Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.
(male flicker takes to the tree tops in search of something tasty / Julie Cook / 2015)
Perched somewhere high above indifference and stagnation,
we walk a tight rope stung across the gaping crevasse of demise and despair
A ravenous world beckons to the would-be high wire traveler,
traverse the hungry precipice it hauntingly implores
Wanting hands beckon.
Trembling and afraid, one foot, then two, we inch ever closer
The way grows ever more dim
We edge our way closer to empty darkness,
No longer able to see the rope
Only darkness and emptiness stand before us
And what of below?
A hot wind whips up from beneath our feet
The wire sways as our arms instinctively flail and thrash
Vainly we frantically reach out seeking something firm for balance
Footing is lost
Grab the wire quick!
This being the last chance before certain death
Once we slip downward, deep into the abyss, there is no hope, no return
Maybe hand over hand in order to complete the journey?
Pain sears through bleeding hands
The wire cuts deep
Energy and strength are drained
then, the final letting go
We begin to fall
When suddenly something, someone, out of the darkness, snatches us in mid fall
Redeeming Grace has grasped our flailing arm
Lifting us up
The darkness fades as the heavens open
Chains worn once heavily, disappear down in the abyss
As the sun begins to warm frozen fingers
The cherubim and seraphim sing
Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia
For one more child has joyfully come back home. . .