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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/729699-Shadows
by Clos
Rated: ASR · Column · Spiritual · #729699
What it feels like to be separated from God, and how to overcome it (sort of)
         He solemnly lifts his eyes to the wall, tracing the silky figures gliding before him.
         Dear Lord, I… I don’t know what to say to you right now. Why is it so hard all of a sudden? You know, right? You know I love you, don’t you? You know I love you with all of my heart? Please say yes…
         Standing there, his arms stiffly crossed, his piercing eyes travel with the dark entities in front of him, watching their movement; he longed to be with them so, but he could not.
         This is supposed to be my alone time with you, right… Then why do I feel like it’s alone time without you… Why do I feel like it’s just…me?
         Listening to the words and the music, his heart cries, but the tears would not come, because he never let them.
         Let them come…
         I shame you so often, I constantly disappoint… I’m not perfect, I know that, but there’s gotta be something wrong with me if I keep messing up like this. I hate it.. I really do…

         Brows furrowed, he shuts his eyes, welcoming the darkness, savoring the isolation smothering his soul. The music continues, and his heart cries desperately.
         I hate the separation, God, I hate not being close to you… But I say that, and then I go do something that separates me from you. Why am I like this? Please Lord, help me… I need you… I need you desperately… more than anything else…
         Clutching his sides in a distracted attempt to comfort himself, he cracks open the black gates ever so slightly, once again seeing the ghostly figures moving back and forth.
         I don’t know what to say to you… I never do anymore… Everything I say or promise I just screw up anyway… Sometimes I think I’m better off without you… you know? Sometimes I think my life was better before…
         The sunlight grazing his backside softens slightly, blurring the images before him. One of the silhouettes moves closer to his own blurred statue; he winces as the two forms merge. He slowly reaches out his hand toward the wall, almost longingly, and then the figure is moving on.
         I’m crawlin back, Lord, for the tenth time over. Can you accept me? Can you love me? That’s all I want… That’s all I need… your love…
         His eyes begin to water passionately, he can feel it boiling up ever so slowly within him; yet he would not let them come. Locking his eyes shut and shaking his head, he forces the weakness away from him.
         Let them come, let them out…
         They glide so serenely, so softly… he squeezes his eyes tighter. The sun once again streams brightly through the open window behind him, giving the spirits clear forms once more… he covers his eyes with his trembling hands, struggling to drive the images out. They are so peaceful, it seems, so content, so…happy.
         Look at them Lord, look at all of them… I’d like to call them my friends… but what if they knew what I felt? They know you…they’re close to you…please…that‘s all I want…
         He snaps open his eyes, expecting to see those beautiful creatures, wanting to see those beautiful creatures sailing tranquilly across the open wall, but they have gone. Looking around, he sees that he is completely, utterly alone.
         Father, let them come, let them out...
         On the blank wall before him, almost motionless, remains one figure. Hunched down, curled into a tight ball, the figure trembles uncontrollably. It rocks back and forth, clutching at its’ sides desperately for some sense of comfort.
         I’m sorry Lord, I’m sorry for everything I do that doesn’t please you… Because you and I both know I do so much. I’m still young, Lord, I’m still learning, and I want to know your will… Please…just…give me another chance…
         He moves toward the wall, curious, wondering. Leaning down, he reaches out tentatively, but does not touch.
         Letting his fingertips softly graze the icy stone, they come to rest just inches away from the desolate figure. What, who, was this? He throws a quick furtive glance over his shoulder; the basement is empty. He didn’t understand. There were people here just a second ago…Is this a dream?
         Let them come, let them out…
         Bringing his eyes to wall once more, he sees that the figure has begun crying. He glimpses small black drops falling from the figures’ face, making soft splashes on the ground below. The mass of darkness before him shudders wildly. He finally summons the courage to move his hand that extra few inches… He spreads his palm flat on the cold surface of the figure’s head, and shuts his eyes.
         I’m filled with grief Lord, filled with hate for myself…How can I call myself a Christian when I do so many impure things…I try…I really do…but I don’t try hard enough…
         His body jolts suddenly, in sync with the figure on the wall, and an immense pain engulfs his heart, his very soul. Gasping and clutching his chest with his free hand, he tries to pull away from the wall, but can’t.
         Father, let them come, let them out…please…please...
         Images flood his eyes, painful memories assault his senses. His chest feels heavy as though filled with lead, and he falls to his knees with a sudden, painful thud.
         Father, let them come, let them out…please…please…help me…
         He blearily opens his eyes, tears streaking through his eyelids and down his face. Finally abandoning his strength, finally letting the tears come, he presses his face against the wall, his smooth cheeks scraping against the rough granite.
         I’m sorry Lord, I’m sorry… for everything… please…love me…love me…because I love you so much…your love is endless Lord, your love is forever…I know that much at least…
         Suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder. Snapping his eyes open, he quickly looks up at the wall, which is now completely black, and then up into the face of his friend. He’s back, back with everyone in the dark basement. The worship music can still be heard drifting ever so softly across the room. There is no more sun, no more shadows; only him, hunched down on the floor against the wall, his hands tear-streaked.
          Slowly rising, he sees his friend through blurred, teary vision beckoning him over to join the group and get the meeting started. Clutching his sides once more, he slowly moves toward the collection of warm, smile-filled faces, leaving the grief and disconsolation pooled on the floor behind him.
         I love you with all my heart Lord…and… I guess…that’s all that matters…yeah…that’s all that matters…

Carlos Figueroa
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