And he thought at times that this pain and this suffering was already over, that the Kingdom of God was already at hand. And yet God, behold that Lamb of God the maker of all things new, was doing a great thing. And a great thing started to approach in thunder and winds of terror; beings more hidden than things done in the utmost possible secrecy started rousing themselves within the generations of sin still resounding forward into a future that was about to end. He spoke in thunderous raptures of everlasting electricity, Behold I am removing these mountains from the lives of my children. No longer will the shadows of thy bondage be thy legacy, for I AM the Lord.
And angels became ever more present in the corners of our vision, for their wonder at this great thing drew them in as children drawn in to the releasing of fireflies on a glorious July night.
And slowly as molasses in time which flowed more quickly with every second, things began to turn over and rise to the surface of a previously stagnant black marsh.
We swam out to deeper waters, and saw diamond-encrusted light searing the bottom sands and all who dwelt there.
No matter her pain, no matter the unending torture her sins and her family’s sins and sins of those she never met had caused her, there were still in brief quiet moments, the living memories of late July summer nights when she was young wherein she had played outside with her friends who were everything to her in those moments, and the sparkle of the fireflies in the blackness of the night would cause her gaze to spiral upwards to see the twinkling of stars unending and she would let out a great and mighty shout of ecstatic joy and those with her would join in and they would dash off into and through the woods which would no longer scare them because they were lit with a fire, a fire in which even now she could see the restoration of her birthright. And she would run and run and not grow weary and she would arrive home in awestruck wonder, and climb the steps of her porch in darkness and see her parents hand in hand on the porch swing swaying and humming softly, and she could sense even then even though it was dark and the eyes could not see, could sense the tears of her parents, the return to their childhood in those moments, the worship of God linking up the generations; and as she joined in to their hymns so to would the fireflies who caress the newly swaying grass in the front yard, and, dancing mightily before the Lord, would journey upwards through columns of smoke and wind and then down to alight upon the balcony to which her hands were so fervently clasped, and she would often stop then, (stop even now), stop in awestruck wonder at the glory of it all, the end before the beginning, the beginning before the end.
Even now, on some nights, she would come home haggard and broken, the pleasure of forbidden fruit still fresh upon her vision, and as she struggled to open her car door, she would glimpse for but a brief second a flash of light from the firefly, a light which would twinkle in new ways she had not seen before, and her haggardness would become frightened then, her despair and bitterness would turn away in those moments at the fear of their end, and she would stare transfixed for eternal seconds before turning her back and then stepping into the darkness of a well-lit modern home. And the bitterness would return with a vengeance with an almighty fury that would lead her down dark paths of blind obedience and slavery. Yet she always had the inclination even were it stifled and smothered far far far down into the abysses of consciousness, always had the inclination to peek behind her to search for that brief twinkling flash of a light which seemed to never fade amongst the many eddies of memories that were collecting in her ostensibly depraved life. It was these eddies which she seemed to be driven away from at all costs, the more she ran though, the more she was whipped and chastised for it, the more the eddies formed, the mightier their counter currents became to the main current, the main current which seemed to be stagnating, slowing into tepid putrefaction. All that and still she couldn’t place any of this even into conscious recognition much less full elongated pontifications. Her therapy sessions entailed trying to stop doing drugs, and working through her insecurities and addressing the pain of her childhood, but that water was increasingly lukewarm and almost impossible to swallow.