Spontaneous Remission

Spontaneous Remission
for Lazarus

There is light,
gauzy, enfolded in evening Philodendron flowers.
Like Father’s arms, I know
I am safe. How long I have traveled
I do not know.

I am loved, integral
with all that surrounds me.
There are no imperfections, no flaws, all draws me, expansive
acceptance. This river of life has no end, cannot drown me,
cannot fill me, satisfies.
Passing through at the end
of the tunnel, velvet booms accompany.

A second light, still as a room in an abandoned
shell. In the eye of creation. Void, so much more life
than death. I could see it all, looking out of Creator’s eyes. Expanding
my exploration, finishing with the void, I wanted to go back. Music
of spheres, embracing me, light taking me in with its breath,
wonder child. My questions? Answered with a kiss
to my soul. I asked never to forget.
Hell was the consumption of joy, the overwhelming
by grief. Grief. Stiff with death. I heard Mary and Martha crying.
Am I alive? The very stones are alive.
And all I heard was my name. The smell of myrrh
aloe, death. The whisper of stone, standing though bound,
unfettered by His voice.

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