized in a shower of light and love so that I might be worthy of the gift I am about to receive. With that it begins to make clear the parameters of my reception of this gift.

There are three and three only.

Firstly, there are no parameters in the earthly sense. My spirit will be unleashed upon this world—and any other that I may choose—wit the freedom of the wind and the power of a God. There will be nowhere that I cannot go, and nothing that I cannot affect.

Second, if I am so bold as to believe that I—while soaring, all powerful through the very atmosphere of life, and yet still being bound by human ideology and emotions—can accomplish anything worthwhile or, at the very least, can refrain from setting in motion any type of destructive earthly consequences, I will be permitted to record this excursion into the unknown, upon the palimpsest of my mind.

And the third condition is that—should I fall short in my assumption of benevolence—my own hand-written record of folly will be submitted as evidence against me in my trial between this life and the next. That will be the one and only time that I will ever be allowed to recall the words that I am writing at this moment.

It should now be apparent that my arrogance knows no bounds.

As far as my worldly existence is concerned, well, that is to remain a mystery even to a god such as myself. The only information I will be privy to is whatever snippets of wisdom I might glean from the sea of reality that—even now—ebbs and flows around the shell of myself that now lies below me; the heartfelt pleas of my family; the sterile response of the doctors; these will provide my only status report as to my human condition—or lack thereof.

With that said, I can feel the voice receding—slowly, but surely—to a place of quiet omnipotence high above me. Though it does not speak as it goes I know—as I should have all along—that it will wait there—and watch—and make itself available to me on a moment’s notice should I beg the answer to any question whatsoever.

I feel a comfort about me now that I have not known since childhood. Serenity is the reality in this place—rather than the dream.

All of this time-while I was conversing with my angel—the world around me was but a memory buried deep within the subconscious. Now—with the conversation at rest—the world that I have left behind begins to seep back into my newfound vision.

It is bizarre in ways that had I the vocabulary of Logos himself; an explanation would elude my tongue. The reason for this is that I am seeing with my soul rather that with my eyes. Everything is laid out before me as it exists inside that reality that w, as humans, can never hope to understand. It is the reality behind the fiction that we have created to shield us from what we cannot possibly fathom—the truth.

Here—with no earthly shackles to bind me fast to it—I can withstand it. In a sense, the ability to get away from it by retreating into infinity is the only thing keeping me somewhat coherent at this very moment. Were I to face this same landscape peering—as I have from birth—from the confines of my mortal head, I would surely have usurped all heretofore discovered levels of insanity in the blink of an eye. Facing it—with only the limited space that makes up the human mind—would have paralyzed me in one instant, and dashed my existence upon the walls of my skull the next. I see now the perils of not placing restrictions on truth and, in turn, why God only doles out to each person as much as he, or she, can handle.

Truth is like a great beast; it must be studied and understood; reckoned with and tamed; the smaller the room, the quicker it will devour you.

But here—in infinity—there is room to run. Room enough to hold the chair and the whip before your celestial body to keep the beast at bay; and room to run fleeing into the darkness for a quick session of prayer and redirection should the animal prove too overwhelming at any given moment.

The space around me is shimmering with the existence of life. Everything—from the family members who are visiting me—to the chairs they are sitting on—to the floor that supports them—to the air that surrounds them.

Everything is alive!