Refuge

I see Jesus in the distance, his arm and hand outstretched.

I move towards him. He tells me to sit next to him, on a bench in the park by three trees. The grass is lush and spectacularly, green. I dare not look at him, but his gaze and silence reach for me and so, I turn my head to the right.

"What is it?", he asks. "Nothing, my Lord. Nothing." "Your eyes tell otherwise. You know you can't hide from me. Why would you want to? I accept you." In my quietness and downward pose, I thank him, softly, tenderly. He knows I love him dearly.

I feel misunderstood. I feel voiceless. I feel that it is a challenge that I will forever find difficult to overcome. I want to be seen, to be truly accepted, to be revered, to be treasured.

Then, the tears come and my sound is deep. He touches my hair, then takes a tear drop with his finger and places it on his cheek. I am speechless. My tears stop. I reach for his face and take my thumb and wipe away my tear. He says, "No need for that. I will help carry the burden."

I look for you in man. I've been looking for you my entire life. I'm sorry, but, I cannot see. Perhaps, he does not exist...here, that is...here. In my quest, there are only silhouettes, only dreams, and visions of what is not...here.

I look up and see the stars. Stars! I have forgotten that they are stars. We have forgotten what we are looking at! Poets and philosophers, musicians and writers, they grab hold of a thing and they delve into it, wholeheartedly. I want to be delved into, wholeheartedly. Who will reach my depths? Who will even want to?

I want you to be enough. But, I was born so that I would see what I am supposed to see. Let me be the instrument that you choose to express yourself, through. I bow my head to you. I bow my head. But, please don't ask me to bow to man. I cannot. I will not. He is not worthy. He is broken. He is fallible. He, no matter what strength he draws upon, will be ruled by his ego. Why should that be so?

How can we live up to any ideal? If too ideal, one is rendered a hopeless romantic. If not ideal enough, a cynic and a pessimist.

Do you value me, my Lord? I aim to attract what you are but, I fail...not miserably...but, I fail, nonetheless. And you know that I am not perfect, that I am flawed...so, so flawed...and you tell me, that they're precisely why you love me, more.

You say to me, "Go where you see my face. Embrace the space where I reside." And I have. Have I not? Tell me, my Lord. Have I not? You smile. You show me that my intuition is sharp, that it is my guiding light, that where there is light, there you are. And I place my faith in this, because it is the only thing that is truly, truly, real...the only thing that speaks to my heart, directly.

You lurk in the shadows, too. You lurk in places I have yet to go to, places I am, currently, blind to. But, you are patient. You make no demands, because you understand my heart. You understand the depth of my cup.

I offer you my cup. Drink from it, the way I drink from yours. Let my well be replenished because I am running on empty. I am thirsty. You're the only one I will ever look up to.

And then you take me by surprise when you tell me to stand and you remain on your knees. I don't understand. What do you want me to see? To comprehend? You bow your head in humility and I sob because it makes no sense to me...why you would bow to me? And you say, "I bow to all that is true and beautiful in you...all that is false and ugly in you."

I reach for your chin and you grab hold of my hand. "I bow to the goddess in you. Accept this and you shall never suffer, again. You have my word. You will not find a resting place in man, only comfort, and it shall be temporary, at best. I am your refuge."