A bit more writing for you. Something a little bit weird today, stemming from some thoughts I had about the way we often tend to think about the afterlife. I'm not even sure what it is. Poetry? Theology? Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.
In the Place which is no place
I died, and left my
body behind me.
I didn’t walk along a
corridor,
For I had no body,
and no feet.
I didn’t push open
the great doors,
That I found before
me,
For I had no hands,
and no arms,
And I didn’t cross
that great, wide floor.
I didn’t squint
against the brightness of the light,
For I had no eyes to
see, and in that Place,
There was neither
light nor darkness.
I didn’t shrink from
the loudness of the song and the silence,
For I had no ears to
hear,
and in that Place
there was neither sound nor stillness.
I didn’t at last stand
before the Throne,
For I had no legs,
and there was no throne.
They didn’t gaze down
at me, for They had no eyes,
And I didn’t tremble
at the depth and the weight
Of the Love that
shone out of Them.
They did not speak,
for They had no mouth,
“Well, My precious child?”
I knew what They
asked,
but did not know how
to answer.
How, in that Place
and in that Presence,
Where all the lies I
had ever told to myself,
Burnt away like grass
in the fire,
Could I look at Them
with the eyes I no longer had,
And explain what I
had done, and what I hadn’t?
So many things, done
and undone.
Said and unsaid.
Thought and
unthought.
I had no lungs, no
throat, no lips, no tongue,
No eyes to close, no
tears to fall.
I had no answers, in
the Presence of the Answer.
And I needed none,
for They knew already.
They asked not
because They did not know,
But because I needed
to.
I didn’t bow my head down
low,
For I had no head,
and there was no down.
I did not kneel, for
I had no knees.
I did not wait, for
there was no time.
And though They were
the only Judge,
They did not pass
sentence,
For the hands and
feet They no longer had still bled,
and the price that
could never be paid,
Had been paid in full.
There was no door to open.
I did not stand and
pass through it.
And beyond it everything
that was not light was music.
The heart that I no
longer had burst with Joy.
The lips I didn’t
have overflowed with song.
The tiny spark within
me fanned by the presence of the Flame.
I left the memory of my
body behind me,
and at last I truly lived.
Copyright Thomas Jones 2023
