Being a record of my final thoughts. A last glimpse of goodness and beauty before my mind is swallowed and devoured by the madness that has already claimed those hapless many who have gone before me into this realm. A realm into which no light or goodness or grace may follow and whose darkness is so complete it leaves no room for the former to exist. The only light is the dying glow of the mortal plane, whose doors groan shut against the weight of the many living souls that clog its wide entrance, eager to follow the path I had taken.
Those still-living souls are blind to the beauty in the world around them and even if they were not, they would still clamor to enter this place. In their haste to follow me, they cry out, “How could the One, whose goodness and light pierces the veil of mortal existence, so callously relegate us to the burning depths? How is it that He suffers misery and evil to exist? He is not worthy of our love, and we will neither drink from the cup of His grace nor His mercy. Let bitterness, rebellion, and mockery be our portion, instead. Let our will be done.” It shall.
For if they turned back and looked, they would see His goodness in stark relief against the backdrop of a world ravaged by man’s wickedness and rebellion. For how do we discern the presence of beauty apart from the bleak suffering around us? A star shines brilliantly against the vast, empty void of the heavens. From the mud and thorns, a rose blooms and calls all to gaze on its small majesty. From the blackened heart of man, a small gesture of kindness is born from His common grace.
But who will draw their attention to these things, I wonder? Many who drink from His cup will not pass it along in humble kindness but will spit its contents, in scorn and judgment, in the faces of others who also need it. The drink is no less crucial, however the hands that share it are too often calloused and uncaring; their hearts still being mended and wounds still healing. Would those in need look past this to see that even the ones who are meant to share Light with them are also broken and in need of it?
I gaze at the clamoring souls once more and weep as the door slams shut with finality. In the other direction looms the horizon, if one could call an even deeper, eternal, crushing emptiness a horizon. I ponder these thoughts amidst gasps of air. My skin and sinew peel, burn, are re-knit and burn again. I will never hear the voice of another person or see their face. My legacy will fade when all who knew me have passed. I will forget and be forgotten. No mercy or hope will find me for those are things that flow from His hands, and He is not here. This isn’t punishment; it is the fulfillment of my desire to be somewhere He is not and where His light cannot reach me.
For the ones who may yet turn back from this door, consider the brilliant stars, the majestic rose, and the kindness of those around you and reach out to the One from whom those things find their source. The One who already loves you regardless of how far you’ve traveled this bleak, wide road, and who longs to pull you into His caring embrace. Do this lest, as with me, your own will be done.