Sunday, August 26, 2012
A Prayer for the Dying
Let them struggle to understand until there is only confusion,
and in the centre of that confusion show them their inherent clarity.
Make them courageous by taking away all of their hope,
and let them weep until their stomachs hurt,
until their tears melt into laughter.
Love them by destroying them.
And when they are more alone than ever,
show them an intimacy they cannot imagine.
Make them suffer until they are exhausted from fighting You,
make their pain great enough so that all their concepts turn to ash.
Let them never know what they are looking for,
but make them keep looking anyway,
as if their lives depended on it.
Give them time to read their books and listen to their teachers,
give them time to build up mountains of knowledge,
give them certainty and pride and a sense of security.
And then let their books rot,
and turn their teachers into hypocrites,
and make them doubt and forget everything they’ve learned.
And make them stand alone, facing You,
naked and without protection,
and let them tremble,
let them piss and shit themselves with fear,
let all facades fall away.
And then let them into the great secret,
that they are loved beyond words,
in their nakedness, in their failure, in their ignorance,
in everything they were running away from.
That they are you.
That your face is their face.
That nothing ever happened at all.
I wonder if those who didn't survive the holocaust felt the love in the end...I really wonder.
I'm standing there right now without protection, facing life, facing fears and grieving. It is the opposite of joy, but its part of life nonetheless, just like joy is. I am, and so I embrace all the pain I'm going through.
There is lots of anger in me for those hypocrites.