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.

           

 

Father, thank you for your love, your rescue, your steadfast mercy. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.