i had come responding to love’s call

…..I had come responding to Love’s call, responding to the one who had taught me how to Love, who had taught me how to feel Love’s Presence, how to let Love flow, and in the moment when I entered that place of Loving, that place of prayer for her, I longed for her to feel embraced, to feel surrounded, to feel comforted and held… by Love, as it flowed from me to her through the One who is the endless Source of Love….

I drove to the hospital that frosty evening, driven by my love for her. And as I approached the parking lot, I expected there would be a price to pay, a cost for following my heart, but I found the gates were open at that time of night. So I left my car unlocked, and stepped into the crystal darkness, oblivious to the cold, absorbed as I was in my love for her.
A gasp of warmth exhaled upon me as I entered the vestibule of this sanctuary of healing, where pain is breathed upon by the comfort of Divine Love. And as I walked deliberately down the long and lonely corridor to the place of waiting, I recognized in the semitransparent, yet smoky glass which lined the passageway, esoteric reflections of myself.
I peered into the anteroom where I had come to seek her, but I did not find her there. So I entered alone and waited, yearning for her to come, longing to embrace her, desiring only to be with her, simply needing to Love.
I hadn’t come prepared in anyway, I’d brought nothing with me for the wait. Mindless garbage magazines cluttered the tabletops along with the rest of the day’s trash, remnants of meager nourishment. Perhaps they’d served their purpose of distraction, yet I had not come to merely be distracted, I had come to be present to her pain. I had come to bring to her the sustenance of Love. So I closed my eyes to the chaos of the littered chamber and went compassionately inside to quietly sit as I waited for her to come.
I noted jigsaw puzzles upon the rack, which no one had bothered to unshelve, as if putting together the sawn-apart pieces was too tedious a task. They preferred instead to divert their attention away from their fragmented anguish with the senseless cacophony of the TV.
And yet the pain was so palpable there, that even as a mere observer in this inner room, there was no avoiding death’s seductive touch, for you could breathe it in the air. And as I felt its infiltrating presence envelope me, I invited Divine Love to come instead into those quarters and wrap us in her arms. Silently, I inhaled Love’s quiet mercy as I exhaled compassion for the pain there in that place.
Gradually the others left, one by one relinquishing their vigil for the day, too weary or perhaps too frightened to linger into the night. They wrapped themselves in winter’s heavy cloaks for protection from life’s cold reality. And we were left alone, myself and one small family, sitting in the silence, in this waiting-room.
It was at this point that I realized that the one for whom I thought I had come was gone. And though I no longer knew why I was sitting there, I Knew there was some reason Love had called me to this place of healing, and that I had simply not found her yet. And so I calmly waited, breathing in the silence, infusing and absorbing Love.
Then her voice broke through the stillness “Are you waiting for someone, too?” she asked.
“Yes” I honestly replied.
Her young daughter asked me if I had any babies, to which I responded “Yes, I have some babies, but they are not so small as yours.” And then she asked their names.
A bond of trust was forged then as connections began to form inside this compassionate chamber where healing was awaited. And she finally intuited that, somehow as a mother, I understood her pain, her agony of helpless impotence, when faced with the inability to stop the suffering inflicted on her precious child. Wordlessly, I shared her sorrow, the anguish of her powerless vulnerability, as she wrestled with relinquishing her child to a stranger’s knife.
And then I simply sat with her. Occasionally, she would punctuate the silence with details about the infant son, the one for whom she waited, the one who had been born to her such a short time ago, the one whose pain she could not stop. At one point she lamented that she didn’t know where they had taken him, and anguished over what was taking them so very long. And I could feel her aching with expectancy and fear, for she couldn’t be certain that he would return to her or that his pain would cease.
I waited patiently with her, listening to her story, until he came at last with good news, the good news that her son had survived the pain of senseless torture, the good news that he had been restored to her, the good news that he had triumphed over surgery’s dark tomb. And then I gently rose from my seat, and slipped quietly away, for I knew that my purpose there had been fulfilled, to sit with Love through the fear of death until the good news arrived.
His name was Daniel, the infant son, and upon reflection as I withdrew, I concluded that he was aptly christened….as one who abides in faith in the face of the lion.
Then, retracing my steps, I wound my way back through the labyrinth of corridors, to emerge anew into the brisk evening air by way of the asylum’s portal, which once again exhaled upon me its passionate discharge of recuperative breath. The heavens were bestrewn with a bounteous array of luminous celestial bodies, and as I gazed upon them, I perceived on some unknown level that I somehow embodied within me, a bit of their astral glow, a spark of Divine Love. And then I climbed back into my more modest means of conveyance to travel home again, to share the story of Love with my companion, to behold, and to be beheld by, the adoring eyes of manifest Love, eyes which at once pondered the Light, as they absorbed the remarkable afterglow.

….I had come responding to Love’s call…..

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: very early healing pieces « Emmaatlast’s Weblog

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