Into the Fire

Straddle

I have one foot lodged in the niche of the Ancient Rock,
but the other foot pulls me away as it pushes down
in the sinking sand
Straddling the abyss of faltering commitment.
Before too long, a decision will be made,
for I concede I will not be split in two.

I feel like I am already—
split in two, I mean.
The one firm, steadfast, simple,
The other fraudulent, slippery, sordid.

I recall the strength of joy,
though not clearly now.
The fog is rising up from the foamy sea of doubt
obscuring my senses
of all things real, leaving only images overwhelmed
by grey.

The leaning is toward morose,
its tentacles embracing me,
illicit in its touches,
but I’m somehow drawn to them
like the whispers of fine wine,
seducing me into a bed of the dead.

Decisions! Why must I always make them?
I’m weary of trying to make them.
Demands of honor and rightness—
those foreign allies pestering me in silence.
Apathy and Compromise stalking me
with loud and jeering chorus.

My muscles ache as the pull of separation
presses against them.
Can I now move to either side—
or am I doomed to neverending, abysmal freefall?
My support giving way to indecision
as I glance between my legs?

The horror of such an impasse
creeps up my outstretched loins
and registers the deception.

My sickness has corrupted my vision,
the exhaustion has left me fragile
and immobilized.

I now lunge hard toward the Rock
but the sand sifts further away
because of my sudden shift,
and my body sinks with my foot.

A scream erupts—it is my own,
though distant and unfamiliar.
I hardly recognize my plea—
for it has a new desperation
in the tone.
One I’ve never known.

There is a breakthrough in the sand—
only doom awaits as I am up to my knee
in the cold wet granules
And I cannot hold apart my legs,
the pain will overcome me.

I remember standing on the Ancient Rock
contemplating the shapes of sand—
the castles, overrun by charging waters,
becoming the anatomy of many things,
and dissolving in the wasting waves.

Why was I drawn to them when I saw their destruction?
When I knew their taunting, teasing
promises of fulfillment
were as flimsy as the structures
which disappeared the instant I experienced them?

Is my devastation assured?
Has every attempt to salvage my wayward soul
been skewed?
Half-hearted efforts to seek the respite of the Rock?
My secret desire to claim all I can from the lying sand?

No more!
As weak as I am, I cannot reach for safety.
I cannot see victory—my view is concealed.
If there is mercy, I am in need!
Desperate to escape the sands of death.

The Rock becomes my focal point.
For now I realize it is the only solid form
in this life—
so fractured is my own, divided and
unmanaged.

I yearn for rescue, but am powerless.
The tears come unbidden, but from true sorrow.
Calamity and Ecstasy have bartered for my attention—
and received it.
When did I ever rest between them?

Why have I wasted such passion
pursuing paths of little value?
I surrender now.
Allow me sanctuary, and I will destroy
the paths of wicked ways—
or at least subdue them.

Grant me the firmness of your strong surface,
the depth of your crevasses
holding me, secure.
I need you.
To lift me from this death grasp,
to refresh my parched and withered spirit,
to allow me the renewal of clear vantage.
Of full breath,
of hopeful seasons,
of gainful energy to explore beyond the surface
of your massive parts.

For it is now that I come to know you
in all your beauty and refuge.
Now at my darkest moments,
where need is truly measured,
I reach for you.

Only to learn you wait . . .
For that moment when I relinquish
my hold, my stance, on everything I am and
give it up to you.

Lord, you are everything worth living for. Help me to be the one you want me to be. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.