Healing Hands

“Healing Light”

The Begger

The dry heat the new day brought was intense.  A rectangular shaft of sunlight poured in through the square opening in the dirt wall.  Sunlight crept silently across the hard dirt floor toward the place where the old man slept.  It squeezed the blind man from his sleep; the new day’s light, and pushed him up from the part of the room where he laid. He was lucky to have shelter. Most beggars slept on the pathways and allies with little more than an old discarded blanket for warmth.  After a meager breakfast of hard bread, that he kept wrapped in a worn linen rag, and water, the man gathered his staff, which served as his eyes, and began his journey down the hot, empty, dirt streets of the small desert city in which he had lived all of his improvised life.  The streets were empty because of the early hour and because it was the Sabbath.  These desert people observed the Sabbath with devotion to God. Other daily routines were abandoned.  The walk to his destination just outside of the stone walls of the City of David was not long.  It was his daily ritual.  The short journey was committed to the memory of his hands through the slight imperfections found in the dusty road at the end of his staff.  Because of the holy day, he didn’t expect much foot traffic on the main road leading into the city. Still, even if one kind soul passed his way and gave some food or a spare parcel of clothing, his day spent sitting in the dirt, under the hot sun, would be well worth his trials.  

He always sat in the same spot; picked because it was easiest seen by travelers to and from the city. There was no dignity in sitting in the dirt and begging for whatever kindness a passerby might offer, but it was all this blind man could do to sustain his life. It was how he survived. He had little other choice.  At very least he needed to eat, and the kindness of strangers is what he relied upon to satisfy his hunger. But it was the Sabbath and there would be little foot traffic along the road today.  

From the East, in the direction of the Mount of Olives, he heard them approach. The sound of their sandaled feet told him that it was a small group of men. Strangely though, he almost “felt” them approach before any of his other senses perceived them.  The feeling was one of calmness or peace and as they got closer, it embraced him. He could hear them talking, but could not make out exactly what was being said. It sounded as if they were arguing or having an animated debate. He heard one of the men call another of them, teacher.  As they approached, their pace slowed and their conversation ceased. They stopped in front of him. Oddly, the heat of the day cooled and a slight breeze came from the direction the men had come, in the same peaceful way that the sense of calm had preceded the group. He stretched out his hand in anticipation of an act of charitable kindness.   There was nothing but silence in response, a gentle silence that lasted several moments.  Then the one who had been called teacher softly proclaimed,

“While I’m in the world, I am the light of the world…”

A few more peaceful moments passed and the teacher spat into the dirt between he and the blind beggar.  He reached down and collected some of the newly made mud onto his fingertips and began smearing it gently onto the blind man’s eyes. The beggar felt love in the teacher’s touch. He felt love like he’d never experienced. He felt love that was pure. The love that was in the teacher’s heart was made felt in the beggars being. His body felt it. It saturated his body and soul with warmth and peace. It was exhilarating and calming at the same time. It soothed and energized. It made him feel as though he was home. It was comforting.  It was life altering. It was humble and powerful. It was unconditional.  He was in the presence of the greatest love of all. 

The teacher then told him, “Go and wash in the Pool of Siloam”, and he, and his followers, departed toward the City of David.

Gathering himself, he left his staff behind.  The beggar followed the aqueducts that fed the pool. He did not walk, he floated, and at least that is how it felt to him.  Siloam was a small naturally formed pool in the natural rock formations that occurred in the landscape around the city.  It was fed by two aqueducts that carried the water from the Gihon Spring. The blind beggar descended down to the water’s edge. The feeling of love that the teacher had given him was growing and radiated throughout his entire body and continued to fill him.  

The radiant light inside him was almost visible, like a halo.  He slowly lowered his hands into the water and cupped them in the cool spring. He brought the water toward his face. He bowed his head down that his face would meet his hands. The cool water washed the now dry mud from his eyes. It cleansed him. Suddenly, he was bathed in a sensation he’d never experienced.  Miraculously, the beggar who was born without sight began to see the light of day.  The love the teacher had given him, that grew with every passing second, had healed him.  Where there was darkness, there was now light.

From that moment forward, the beggar saw the world through the vision given to him by the healer of men, the one that brought light into darkness. The beggar could now see the world with sight created with unconditional love.  When he looked into the eyes of the world, he could see what the healer saw in him; darkness where there was an absence of light.  And like the healer, he would touch those that had darkness and bring the healer’s light of love to those he touched. He passed on the healing touch of love to those with darkness, giving them the healer’s great love. Like the beggar, they, in turn, would see darkness and bring light. The ability to bring the healer’s light into darkness was passed on, again and again down through the ages and on into forever. Those that had been touched by the healing hands of love were able to see and find darkness just as clearly as the beggar did. Years and generations passed and the healing touch continued on with the same vitality as the day the healer of men touched the blind beggar alongside the road to the City of David as he walked with his disciples.  The light of the world would continue on through time and continue to light the darkness.

  ------------------ 2000 Years Later  ------------------

Katherine

The night was still and moonless. The finger tips of the tree branches that lined the quiet two laned street touched over its centerline and hung peacefully atop this traveler as she sped on her way to her calling; a calling that woke her from a sound sleep at 2 AM.  From the moment she heard it, she felt the rush and the urgency and the need. She made little haste in donning her green scrub pants and teddy bear patterned smock. As she readied herself, her heart filled with anticipation and anxiousness. An acute and intuitive awareness of what needed to be done stole her every thought and movement.  She began to focus keenly on the task that was at hand. The call was strong. It always was. It was profound. It was clear. Mostly, it was desperate.  The call of an infant was always strong and loud. Life hadn’t had a chance to clutter or compromise their needs or their ability to scream out for help. For the young and innocent, vulnerability comes very easily.  They don’t hide it as a weakness like adults do.  As her car sped through the lonely streets of suburban Boston, Katherine’s single minded focus became honed.  Her only thought, “Get to that poor innocent infant before it’s too late”.  She drove fast and without notice of her surroundings. She often wondered how she got to the hospital without running dozens of red lights. At times like this, maybe she did. 

The parking lot of the hospital was empty.  Katherine quickly found a spot near the ER entrance and her car screeched to a stop. She rushed through the ER and made her way to the closest elevators that would land her on the 4^th floor of the hospital; Labor and Delivery. Arriving on the 4^th floor, Katherine didn’t wait for the doors to fully open as she quickly exited the elevator and moved down the hall toward the nurse’s station that was planted in the center of the floor. It was surrounded by the nursery and several L&D rooms, most of which were vacant.  It was now that Katherine felt as though she were floating.  She had no sense of the movement of her arms and legs. It could best be described as a surreal slow motion.  She was fully consumed with her task and had little sense of anything else. 

“I knew it. I knew it. I knew you’d be coming off that elevator. I just knew it”.

Katherine’s friend, Sophie, a long time colleague and old classmate from nursing school looked up from the desk area where she worked and pointed at Katherine as Katherine approached the large counter top. It was shaped like a semi circle and bordered the nurses’ station where Sophie sat.

 Sophie wasn’t surprised to see Katherine appear two and a half hours early for her shift, but she asked anyway, “What are you doing here?”

 “Couldn’t sleep, thought I’d come in a bit early”, Katherine’s reply seemed scripted and was dismissive.  She looked past Sophie toward the ICU nursery. 

With intent, Katherine asked, “Any little ones in ICU tonight”. 

Katherine was like the cavalry for the L&D floor and Massachusetts General; the cavalry with a sixth sense.  Sophie had seen it before, an infant on the edge of life and death, mostly on the side of death, and suddenly Katherine would appear regardless of the hour of the day or night, or her actual work schedule. Like every other time, Katherine’s entire being was focused and she seemed distant but very aware.  

“There’s a poor little preemie in crib 7. He’s been in and out of shock since Dr. Medders delivered him at two. I’d give you his history, but I know you’d just…” Sophie’s voice trailed off as Katherine headed for the entrance to the ICU. She lost Katherine just after the words, crib 7 and was pretty much just talking to herself after that.  

Katherine entered the ICU nursery. It felt as if she was moving in slower motion than before. Her eyes immediately found crib 7 which was one of the cribs used for infants that were delivered prematurely.  It was an incubator covered by clear plastic that was a part of a life supporting oxygen tent.  Alongside the plastic acrylic crib stood monitors that blipped and beeped green lights, numbers and bouncing lines. “There he is, my poor little guy”, Katherine whispered to herself, “my poor little guy”.  In the center of the crib, she saw the tiniest little bundle of soft white cloth with a tiny, tiny little face peering out from the top end.  “Oh my God, he is soooo precious”, she thought.  As she moved closer to the crib her sense of panic and desperation began to quell and it was replaced with growing euphoria.  Then there was a pause, a silent moment where all time stopped and the only people in the world that existed were Katherine and the tiny little boy,  instinctively hanging on to life and waiting. The moment was saturated with anticipation. Goosebumps appeared on Katherine’s arms as they did on the infant’s arms.   She approached the crib. She slowly reached her hands down toward the bottom edge of the plastic oxygen tent. It now was out of her hands. She was no longer in control of her actions or movements. She was an observer. Like a spectator, she watched her hands carefully raise the plastic tent. Sound was absent, only movement was apparent.  Once raised back far enough, her hands gently reached down to the tiny precious life that lay before her. So tiny, heart racing, breaths so fast, the infant turned toward Katherine as if he knew her and why she was there. One of her slow moving healing hands found the infants body. She gently rested the palm of her hand on the soft white linen blanket. Her hand all but covered the tiny baby’s torso. Her other hand softly cupped the top of the little infant’s head. As her hands came to the resting spot they had so wanted to be since her awakening at 2 AM, a brilliant light appeared in the Infant Intensive Care Unit of Massachusetts General Hospital. A light that emanated from the spots where Katherine’s hands touched the infant’s body.  At that moment, the tiny four hour old baby was awash in love, pure unconditional love; healing love. Love from the greatest healer of all was now his. Katherine’s mission was now complete. Where once there was darkness, now there was light.

The peaceful bliss was interrupted by the sound of Sophie’s voice.  In a soft tone, almost a whisper, she said “His name is Luke, dear”.

Katherine slowly turned, as if awakening from a state of semi consciousness. The best she could muster was, “huh?”. 

“That little guy whose vital signs have miraculously stabilized. His name is Luke”. Sophie’s tone was a mixture of admiration and amazement.  

“Oh… Luke”, Katherine mumbled.

       ------------------ 35 Years Later ------------------

Return Home

Luke rested his head against the plastic wall that flanked his window seat in aisle 7 of the airliner that was slowly filling with passengers. Half conscious he stared at the baggage crew loading bags on the hot, muggy tarmac below.  Most bags now-a-days look the same. So do most baggage handlers as they toss the cargo onto a conveyor belt which slowed the process to half speed. No matter how quickly they worked, the conveyor was the great equalizer of time, slowing the pace of the entire process to half what it should be.  Funny how no matter where you are in the world, men that jerk bags for a living all look and move the same.  It’s as if there is a single baggage choreographer that coordinates their movements in airports across the globe.  It’s why watching them gave no clues as to what airport one might be. It’s what made Luke realize that in his over tired state that, for a moment, he’d forgotten where he was.  For a few seconds he couldn’t remember the name of the airline on which he was about to depart… Christ, he barely remembered his own name.  “It’s been too many times. Too many places”,   he thought to himself.  The only thing Luke knew for sure was that he was tired. Tired from a lack of sleep, an abundance of jetlag, but mostly tired from pushing the darkness away; a task so heavy that it had physicalness to it. It was palpable. It had weight and it was dark. It felt as though it hung around his neck and it dragged him down. It was pushing this darkness, sadness and this pain that emptied and weakened him. It’s what had beckoned him to this part of the world that he was about to leave.

“Costa Rica”, Luke thought to himself. “I’ve been in Costa Rica”.  A sense of relief quelled the panic of losing touch with reality as he recalled the most basic facts of his current situation. His recollection of the last 72 hours came in bits and pieces. Eventually, when he finally got home, his journey would be remembered in a detached way, almost as if he had been a spectator to the entire event rather than one of its two main characters. Maybe it was Luke’s mind trying to numb reality.  In his head, He would see it like a black and white movie with no soundtrack. The quiet only served to make the feature more surreal.  The parts charged with the most emotion would play in stop action, at least until the end. The end was always in color and was the most emotionally filled. The smiles at the end were always in vivid, vibrant color: the colors of happiness and peace and the colors that are left when darkness is removed and light is abundant.  It always played out the same way, no differently than any of the other dozens of times he made this exact same trip over and over again to the far ends of the earth and his own backyard… Trips? More like missions actually.  

He prayed that this would be the last time. Like all the other times, he begged God for solace.  He prayed that he could finally rest and let this movie fade without being replaced by a new version.  He prayed that, this time, when the weight slackened, it would be for good.  But most of all, he prayed that the voices, the cries, would stop. Not that he would stop hearing them, but that no one else would need to cry out for help, that there would be an end to the darkness… and hence no more need for someone to push its heaviness away,  no need for more trips to foreign lands, no more need for Luke.  Prayers such as this are futile. There is always sadness and darkness. Just like there is always peace and light.  Luke knew this was the true balance of things. It was natural in the truest sense of the word. No matter, Luke was so tired. That’s all he really knew for sure.  As the wheels of the jetliner left the ground, Luke’s exhaustion smothered him and he fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Luke pulled into the driveway pushing the garage door remote as he turned the steering wheel.  Still tired from his long journey he never saw Molly’s car that was parked in front of the garage door, blocking his way.  He parked next to Molly’s car and headed for the house. Fall came early and there was briskness in the air. He loved autumn in Georgia. Fall eased and made more subtle the closure Winter brought to the year. He entered his home through the side door with his carry-on in tow.  Molly was in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner.  The aroma of a home cooked meal still lingered.  It was comforting to Luke. Molly was a good cook, thank God.  Cooking was not technically a part of Molly’s duties as a caregiver, but over the years she took on additional tasks around their home, more out of kindness then the extra compensation Luke so generously provided.

 “How is she, Molly”, Luke asked. He already knew the answer, but asked more from habit than actual curiosity. 

“She’s asleep Mr. St. James.  She had a pretty good day. We got some fresh air and I took her for a walk. But she was tired just after super, so I got her to bed”. 

Alexandria’s fatigue came earlier and earlier in the day over the past year.  The disease was making progress in spite of the medications, therapies, holistic remedies, doctor’s advice and prayers.  It made her more and more reliant upon others help with everything from getting out of bed to washing her hair.  Watching her lose her ability to move was particularly desperate and such a sharp contrast to how Alexandria once gracefully moved as a dancer.  She was born a dancer. She was born with a gift. Her gift was her passion and it poured from her when she was on point, on stage, arms extended like blades of long, long grass that hung on a soft breeze.   Her movement could transition in a moment, from silent stillness to a crescendo of explosive motion. It was always passionate, passion that filled a theater and the souls of every person watching.  Alexandria’s dance was inspiring and when Luke saw her dance, her inspiration pulled tears from his eyes. Her passion shined so brightly in her eyes. It was in her all the time. It gave her light and it shined all the time. But this was another life.  Almost forgotten, now her movement was reduced to being pulled in and out of her wheelchair. Her light was extinguished. Now there was sadness, darkness. 

“I’ll finish the kitchen” Luke said, “You get home to your family, Molly. Thanks for everything.” 

“But Mr. St. James, you look so tired and you must be exhausted from your trip” Molly replied.

“No, no, no Molly, you have done enough. Go home and say hi to Ed and the kids for me”. Luke handed her purse to her and walked her to the door. He closed the door behind her, locked it and began to finish putting the dishes away.

*********************************************************************

Revealed

At first Luke only could see it in people’s faces, actually in their eyes. He really didn’t give it much thought. He could see it for as long as he can remember and before his gift had sharpened to the point of hearing it without having to see it. Seeing it was second nature to him. He didn’t try to see it and gave it as much thought as noticing a person’s hair color.  He actually thought that it was something that everyone else could see too; after all it was right there. It wasn’t that hard. It wasn’t like people hid it from the world.  It wasn’t until many years ago that Luke realized that not everyone could see what he saw. He and Alexandria were at a restaurant and Luke observed that the waitress held a particularly great deal of darkness.

He mentioned it to Alexandria, “My God, that poor soul is so sad”.

She answered, “What on earth of your talking about, my love?”

‘What do you mean? You saw her. Didn’t you see her eyes? She is so sad. I just felt sorry for her”. 

Alexandria looked confused, “Luke, what arrrrrrrre you talking about?”

The exchange led into a conversation that lasted for hours.  At the end, Luke was shocked to find that not everyone could see what he saw. How could people not see it?  It was right there for everyone to see. It was in their eyes. Nothing really masked it. Even the sparkle brought by laughter was somewhat dulled by it.  It was darkness and it was right there. The more thought he gave it though, the more he realized that there was more to it than just seeing their darkness. It had energy to it or maybe it was a lack of energy. Oddly enough, for Luke, it was almost like magnetism and he was drawn to it. He couldn’t help but look into their sad eyes. The urge to touch these people was strong. His urge was intuitive and compelling.  At times he had to stop his hand from reaching up and gently placing it on their wrist, shoulder or the small of their back. Sometimes his compulsion was too much and he would lay his hand on them briefly. It was very natural and never met with resistance or objection. In an unspoken way, it almost was welcomed or as if it were fulfilling a need. It was probably one of the reasons that he had difficulty believing that nobody else could see or feel something that evoked such a strong urge as this. Over the years, Luke’s attempts to squelch his compulsion to touch and take the darkness away became futile. Over the years, honed by an intuition he trusted, he no longer needed to see someone’s sadness to sense it. Over the years he could sense it without being in the presence of the darkness. The darkness began to cry out to him from everywhere. Cries for help and cries for healing from everywhere could be heard. Cries for light…

********************************************************************

His Final Call

            The blinds were down in Anne’s room. It made no difference; the sun hadn’t shined in days. The heavy, heavy low lying rain clouds kept the sun hidden. It made everything gray. Color disappears in the absence of light. The world turns into varying tones of black and white.  It was dark in her room. The darkness was consuming.  It consumed Anne. It grew with the darkness that grew in her. The darkness wasn’t cold or empty. To the contrary, it was so full that it was almost smothering, like a thick blanket that a child cowers under when the monster in the closet is heard. It muffled the world.  It allowed her to seamlessly disappear and surrender the life she was losing more rapidly as each day passed and as the darkness intruded even further.  Darkness is sinister. It lulls the weak into false solitude with its promise of rest. Darkness grows from pain and sadness.  It is the culmination of all that is bad. Without light, darkness intrudes on our hearts and destroys all that is good.  As the darkness grew, so too did her cancer.  As her cancer consumed her so too did the darkness. Alone she was in the darkness and she was dying.

            The pain and sadness from the loss of innocence creates the greatest darkness.  That was Anne’s darkness.  Innocence had been yanked from a little girl in a moment of absolute darkness and pure evil. The years hadn’t carried it away, made it all better or healed it. It wasn’t like a wound that scabbed over, scarred and then was forgotten.  This wound grew in her. It hid behind smiles and laughter and moments of peace, but flowed into her being and it would eventually completely consume her.   It almost made her weak, desperate cry for help inaudible.  Her cry for help was so quiet, so subtle. It was deafening to Luke.   It was a cry he would answer.

            The plane flight to the airport nearest Anne’s home was short. No more than 3 hours. Most of the time Luke never really recalled how he actually found their homes. He just found himself at their door. It was no different this time.  Luke stood on Anne’s doorstep. The intensity of the moment that was about to occur had been building from the second he heard Anne’s silent cry for help and intensified as his journey progressed.  Luke was numb with focus. His entire being was a single purpose. He floated above the ground and glowed with light.  He tingled, everywhere. He could hear no sound. He could see only the door in front of him. He saw his hand reach up and felt the paneled wood of the front door under his knuckles as he knocked. Knocking was a trivial interruption in the process of the magnificence that was about to occur. He knocked out of force of habit or formality or both. Luke knew, she wouldn’t hear him and even if should could, she would not have the energy to respond.  The darkness had smothered the sounds of Luke’s knocks. It made no difference. Anne felt his presence well before he arrived at her door. She felt him coming. Hope was not something that Anne had experienced in quite a long time.  Now, hope created a hole in the darkness. It created a pathway. It pushed through the darkness and created a void that would be filled. 

            The first thing Anne saw was light.  Even the gray daylight that came through the open door seemed bright because of the darkness of her room. She didn’t see Luke, only light.  For months the light had felt like an uninvited intruder to Anne and her companion, darkness. But this light felt warm, comforting and peaceful. From the light emerged Luke, he slowly moved toward Anne and as he did he began to reach out to her. Anne lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Without question of motive or origin, she allowed Luke to continue his silent approach and let the loving light that came with him bathe her body and soul. Luke was no longer in control of his actions or movements. His numbed, focused state he had turned him into a spectator. He watched as his hand touched Anne’s shoulder and was blinded by the light that shined for where his hand touched her. With Luke’s touch came the healing power of the greatest healer of all. It was light, the light of the world. It was the ultimate light and it took away the ultimate darkness. It was the healing light. It touched Anne’s soul and healed her dying body.

*********************************************************************

Going Home

            “…something to drink, sir?” the flight attendants voice is what shook Luke back into reality from his former trance”.

“Huh, I uhhhhh, what?” Luke searched for verbal common ground between he and the flight attendant hoping she would leave him quickly and move on so he could gather himself in privacy. Luke cleared his voice, straightened himself and  replied, “Uh, no thanks, I’m fine”. 

Luke never got used to this part, or at least was less comfortable with this part of his mission.  Intuitively he knew that by the time he got home, he would gather back all his senses, yet that was little comfort to the confusion he experienced each time when he was done.  It was like he was reentering the real world from the world of… pureness, light and healing.  And like always, Luke found solace in the routine of prayer. Prayer for peace for him and for the world of those trapped in the darkness.  

That night  when Luke went up to go to bed he didn’t find the usual scene, that of Alexandria blissfully resting in the only sanctuary left to her; sleep. The room was softly lit by the reading light on the nightstand and moonlight that shined through the window next to the bed. To Luke’s surprise Alexandria was awake and she was upright in bed. Her back was resting against two pillows and the headboard, her face was lit only by the reading light.   So contrary to what Luke expected to see, that he stopped and found himself staring at her.  A small child  stared back. The thick silence was broken when Alexandria slowly raised her weak arm, pointed her half limp finger directly at Luke. Like a lost child that had been crying for hours in the company of strangers and finally asked, “where was the last place you saw your daddy”, she aimed her finger at Luke’s and from the deepest part of her being  she whimpered,

“healerrrrrrrrrrr”.

 Luke almost didn’t’ hear what she said. Her voice was unrecognizable and he was still in shock from the sight of her pitiful face.  There was despair in her eyes.  Luke searched for words, but every bit of energy departed him in a single instant.  His loss for words made no difference, the darkness inside of Alexandria whimpered again, but this time with a more pitiful tone.

“Healer. You are a healer?” she continued her speech gained momentum, “ You heal them. You go to them. You give them light” and now in a more hushed tone  here voice ebbed, “ But what about me.”

 Her words stung Luke’s ears.  Even if he could find the words, Luke would not have replied.  Intuitively, he knew more was coming.

 Again she whimpered, “You let me lay here and die. You let me get weaker. You watch and then you leave and then you heal THEM”. 

Luke felt his stomach tighten. He was getting sick and Alexandria just stared at him like a little girl waiting for the answer to the question that would explain why her doggie had to die. But there was no answer. Not an answer worthy of such a righteous question.  A question that Luke first spent forever trying to answer himself before he learned to hide from it and avoid it when he realized there was no answer; a question that Alexandria should have asked years ago. It never made sense that she didn’t.  But now she did. As each second passed, Luke sunk. His spirit sunk and the only words he could find were,

“I’m sorry”. 

“You’re sorry? That’s the healer’s answer? You’re sorry”. 

The despair in her eyes turned to anger and Alexandria slid down between the sheets and began to cry. She sobbed. She sobbed with such intensity that she lost her breath. Her cry touched every part of Luke and filled the house. She cried like the wounded child that she was. Her body slumped and went limp. Luke stood paralyzed. He felt inadequate and incompetent. He felt inescapable guilt.  He lowered his head and made his way to the bed. He cuddled up next to Alexandria, held her and laid his face next to hers. His tears were heavy. They felt like thick bubbles in the edges of his eyes. Unlike tears of joy that were light and cool, his tears carried sadness and despair.  Gravity pulled them from the corner of his eyes and they joined hers, pooled on her cheek, and ran down her neck to the pillow.

“I’m sorry” he whispered, “I’m so sorry”. 

Luke felt Alexandria’s body go limp as she disappeared into slumber.

It was when she slept that Luke found her again, the girl he fell in love with. While she slept she was no longer a slave to that wicked intruder.  The disease released its grip and she rested in peace. While she slept, she dreamed of movement, free, expressive, passionate and flowing movement.  She dreamed of the passion that filled her heart and soul.  Luke recognized her again and he held her in his arms and her body felt like it had never changed. He held her tightly.  In those moments, he didn’t miss her as much. The sting of slowly losing her went away.  Luke held Alexandria and she rested safely in his arms, the darkness was at bay.      

 Luke closed his eyes. He hid behind his closed lids and he prayed. He prayed in the truest sense of the word, with the absolute conviction that the Lord heard his every thought and felt his every emotion and that his words did not disappear into the ether or became a metaphysical dispatch of energy or turn into a hopeless wish list.  On this night, he spoke to God and God heard every word.

 Luke’s prayer did not begin with the sign of the cross, or with him falling to his knees. He did not press his palms together neatly in front of his chest. It did not start with the words “Dear Lord” and would not end with “Amen”.  His prayer would not be a gentle monologue or be a tribute or contain words of worship. Tonight, Luke’s prayer would be a confrontation. It was a demand. In his heart there was rage.

“I’M TIRED OF WANTING TO KNOW WHY”, Luke’s thoughts screamed from inside his head. “I DEMAND TO KNOW WHY”.  Luke could feel the fury build inside his chest. Where just moments ago was emptiness and guilt, now was anger and rage. “YOU TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME. YOU TOOK HER AWAY FROM HER. YOU STOLE HER LIGHT AND EVERY DAY YOU TAKE MORE. YOU WATCH HER GO FURTHER AND FURTHER AWAY AND I WANT TO KNOW WHY!! SHE IS LEAVING ME!!!!”.  The stream of tears that had slowed as Alexandria fell to sleep now poured from Luke’s eyes. “YOU ARE NOT MERCIFUL!!! YOU GIVE ME THE LIGHT, BUT I CAN’T GIVE IT TO HER!!!!! SHE DID NOTHING TO YOU. SHE DID NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS!!”...

 Luke’s prayer was interrupted by heaving.  He could barely breath.  The pain in his heart had broken loose and flowed from everywhere and into everywhere. It buried everything and consumed everything. It was darkness. It was heavy and it choked him, it smothered him. 

“WHY CAN’T I FIX HER!!! WHY WON’T YOU FIX HER!!!”. Luke wanted to scream. He wanted to run through the empty streets as far and as long as he could. He wanted disappear into the darkness. “WHERE ARE YOU!!!! WHERE ARE YOU!!!!!”…

Several minutes past and Luke began to succumb to the exhaustion of the night and of his rage. His breaths became longer and his rage began to slow, he began to return to his numbed state of despair and in his despair he found humility. From his humility came the final words of Luke’s prayer, his true prayer. His heaving subsided and now he barely whimpered,

“Lord” he softly prayed, “I’m tired of seeing her in pain. Help me Lord… Help her”.

Breeze

It’s hard to imagine a breeze having an actual point of origin or a physical place and time where it is born from stillness. Breezes seem perpetual and eternal, always on their way to someplace else only briefly lingering long enough to cool your face before moving on.  This breeze found its beginnings near an unnamed tropical island somewhere in the South Pacific. It first stirred on a warm and muggy day and its birth was quiet, only making itself known by the slight swaying movement of the palm trees that lined the deserted beach where the gentle waves  came to rest.  It lingered over the island before beginning its journey eastward across the vast emptiness of the deep, dark blue sea. The breeze moved at a slow meandering pace, almost randomly. Most breezes seem random in nature, however this breeze had a purpose.  This purpose would not slow or quicken the breeze or alter its meandering course on the way to its destination. Along its journey it would come to the aid of sea birds giving them rest as they rode on its gentle but constant palm. At times the breeze would gain momentum and playfully sweep across the face of the ocean taking the glassy surface of the sea and building small rolling waves creating a spontaneous playground for the acrobatic dolphins to leap and spin.  Clouds would be coaxed by the breeze as they lumbered through the sky and sometimes be pushed out of its way so as not to hasten or interfere with its important journey. After many dawns and sunsets, the breeze made landfall, seasoned and matured. It carried with it the energy of everything that it passed over or carried and that gave it the strength to continue its journey over mountains, deserts, rivers and plains. It flowed seamlessly through canyons, shared lonely valleys with rivers that flowed from here to there and turned fields of golden wheat into rolling waves. All the time, gaining power, but never gaining strength or becoming more than a gentle breeze.  Its journey was constant and sure and always gentle.

That night, the breeze gently entered the small town as a whisper.  It ebbed through the trees and street lights, building fronts and chimneys.  The leaves that it stirred were only awakened long enough to be gently rocked back into their quiet slumber by its gentle, swaying rhythmic hand.   Without note, it found its way into the quiet dark bedroom through a half open window next to the chest of drawers, near the foot of the bed. The only real physical evidence was found in the slight motion of the curtains left in its wake.  

Luke’s slumber was deepened with a feeling of calmness and peace as the gentle breeze approached and embraced him like a father embraces his son.  Effortlessly, the breeze carried Luke away with tenderness and calm. Its purpose was fulfilled.  Luke’s passing, while seemingly abrupt, was gentle and thoughtful. The breeze carried Luke like it had the gulls and clouds, with quiet aid and encouragement. It carried him home. It carried him to the light and carried him to the healer of all men. He answered the Lord’s call home. Luke was home now.

*********************************************************************

                                     

                                                Reborn

Spring brought new life. The colors of Spring are the colors of life as are its sights and sounds.  Alexandria sat and watched birds picking through fallen twigs and other nesting materials with the same diligence a carpenter would use to select the lumber to construct his own home.  The birds were very particular and discarded any twig or leaf that didn’t strictly meet with the standard worthy of keeping four small fledglings safe until they were ready to venture out on their own. Spring brought hope and new life.  Hope and new life is what Alexandria hungered for… The months that had passed since Luke’s passing were dark for her. They were sad and were empty. She loved him and her love would not diminish with the passing of days. She missed his touch and his voice. She missed seeing his shaver plugged into the wall and missed seeing his wet towel slung over the shower door. She missed everything, every little thing. Most of all she missed how he smelled. She loved how he smelled. One of her saddest days was when she could no longer smell Luke on the pillow where he’d laid his head next to hers for so many years and where he took his last breath.

From the East, in the direction of the entrance of the park, Alexandria heard her approach. The sound of her heeled feet told Alexandria that she was a petite woman. It was strange though, she almost “felt” her approach before any of her other senses perceived her.  The feeling was one of calmness or peace.  As she approached a wonderful feeling embraced Alexandria almost like the feeling that came with the day that pushed winter aside to make room for spring.  As she approached, her pace slowed.  Alexandria turned to see who was coming and she felt her visitors hand gently touch her shoulder.  The warm spring day cooled and she felt the breeze on her face.

There was love in the strangers touch. She felt love that was pure. Her body felt it. It saturated her body and soul with warmth and peace. It was exhilarating and calming at the same time. It soothed and energized. It made her feel as though she was home. It was comforting.  It was life altering. It was humble. It was unconditional.  She was in the presence of the greatest love of all.  She felt life in the woman’s touch. This was a familiar love.  Alexandria had to stop herself from calling out Luke’s name.  

Alexandria looked up to see who touched her with such powerful grace and love. Her eyes met eyes that were kind and loving.  The woman, who glowed with life and light, smiled and said,

 “Hello. I’m Anne”.

 Alexandria had no response, for as the love in her grew, Alexandria became speechless. Her body felt alive. Her heart felt alive. The light given to her was cutting through her darkness like a righteous sword.  Their eyes never parted, Anne’s hand never left Alexandria’s shoulder.  Her touch was healing, soothing, humbling and full of light.  Through Anne’s touch, she felt the love of the healer. A love that was profound. 

Anne didn’t stay long. She didn’t have to. Her purpose was complete. Her exit was as sudden as her entrance and left little time for words. No matter, Alexandria had no words to offer. Alexandria now was filled with light. Anne’s journey was complete.

*********************************************************************

Endings, Beginnings and Forgiveness

The wooden planks of the studio floor were worn from years of sliding, tapping, turning, leaping and spinning feet. The wooden floor gave resonance to the music of Beethoven being played on the piano on the corner of the floor. Each note rang poignantly and offered the dancers a guide to gracefully move through their choreographed stretches as they prepared their bodies for dance class. It was Alexandria’s first time back at the bar in more years that she cared to remember. With one hand resting on the long wooden bar that was attached at waist level to the mirrored wall, she bowed forward and lowered her head while her other hand hung above her and created a graceful arc at the end of her outstretched arm.  Her movement did not come easy and felt somewhat foreign. Her body was being awoken from a long sleep and did not wake without some resistance.  The passion in her woke with less effort. The light in her was bright. You could see it in her eyes and it filled the room and touched everyone in it.  The afternoon sun shined through the tall windows on west side of the dance studio; it bathed Alexandria.  The music of Beethoven continued.  The dancers that lined the wall moved in unison and there was peace, there was light… and there was forgiveness.  Unleashed from the darkness, Alexandria was able to realize; “Luke saw their sadness so easily.  Like a mirror, he saw the sadness that lay within him”.

His love for her was so profound. So too was his sadness. He healed her the only way he knew how.  Thus, he was healed… and there was forgiveness.

The End

My Light

I knew that I knew you from before,

a silent tear drop at my door

a quiet vision in heaven's light,

I knew that this time I'd give up my fight.