Hematidrosis
Some can speak
Some can move
Some can write
Some can think
I cannot do any of the latter;
I could not do it even if I tried. I am limbless, brainless and mindless, I thrive in all the “lessess” of life excluding that which concerns the heart. Heartless, I am NOT.
I cannot express, I cannot explain, I can SHOW. I can EXPERIENCE. I can EXPERIENCE you, that as in YOU receiving the action, not I. My soul pleads, my heart cries in a wordless language; WORDLESS, soundless, motionless.
I pray to God, I pray that he helps me, that he teaches me how to draw people inside, inside into my very being , inside to The Heart, The Truth, The Life, inside to LOVE: YAHWEH.
But I despair, I despair because very few know this language, I despair because I myself do not yet fully understand it.
There is a veil, one that covers me entirely, one that blurs my vision and lies to me, one that diverts my study of this language. I’ve gotten to know this veil better than any other part of me, I’ve memorized its lies, its patterns, its teases. It is smelted onto the skin of my existence like iron, engraved on my soul.
That veil, FEAR, I despise with every cell in my body, but something binds me to him, something I cannot exist without, HUMANITY.
Humanity; the damned, the blessed.
Fear has as many clones as there are people, as many virtues as there are atoms. I yearn so badly to rid myself of him, but doing so would rid me of everything else, it would rid me of LOVE.
I thus, must learn how to wield him, to embrace every one of his blows and transform them into love, into an expression, a sentence of this, my wordless language.
One thing I have learned of this language, one crucial detail which all should now. This language is indeed inaudible to the ears, invisible to the eyes, and unperceivable by the senses; but there is one place where all of its incomprehensible expressions are clearly revealed and explained. Sacred is this place called The Heart.
Sacred is this place that cannot be accessed unless YOU provide a way in. Sorrowful is The Sacred when He is denied passage into your heart and sorrowful I am when you remain hidden from the power of this language.
I ache when I am mislead or denied, I anguish when I cannot break through your veil. I twist in unbearable hysterics because I myself have not yet pierced my own shroud. My clenched jaw screams in helplessness for I am not yet fluent in my gift, my language.
This language I cherish and I strive to share it. I’ll teach you what I know, I swear it’ll help both of us grow. Listen, for I know one more thing about it
its identity, its name.
This language I cannot yet express apart from a poorly painted picture. This dialect is called
FAITH.
