I’m uncertain. I’m not sure about anything anymore. When honestly, as I look over the white wall, and see on my hand, a wristband labeled invalid, it has my name, a barcode for identification, and EMERGENCY written on it. I can’t know what to think. Laying in bed, in the pure white knit I wear to sleep, the pure white bed sheets, the pure white bear named Snowpea, the pure white window blinds, It’s like preparing for death. I’d succumb to being weak. Frailty taking over a faint body, sinking into I don’t know where. Neither did I care, is it the abyss of despair? Why bother? Here, now, fancy names aren’t important. I thought I was a pure white feather drifting down a dark, dark embracing eternity….
Tears wake me.
I’d keep asking, Abba, are you there? Are you there? … If you can hear me, I’m here.
I’m here. Not going anywhere. Not doing any thing.
Someone must have sprinkled over me some water from the sea of forgetfulness. I can’t seem to remember deadlines, appointments, projects … promises. & etc. Or any of those things I thought comprised my life. Perhaps, I am already dead. I am the dead who remembers. Living in memories, long past … these feel faded. I am faded. I’m in an unknown paranoma, the land of fadeness.
I feel besieged. Financial, academic, emotional, intellectual Death-eaters; they congregate around my bed, brooding over how to suck the life and blood out of me. I wonder, too. I am already drained.
I’m sure it was nothing serious. Conscious and reviving, I realize the white lights, on the ceiling of the ambulance truck, like a kaleidoscope of diamonds, they glittered so brightly. So prettily, and Christmas caroles filled the chamber. This is my first time. Must be God’s Christmas present to me. I smiled and hear voices speaking to each other; they thought I was from Japan. You see, China is such a big country, and there was nothing big about me. Must be from merely a speck in the ocean, secluded. She’s so tiny. From a tiny island, fittingly so. Finitude isn’t so unbearable. Fragility isn’t so fearfully-inflicted, like some believe, like I used to believe.
Of course, theoretically, I preached and wrote and thought I believed perishability was beautiful, of the aesthetic pillars of my carefully-architected Greek mansion. When in reality, they were barbed wire, and inside a Nazi concentration camp in which I tortured my soul with fear. I try so hard to protect myself. Ironically, I was wheeled around in the hopsital, being simply called “a 19 yr. old female,” nameless, stripped. If God was there, he would have protected me; if I wasn’t so busy here, I would have let him protect me.
As it is, I have nothing more to say. As I went further and further down the corridors,
I walked away,
and heard the sound, the sound of my own heart beat
My heart is bleeding, all alone
I found that
I’m not the one, you’re looking
I’m not the one you wait for
It's easier to look away
You, you don't see me
But I know
You, you're all I need
I held out my empty hand
And I touch the gentle wind
I know I'll forget this all
Someday
This feeling would be gone
"Goodbye" that was all I could say
There's so much more to say
I wish you'd call my name
Take my hand
But I can't
My heart would break again
Every time I say "I Iove you."
--James Wendt "so much more to say"
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