i am desperate to leave a trace of my presence behind, to know that when i finally get fetched to go home, i would still have been planting things in dark caves, still happy to be the simpleton sending my words out wearing their too-big-for-their-own-good work-boots, still praying things into being with my relentlessly rebellious mouth, still opening cracks in the wall with a teaspoon just so that i can breathe in the light, my lungs already accustomed to leaving oxygen behind for other bodies that need air, my red-threaded wrist holding my eyes on the story that is in front of me, and only the one in front of me, i have learnt that the stories that follow me, and the stories that try to lead, are not on speaking terms with the holy, and every day i start learning all over again how to keep my eyes where they belong, they are always trying to wander off into the ‘before and after’ times, and nothing good ever happens there, still teaching them to stay here, right here, and nowhere else, so that they might breathe light into the rooms inside my head, and then, at the end of it all, after all is said and done, knowing that, no matter what they said, i refused to give up, i refused to turn on myself, knowing that God lives in many places, and this soft mammal body of mine is as good a home as any other, and when my name was called, i said, ‘yes’, and it was enough.
selah. selah. selah.
{image by Jan Kopřiva, on Unsplash}
words with myself about the before and after times, still teaching my eyes to stay here, right here, and nowhere else, so that they might breathe light into the rooms inside my head.
liezel graham 