HOPE S HAMMOCK. Written in By Maria Miko Faith

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Lisa Cain
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1 HOPE S HAMMOCK Written in 2013 By Maria Miko Faith

2 Copyright All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means is forbidden without the express permission of the author. 2

3 Iexperienced a darkness so thick, so encompassing yet so subtle, so fine that it suffocated me and when I managed a gasp for air its tiny molecules made me choke and gasp again, taking more of it into my being until I thought I was the darkness. But somehow while I was so engulfed in it to the point even going through the motions could not hide that there was something terribly wrong, I realized something. That while I could not see my way or feel much of anything, I could feel the faintest beat of a heart that hurt so deeply the pain had not registered yet. I didn't care how it had come to be hurt; I only rejoiced that somewhere near me there was a heart. Mine perhaps. No matter whose, it was alive and beating still which meant there was still hope, if not for me for someone. All that it needed was healing. If I could only find the light switch, I could find the heart and look for a healer or potion. But the light was faint and flickering, the frustration at trying to see made me increasingly angry which is never a good state of mind. So I closed my eyes and threw my head upwards in desperation. The healing of this heart would be my salvation I thought. Selfish as that might seem I had given up hope for myself, and whatever foolishness I had engaged in that led me to this dark, dark place. Perhaps I could redeem myself by saving this heart and find light for both of us. Trying to see with my eyes, with my mind's eye even, seemed an exercise in futility at best, so I closed them to give them--and myself--rest. I relaxed into my hammock of hopelessness and felt the darkness close in again until the anger was gone. 3

4 I was no longer struggling, fighting, trying to find the answers. I felt a strange peace and what must be what some refer to as a deafening silence. I didn't fight the chatter anymore of the voices inside, well meaning voices banging on the doors of my mind, shouting instruction, kicking out of frustration, begging, pleading, cajoling, attempting to manipulate me for my own good, even trying to trick me into doing things their way for whatever noble reasons they professed to have, voices of my heroes and heroines who I created as a source of guidance and comfort. They all grew faint. I didn't need them anymore. All I needed was to go deep inside the quiet darkness of my mind and listen for the faint beat of a heart, just one heart that I could save to make my last days meaningful because I felt I had taken too many wrong turns to end up in so dark a place. But they do say that where there is life there is hope, and a heartbeat, however faint, is life in its purest simplest form. Ah purity! Pure light is what I needed, but the thought of the absence of light in my room made me grow angry and anger was not what I needed to help this poor heart. It might even frighten or kill it. My only hope was to take small breaths, fire breaths if I needed--perhaps those would purify the darkness. Back to your hopeless hammock! There's a heart that needs someone and who knows if anyone else has heard it, what with all the screaming and din of well meaning and excited voices outside. One might argue that not all voices are well meaning but I choose to see it differently. I think that the search for peace is a good thing and I think everyone is interested in peace in some form; some just go about their search for it more constructively and considerately than others. Perhaps one could say more wisely but then who's to say what is wise and what is not? 4

5 It is hopeless perhaps, to think I will ever be quiet enough to hear the heart I need to help. Perhaps I should just give up and give in to the din of voices, throw myself onto them like a rock star onto a crowd. Will they catch me though? Or have I become too dark and ugly from being in this dark place? And that then begs the question, how will I fall into the crowd if I am locked in here? Or are they also in the darkness? Then what help are they? Ugh the mind spins with possibilities. Back to the hammock you hopeless hopeful thing. Stop trying so damn hard and just be quiet. What if the darkness is not just dark but it's thickness filled with some vile virus that has made me blind and... Will it soon make me deaf?! How ever will I find that heart then? I considered holding a meeting of the voices but again how would I invite them in to the dark dark place I am in, and if I could show them a way in why couldn't I show myself the way out? Or is there some other reason I am in here, a reason I've forgotten because I'm insane and this is where the crazy people go? Or am I perhaps brilliant and kind, saving the rest of the world from my nonsense. Perhaps there is another dimension and when I enter they will applaud me and understand. At least understand. 5

Going Home. Sermon by Rev. Grant R. Schnarr

Going Home. Sermon by Rev. Grant R. Schnarr Going Home Sermon by Rev. Grant R. Schnarr If we look in the Word we find so many places where someone is longing for home or has been displaced from home. In this song particularly the Children of Israel