“This is a ridiculous and stupid story.”
It was a rainbow in some sense, always moving around the office on other people’s desks. However worrisome beneath, somewhere over the rainbow it caught his eye when he would go in to speak with them. Jeff had handed it to him with a smile, “Like I said, seventeen. Check it out, and meet us there at six Friday morning.” It was at that moment he first laid hands on it, a slightly important moment in his life. His mind raced with nothing in mind.
“It’s just a book; I probably won’t even read it.”
He didn’t know. It was overflowing. He didn’t know it was filled, nearly bursting, packed, saturated, flooded, and likely to explode at any moment with... He held it like it was just paper; his whole life was just paper. He had built his house on sand – ignorant, with knowledge in his hand.
“It’s just a book,”
He didn’t know. It sat patiently in the kitchen where he had left it, while he drank with his comrades. He didn’t know he would stumble on it later, after every friend was gone, the chiasm of his own interaction with it pointing to his sin. He didn’t know.
“Who cares? It’s just a book.”
He didn’t know any of these things, but he sat to read like a man sits to open a gift – unaware of what’s inside. Smoldering cancer flavor reminded his tongue of what was in between the stiff pegs of his right hand, while the small box on the table was a grave. In some scents implying a coughing – decay in his every breath. Death was his, not because he refused to accept truth; he refused to accept truth because he was dead. Yet it was no sleep of the sword.
“This book is no small waste of time.”
Aged pages of the borrowed chapter filled his nostrils as they mingled with the fading scent of that evening’s leftover merrymaking and seemingly staged rages. The tattered edge of each one spoke contrasting words to his fingers previously gripping the smooth laminated cover. In the dark kitchen his pupils dilated to take in the wooden table beneath his feet. They constrained their focus to scan the words of the book in his lap. A deafening silence encased his noisy existence.
“I ought to just put this book down and go to sleep.”
“These words,” he thought, “It makes no sense.” The pages carried an ancient message he couldn’t understand without a Helper. A man of God from a century and a half prior shouted the words of the Word incarnate into his cold deaf ears; but he heard only whispers; nonetheless, it stirred his emotions. Had only his ears been in tune, perhaps he could have heard the holy and perfect angels rejoicing at that which was taking place. His senseless body was now about to feel and see for the first time as the Holy Spirit sprints full force and collides with his soul.
“His soul? -My soul!”
Opened my eyes are! Reality, why have you hidden from me, all this time afar? Welcome! Well, come in; welcome in my life you are. The cold once mast is broke at last – unlive the life I’ve lived in past. Come fast to blast away the past’s amassed events that have seemed to last too long upon my supple soul’s soft and subtle song of delicate eloquent temperament.
“Post Tenebras Lux!”
Like the smooth round soothing sound of a stringed instrument, reverberating from deep within me, my tears augmented the sub-harmonic laughter-tones of small children. Amidst the surrounding uncertain posters of past sadness and suffering that shouldn’t last, my pillows were wet with water from the watching well.
“It WAS just a book, but was a book about THE Book.”
It was a rainbow in some sense, always moving around the office on other people’s desks. However worrisome beneath, somewhere over the rainbow it caught his eye when he would go in to speak with them. Jeff had handed it to him with a smile, “Like I said, seventeen. Check it out, and meet us there at six Friday morning.” It was at that moment he first laid hands on it, a slightly important moment in his life. His mind raced with nothing in mind.
“It’s just a book; I probably won’t even read it.”
He didn’t know. It was overflowing. He didn’t know it was filled, nearly bursting, packed, saturated, flooded, and likely to explode at any moment with... He held it like it was just paper; his whole life was just paper. He had built his house on sand – ignorant, with knowledge in his hand.
“It’s just a book,”
He didn’t know. It sat patiently in the kitchen where he had left it, while he drank with his comrades. He didn’t know he would stumble on it later, after every friend was gone, the chiasm of his own interaction with it pointing to his sin. He didn’t know.
“Who cares? It’s just a book.”
He didn’t know any of these things, but he sat to read like a man sits to open a gift – unaware of what’s inside. Smoldering cancer flavor reminded his tongue of what was in between the stiff pegs of his right hand, while the small box on the table was a grave. In some scents implying a coughing – decay in his every breath. Death was his, not because he refused to accept truth; he refused to accept truth because he was dead. Yet it was no sleep of the sword.
“This book is no small waste of time.”
Aged pages of the borrowed chapter filled his nostrils as they mingled with the fading scent of that evening’s leftover merrymaking and seemingly staged rages. The tattered edge of each one spoke contrasting words to his fingers previously gripping the smooth laminated cover. In the dark kitchen his pupils dilated to take in the wooden table beneath his feet. They constrained their focus to scan the words of the book in his lap. A deafening silence encased his noisy existence.
“I ought to just put this book down and go to sleep.”
“These words,” he thought, “It makes no sense.” The pages carried an ancient message he couldn’t understand without a Helper. A man of God from a century and a half prior shouted the words of the Word incarnate into his cold deaf ears; but he heard only whispers; nonetheless, it stirred his emotions. Had only his ears been in tune, perhaps he could have heard the holy and perfect angels rejoicing at that which was taking place. His senseless body was now about to feel and see for the first time as the Holy Spirit sprints full force and collides with his soul.
“His soul? -My soul!”
Opened my eyes are! Reality, why have you hidden from me, all this time afar? Welcome! Well, come in; welcome in my life you are. The cold once mast is broke at last – unlive the life I’ve lived in past. Come fast to blast away the past’s amassed events that have seemed to last too long upon my supple soul’s soft and subtle song of delicate eloquent temperament.
“Post Tenebras Lux!”
Like the smooth round soothing sound of a stringed instrument, reverberating from deep within me, my tears augmented the sub-harmonic laughter-tones of small children. Amidst the surrounding uncertain posters of past sadness and suffering that shouldn’t last, my pillows were wet with water from the watching well.
“It WAS just a book, but was a book about THE Book.”
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