The days flit by like slides in a projector, changing from slide to slide before I have had time to absorb the vision. Shabbat leads to Shabbat, and the coils of time have become a winding blur as I spiral down the corridor of the helix.
Praise music from some unknown Israeli group swells and ebbs from the PC. The mornings news feeds fail to interest me, and I stare idly out the window into the sweet potato vines that hide my front door from view.
I have piled up scripture in undigested heaps in my head. I am weary of words, and suspicious of dreams. The world goes on without me. I am a spent coal, a fragile glowing ash that will scatter into a million bits at the merest breath of adversity.
Truth beckons to me from across a wide and lonely gulf.
I have become an unenthusiastic spectator in my own play, the lines go over my head, and the dialogue waits not for the applause. I am consoled, but not alone.
An ancient prophecy comes to mind. “He who slays with the sword is slain by the sword. He who is destined for captivity, into captivity he goes.”
I mutely await my fate.