A view of the Resurrection – from one who lived it.
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Darkness surrounds me; it’s too dark. I know it is dawn, for ever since I could remember I’ve opened my eyes at first light to watch the horizon turn color as the sun rose and burned away the mists over the village. At this moment, I remember one morning in particular - waking in my mother’s arms and listening to her heartbeat as she continued to sleep, though I grew restless and wanted to be free of her embrace, to go out and play in the stream, to watch the cattle and chase the hens. I would think it a blessing to hear her voice now, to be caught in that embrace. I relax and pull images from my memory, piecing together our house and shop, hearing the sounds of morning. It doesn’t help, for suddenly I am afraid and it is so very dark.
I feel . . . strangely - something does not belong, does not fit. I feel as if I’m suffocating. Something is caught around my nose and mouth, choking me. There is a glazing over my eyes - I see, but I do not see, everything is in a fog. My hands feel cold; I can’t move my feet. I remember and yet I do not. The comforting images from home are replaced with more disturbing things. I see people, and hear their voices; I see the streets crowded with people, soldiers. There is heaviness and lightness. My heart beats frantically with every breath I try to take and I see . . . things. They are those I do not wish to see, but I see them nevertheless.
I remember now.
It is the third day.
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Darkness surrounds me; it’s too dark. I know it is dawn, for ever since I could remember I’ve opened my eyes at first light to watch the horizon turn color as the sun rose and burned away the mists over the village. At this moment, I remember one morning in particular - waking in my mother’s arms and listening to her heartbeat as she continued to sleep, though I grew restless and wanted to be free of her embrace, to go out and play in the stream, to watch the cattle and chase the hens. I would think it a blessing to hear her voice now, to be caught in that embrace. I relax and pull images from my memory, piecing together our house and shop, hearing the sounds of morning. It doesn’t help, for suddenly I am afraid and it is so very dark.
I feel . . . strangely - something does not belong, does not fit. I feel as if I’m suffocating. Something is caught around my nose and mouth, choking me. There is a glazing over my eyes - I see, but I do not see, everything is in a fog. My hands feel cold; I can’t move my feet. I remember and yet I do not. The comforting images from home are replaced with more disturbing things. I see people, and hear their voices; I see the streets crowded with people, soldiers. There is heaviness and lightness. My heart beats frantically with every breath I try to take and I see . . . things. They are those I do not wish to see, but I see them nevertheless.
I remember now.
It is the third day.
