Today, I feel like a miner stuck underground after an explosion that cuts him off from the surface of the earth. I would imagine there is a terror that people might not know that you are still alive deep down under the earth, and the hope must feel horribly painful as you strain to hear signs of help. I would imagine that every sound is judged through
that filter of hope, and dashed when no other sounds join the chorus to indicate someone was looking for you. I think time must pass by slowly, enjoying every cruel minute, prolonging the terror. You are not dead yet, but neither are you alive either. And like the voice of angels, you finally hear the sounds of help far away, and your hope rises again and falls again, for yes, they are looking for you, but they had not found you yet. At last, you can see your help breaking through the crust of the earth, and though you are not out of the hole that has become your prison yet, you see that the odds are in your favor that you soon will be. That is how I feel today.
The ghosts of all I’ve been through are still here, lined up all around me. There is still pain, sorrow, grief…but there is a peace also with the acceptance that I’m getting ready to travel to the surface. There is a peace in wiping off the dust of this journey from my face and from my feet. There is rest and lodging and healing soon; I only need to be patient a little longer.