in DEATH

Living a lie.

Lying to live.

Losing your substance when found out.

What now, now that there are no more places to hide

He looked up at the dying embers of the pyre that was once his life.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it had been like being him
But it wouldn’t come, wouldn’t find substance in his memory,
Leaving him to guess what it must have been like.

He looked around for the mourners and found none.
Perhaps they had already made their peace with his memory
And had moved on to their homes, tranquil in their grief,
Blessed by the power of their Faith.

Or, perhaps they had loved him so
That they were celebrating together
In a place close at hand,
Toasting him with laughter and good cheer.

Or, perhaps there were no mourners at all.
[He was adrift in the waters of uncertainty and loneliness
Unable to rediscover who he was through the memories of others
And unsure where to turn for renewal and strength.]

A light shines in the distance. The man looks up.
In spite of himself, he moves toward it,
Hope blossoming in singularity of purpose
Like the Night Blooming Cereus.

The pearl white onion turns on its axis,
Gleaming in the phosphorescent glow of
The motes of reality streaming around it.

Little by little the layers slough off.
Little by little the mystery of the Thing
Shines through the translucent layers

Until nothing is left but the Core,
The naked seed that was there before the
Thing had shape, before its veined layers

Emitted such noxious fumes that
Tears sprang from those who dared to
Look beneath the layers of the bleached orb.

He walks toward the Light
Searching for warmth to comfort
His naked soul.

The layers are gone now
Forgotten for the moment,

His raw soul aching for comfort.

The Light beckons him forward.
He stands there, attempting to
Cover his nakedness.

“Why do you hide?”
“I am ashamed.”
The tears come of their own accord.

“I need You.”

He sat there bare as the day he was borne from his
Mother’s safe compartmentalized basket of denial,
Into the world of real image and make-believe belief.

Exposed as he was, he did not move to cover himself;
He preferred his nakedness to the counterfeit comfort
Of the proffered silk robes that promised only soulless death.

Now he stands, stretching in the warmth of the midday sun.
Turning toward the light, he is dazzled by the power of the
Glowing disc and cries out, releasing the joy at the freedom he feels.

“Let freedom sing,”
He calls in the glowing light,
“Let freedom sing,
For God has given me
Back my soul and burned away
My cloak of despair;
Let freedom sing!”

He turns East and sees there mists of memory and truth;
Lessons learned, friendships cherished,
Tears shed, laughter happily remembered.

He turns West and knows there clarity of purpose;
Lessons to be shared, friendships to be nurtured,
Tears and laughter yet to become memories.

His step forward is sure and proud.

(this was kinda inspired by the last rites of my friend's dad)