Siren

She who needs saving

In my youth I was shown all the ways to you.  So vast and intricate, and in this wonder I stood paralyzed, unable to move toward you in terrible awe of the all-seeing eye design, dynamic and changeless.  In time I grew afraid that I was disrupting the sublime form by withdrawing from it, too slow to join in, by being my low self in your midst.  I didn’t know.  But you showed your mercy and took me out of time, revealing that I was not only part of it all along, but that I was the reason for it.  Oh, God!

How did I get to be so strange? I was like any other kid on the block, just as fantastical, playing in the sandbox and discovering life in the dirt and always spinning flips and somersaults.  I could never fall asleep at night.  My sister, in the next twin bed over would be grinding her teeth in dreamscapes while I wandered the astonishing world in between: prayer.  Here I’d discover God and all the beautiful sounds, designs, and sensations.  Deep down I knew this world as my home but I was thrilled to view it from this new earthly aspect.

I fell in love with reading from the moment my parents started teaching me, and the countless storybooks I poured over in those early years along with my blissful nightly musings profoundly shaped how I experienced and saw the world.  It was a living fantasy in which all people and spirits alike were my friends and we all existed to help each other along the way.  How close I was to angels!  Their kisses would show on my eyelids.  But this is nothing new.  It was all written this way in the bible: this was how God envisioned his children to live in his kingdom. So I can never forget the morning I learned that not everyone lived in this perfect world: that there was a hell.

I was awoken from my dreams by something foreign and awful.  A siren.  Because of the gravity this moment held, time slowed to dream-time and the siren sound prolonged, ever approaching by its increasing amplitude, but slowing so it would never pass.  Then the sound started to blend into one wailing voice—a cry from the other side of the mirror, but a cry in vain, trapped in a holographic world with no one to tell.  It was so sad!  I never knew anything existed that could burn a hole so deep within the heart.  Now, how could I go play hide-and-seek in the ditch with this new black hole in me?  Paralyzed, lying in bed awakening to this sorrowful aria, I was also told something truly frightening: that that voice was in fact my very own, held somewhere in another time desperate for help.  Eventually, time began to move again, the voice became a siren and the siren faded away.  In shock, I asked Bekki if she had heard it, but she was still sound asleep.

There I was, at seven years old and, as the book said, beginning the fall.  I was floating away into the multi-dimensional nature of his kingdom, using time for fuel, off to find that voice and save myself.

©2011, Amaya Engleking

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