~ Edgar Allan Poe
I am frozen in disbelief as I watch a blazing fire consume my home. Staring in horror, my stomach sinks as I realize that all of my things inside are being extinguished along with it. The fire is so intense and monstrous that it's quite apparent every last item, important or not, will be reduced to dust. I'm quietly perplexed that I'm not more upset about this inferno, but there seems to be something I've forgotten. Actually, I'm absolutely sure of it. Suddenly I remember that I am expected at the wedding of a close friend and, thankfully, haven't the time to mourn over the loss of my house with its rooms full of cherished belongings. I quickly rush to join the celebrations, leaving my home to burn to the ground... resting momentarily in the welcome relief that I won't have to witness its demolition.
Walking through the church doors, the stark contract between the destruction I just witnessed and this beautiful, heavenly affair is almost maddening. More disturbing, however, is the sense that beneath the wondrous festivities happening all around me is something far deeper than two souls joining in marital union. This Force is stronger than the mutual love of partners, holier than personal vows, and even sweeter than the hope of everlasting romance; yet, it is a Union, but one I am completely incapable of understanding. It is as if an Invisible Power is silently watching as we celebrate what we believe to be a wedding for two lovers; however, the occasion is solely for Its purpose... the purpose remaining wholly unclear. I also have the peculiar sense that these characters, the varied faces and wonderful cast, are not really who they appear to be. I'm quite certain that each one is really 'me' playing a role, while I pretend I've forgotten and watch the play in self-imposed unknowing. Only, I can't be sure if I'm myself, the diverse group of characters, the narrator, the watcher, or all of the above.
As I walk into the street after the nuptials, I startlingly discover that everything has been disintegrated. I suddenly find myself standing in an empty and barren land; no buildings, no things, no people, no life ... nothing to be found as far as the eye can see. I am alone. I feel as if I am imposing in some way, as it's obvious nothing is meant to be here; there is simply no place where anything or being belonged or could survive. Standing there, alone and worn, I wonder how and when I'll finally be able to leave this wasteland. As if on cue, the sun dances on my eyelids and warmly, brightly invites in a new day.
Every night now for weeks, in subtle variations, these dreams have come. The cast and scenery
may change slightly, but the plot remains the same. It isn't difficult to dissect or decode the dreams; my life, the one I hold deep within me, is being destroyed. Who I believe I am is being destroyed. This I understand. What is most bothersome aren't the dreams themselves, nor even the understanding of the dreams; rather, it's the reality of what is felt day in and day out. It's the uncertainty, discomfort and sheer exhaustion of feeling as if I am simultaneously being destroyed and merged in to some Great Abyss. Added to this is the tiring truth that even in sleep I cannot find rest.
Along the Way, dreams of destruction aren't unusual. Actually, they are more than likely the norm. I've had dreams of tornadoes, floods, destruction and fires for years now. Feeling uncomfortable is also not anything new. More often than not we are left scratching our heads wondering if we are seeing with great clarity or simply losing our minds. The difference, as I have found recently, lies not only in the frequency; but, most importantly, in the intensity. There are moments where I honestly believe that I cannot muster up the strength to take another step... and, honestly, that perhaps I shouldn't. It's a frightening walk on a soaring tightrope which comes day and night; only, you're not entirely sure there's a rope or if you're even walking ... no place to sit and rest, you stand straddling this thin wire endlessly. This stroll through a strange land is disjointed and unfamiliar, devoid of the feelings of awe and bliss that had been present for years before. Now I find that I am repeatedly accosted by terror, confusion and a heaviness that is so deep, it seems to make up the entire universe.
This is the End of Days; the one and only End of Days. Worlds may come and go; lives may come and go, but there lies only One True Apocalypse. Here you find that courage is empty, humility can't be held, saintliness is unreachable, and hope is muted by the deafening sound of Silence. Which is as it should be, considering the End of Days is the last Great Battle. No one can survive It and, during the thick of this War, that seems to be the greatest blessing. May God have Mercy on us all.
