At a distance from God there is darkness and death
There is illness.
The thought of that space is repugnant
Everything about it is wrong.
Not for a second would I want to be there.
Not for a moment could I stand it
Not at all could I bear it.
Breathing would be easier at the bottom of the sea.
So then how could I have lived there for so long?
Why do I speak about God all the time?
Why do I write, again and again, about this same love?
Why do I sing you the same song?
Does it become not a bore?
I do so because one is Holy, one is Lord.
Because every good thing comes from on high
Because besides God nothing is good.
I write about it because it is all I have.
In truth I am ill and it is my only hope.
I am dying, and of healing it is my only source.
I am underwater in a sinking ship, and there is only one little spot, one little space where the water is not.
One little corner of air.
I swim to the surface, I tilt my head and keep my mouth in that spot.
Only there do I breath.
When I speak with God.
I keep my self there, in that little crack of air and I wait. I wait for heaven. I wait for more.