April 6, 2004

The fog over my life is not as dense as it once was, and gradually the picture is becoming clear. The truth of that picture tempts the soul to long again for the dark fog of Egypt. In the transition from darkness to light there are always shades of grey. Grey is the most sorrowful and depressing place to be. My thoughts torment me in the morning. My stomach is constantly churning. My mind continually replays senarios of my life. “My tears have been my food day and night.” Somehow, in the grey, I’m always one step closer to the light. One step closer to complete freedom. One step closer to healing. One step closer to not being able to see the darkness because I’m now on the other side of the grey fog. The burden is so heavy. It’s so deep. It’s so ugly. Yet, it is not new. It is how it has always been. My self-mastery has failed. The mask I’ve worn has melted. The truth has been unveiled and I am without excuse. There are no more gifts, no more talents. There is nothing left to shield me from seeing who I really am. And there is indeed nothing left to do, except in my nakedness to embrace the splintery cross; to let the jagged wood sink into every layer so that all of me runs out and all of him flows in.


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