In the Place which is no place

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