I settled on my knees at the base of a wall, my world of burdens weighing on my mind. I have come to the wall out of desperation; to seek solitude and deliverance from my burdens. I am overwhelmed with tears of exhaustion. I’m exhausted from fighting my own will, from struggling against the conflicts of my life. I am exhausted from life. I tried to ignore my cargo again and again, but it became so large I had to deal with it.
I had no intention of coming to this wall, but to it I was led. I am not one to be caught on me knees, a position of weakness and surrender, but here I am. As I struggle against my desires to run my eyes search the wall. I need some sort of answer or something to distract me from my pain. Some type of magical remedy that will free me from my own evil.
Finally, an anomaly. A brick out of place. My mind is relieved that I can dwell on something other than my sorrows so I focus in on the object. Mystically, the figure grows closer and closer to me. My eyes deceive me as the far away image seems to come to life. Finally I am able to discern what it is. As the object approaches all I can is a picture of a man. His arms are out to his side by his waist and his palms are facing me. He seems to be floating. I do not know why but I assume it is him who is controlling the picture to come closer and closer. It is a stained glass window in the wall and its vibrant colours seem to leap out at me. The image is almost at me now as it hovers above my head. Then it stops.
My eyes are captivated by its beauty and for a moment I have forgotten all the sorrows that lead me to this place. Everything about the man in the picture is majestic and dignified. His body portrays such elegance yet his face is blank. I look at it deeply, excepting some hidden wonder but I find nothing beneath his blank shallow stare. It is as though his face was cut out from a magazine and pasted onto the painting; it does not match its surroundings.
I stare at this picture with a sense of awe and wonder. Who created a beauty such as this? I wish I could meet the artist to congratulate him or her. To my amazement, as I look at the image the colours seem to become more and more vibrant, something I did not even think possible. The individual glass pieces seem to leave their holdings and float above me. They shine so much my eyes begin to hurt but I cannot look away. They float and soar and hover and… fall. In a snap the pieces collapse to the floor. Every single shard falls from its place of glory and lands in pieces on the ground. Some land in my outstretched hands that I had no recollection of reaching for. My mind forgot to realize that the shrapnel may be sharp as I encumber my hands around them to catch them. They cut deep into my calloused hands causing blood to start seeping. I do not even feel the pain as I am so mesmerized that something of such beauty could be destroyed so swiftly in front of my eyes. All that is left in the wall is a gaping hole and the outline of what used to be a masterpiece.
Distressed, my heart yearns for the pieces in my hands. Did I cause this glory to shatter? Again my mind returns to the burdens of my heart and I have forgotten the peace I had felt only moments ago. I begin to sob as guilt, shame, and anger wash over me at my own stupidity. I hate myself; a deep passionate hate. How could I be so dumb? My rage grows as each passing thought of hatred plants more and more seeds of agony into my soul. I clench my fists, forgetting the glass shards and scream in anguish. My affliction is too great, my burden too strong. I am overwhelmed and want nothing more then to through myself against the floor again and again. Why?
Before I can do anything the glare of red catches my eye. The blood from my hands is now flowing onto the ground. As I see this I can do nothing but cry. What have I become? In defeat I fall from my hardened position and just sit on the floor observing my hands. Why am I so overcome with this force? The glass from the window begins to knit with my tears and blood. Before I can question it this concoction has formed a silver mercury liquid in my palms. There are no longer any scars or gaping wounds, just this liquid replacing my blood. In front of my eyes my skin absorbs the liquid until there is no more. I am so overwhelm with exhaustion and disgust and hate and brokenness that I do not have room to question this act. I can only believe. I can feel the fluid move through my body; through my blood. From my hands to my arms to my chest it flows and I can do nothing to stop it. As it shoots up my spine a feeling so intense occurs that I cannot even describe it. It is like power and passion and peace and joy and love all rush through my body at the same time. It is overwhelming beyond compare and yet it is… comforting. It resides in my soul and exhilarates my heart but with it comes a sense of serenity. A greater peace then I have ever felt before. The burden that had almost destroyed me is lifted like a bucket from a well. It is tossed aside and replaced with a flowing, redeeming water that is indescribable. For once in my life I feel free. And then…
I blink. I open my eyes and I am once again kneeling at the emotionless wall. Shock runs through me as I try to recall what had just happened. It was real… wasn’t it? I search for the passion I had only just felt. What was going on? Then I look up to see the portrait still there. The man was the same once again, the same dignified presence and poise. He was in the same position with the same background surrounding him and yet something was completely different. My eyes are caught by his face. No longer was it the blank, expressionless face that had dwelt there before but it had been replaced by something new. It had been replaced by a countenance immersed with sorrow and pain. It contained a silent burden that forced the owner to grimace. A face I related to so intimately and could recall effortlessly. And then I remembered. I remembered the peace. I remembered the serenity. I remembered the grace.