Destruction.
Death.
These words dance on the hot breeze that blows through the valley as he looks out upon it. The sun mercilessly scorches, almost chuckling at the discomfort it can cause. Is this real, what lies before him in this valley, this steaming bowl of hot dry earth? Or is this the man's mind merely playing tricks on him?
Dense hard pieces outline the forms that were once living breathing humans, oh so long ago. An army of hundreds, strong and fierce, unwillingly laid to rest where vultures and jackals are kings over corpses. An army, full of brave young men, taken by surprise and ruthlessly obliterated, like the downpour defeats the drought. What a battle scene it must have been, not enough survivors to even bury fallen comrades.
Tell them they will come to life.
I will breathe breath, I will breathe My Spirit into them
and they will live once more.
What?! These bones have been lying here for ages, Lord. They are past the point of saving . . . aren't they? Alright, I will, I guess, speak to dead bones? That is what You've asked.
The words begin to flow, up from his vocal cords, floating over his tongue, and finally burst from his mouth. As he speaks, a noise catches his attention. A rattling, a clicking . . . what is happening?!
Like an anatomical jigsaw, these sun-bleached petrified marrow-less pieces are finding their places, guided by an unseen hand. Click. Click. Click. The first puzzle is finished, a full skeleton the product.
But as soon as the last click of that first skeleton echoes, muscles and sinews and tendons and ligaments, all varying shades of white and red and pink slither across the bones, constricting the possibility of life into, instead of out of, them. By now ten, twenty, thirty bodies have begun to be covered, all of it grotesque but at the same time, beautiful.
Finally comes the skin, armor from the elements, and hair, eyes, fingernails. But these bodies are still corpses. They are bodies without life, without breath . . . without Spirit.
Speak to the breath, to the Spirit.
Call it from the north, the south, the east and west.
Tell it to enter these slain men.
Tell it to enter, so they may once more live.
Without question this time, the words fly from the man's mouth. He expects power, strength, an overwhelming force. Something mighty to signify the astounding transformation he knows is about to occur.
Instead, a gentle and steady breeze begins to blow, teasing the ends of his robe, softly caressing his whole being. It twirls and skips and dances. Soon is heard a sigh; then two, three, eight, fifteen . . . too many to number so quickly. And now before the man, ancient limbs move, eyes see, hearts beat. That which was dead with no hope has been given a chance, has been given the Spirit so life might once again be theirs.
A girl, away from home. Her boyfriend, whose words promised forever but actions foretold never, left her high and dry with nothing but the coat on her back and the drugs in its pocket.
A boy, sitting in the driver's seat of a car whose owner he does not know, nor wishes to know. White knuckles grip the steering wheel, heavy foot presses the accelerator, speeding him away from the danger of capture by both the law and his fear.
A woman, the emptiness inside so heavy, as if its made of physical bricks and not abstract events. She's tried to fill it with everything, anything, nothing - each only weighs her down even more.
Tell them they can live again. Tell them I will breathe into them my Spirit.
Call upon the breath, the Spirit and tell it to enter these, whom
you thought were beyond hope. Tell it to enter, so they may once more live.
No one is beyond saving. No one is past the point of no return. No one has gone too far that hope has disappeared.
One Breath can bring anyone back to life.
Call it from the north, the south, the east and west.
Tell it to enter these slain men.
Tell it to enter, so they may once more live.
Without question this time, the words fly from the man's mouth. He expects power, strength, an overwhelming force. Something mighty to signify the astounding transformation he knows is about to occur.
Instead, a gentle and steady breeze begins to blow, teasing the ends of his robe, softly caressing his whole being. It twirls and skips and dances. Soon is heard a sigh; then two, three, eight, fifteen . . . too many to number so quickly. And now before the man, ancient limbs move, eyes see, hearts beat. That which was dead with no hope has been given a chance, has been given the Spirit so life might once again be theirs.
A girl, away from home. Her boyfriend, whose words promised forever but actions foretold never, left her high and dry with nothing but the coat on her back and the drugs in its pocket.
A boy, sitting in the driver's seat of a car whose owner he does not know, nor wishes to know. White knuckles grip the steering wheel, heavy foot presses the accelerator, speeding him away from the danger of capture by both the law and his fear.
A woman, the emptiness inside so heavy, as if its made of physical bricks and not abstract events. She's tried to fill it with everything, anything, nothing - each only weighs her down even more.
Tell them they can live again. Tell them I will breathe into them my Spirit.
Call upon the breath, the Spirit and tell it to enter these, whom
you thought were beyond hope. Tell it to enter, so they may once more live.
No one is beyond saving. No one is past the point of no return. No one has gone too far that hope has disappeared.
One Breath can bring anyone back to life.
No comments:
Post a Comment