Fear
I do not tend the Lantern
out of fear of darkness --
or the light; but recognize
that there is some comfort
in the ritual ...
papa
..............................................
Fear
(Written for a Catholic discussion group -- translate as thee may)
what am I afraid of?"
Is that not a challenge that beguiles hidden from the shadowed corners, revealed only by the scurrying of claws on ancient stone? It is fear of death, so I am told, and each interruption to a scheduled plan or jumbled scramble through unfinished projects for others who no longer care, lead us closer to finality. But it is not a return to dust, I grasp, that strokes off-key notes on the lyre of our souls, but the doubt o're what bright light will consume our spirit when our pace is through.
Not that we can much change the nature of that event or place or attitude - whatever does define the future of our souls. Yet, we are told the quality of Divine embrace may be shifted from just great to sublime - or to something else, even less defined. Since all is part of God's enfold, there cannot be evil there as spoke of in man's arrogant limiting of His mercy. Of that I have no fear. But He did speak of punishment and reward accorded by our charity and reflected brotherhood. Ah yes, I remember now - 'tis judgment that we fear when boundless mercy has been our undeserved supporting guide while we test the battle of our will.
Is it not enough that each day we must claim a cross to shoulder, but we sure must also search for the spikes to secure it to our will? Or are these fears the thorns that pierce and rend a bit, but are not fatal, and leave but tiny scars; but when not withdrawn the blood may drip into our eyes, mingled with the sweat of anguish from time spent on worthless tasks.
Is it possible that I can learn to stretch out my arms in humble welcome to humanity mixed humble and profound? Can the secret be that I need neither cross nor spikes to support this form which is much more a drift of the mind, and will and spirit? You have done that - lived it all - and did survive. I need not repeat a perfect death, but can live in echoed Passionate birth. Each whistled song or wave of hand or lifted sack or apple tossed does draw a spike or thorn from the suffering's claim.
What do I fear? That I must do this alone - again alone! That is the death …
I feel the brush of compassioned bond - I know that You are near - there is no fear in We.
posted by Anonymous @ 3:31 AM
2 comments
The 
2 Comments:
Here there is much food for those rising from the childbed of Catholic faith, as do I. I don't think any faith can be considered perfect and it is by the delivery of sermons, books, ideas and schooling we find ourselves taught. I found that I had a little critic in me even from an early age, that when the wrath of you know who was at large, a part of me was intensely afraid of being thrown into hell, and the other part of me would say, who is that man/person/thing/page to tell me what is, and what isn't. But the part of me that was afraid was the one that was mostly heard, especially when that voice was coupled with so many others. In our fears we think we are alone, but we never are. It just seems that way. It's only the work we have to do isolation, but it is ultimately a group work. I always think that when I am fearful it is all of me, but now I see from reading this it must only ever be a part. Thank you for this, the group must have been gratified.
faucon
I understand the language, no translation required. Your final thought is one I desire to keep foremost in my own mind.
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