A Dagger Called…

Have you read Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis? My Book Club Society is currently reading it. Fascinating.
I’m still undecided on all my thoughts and feelings about it, but we have had some GLORIOUS discussions. So thought-provoking. At the end of the fifteenth chapter, I placed myself in Orual’s robes and these are the words I penned as I pondered where she might find herself and all the emotions and questions she might carry, all the circumstances life had thrown upon her without consulting her or asking her consent.

My sorrow made me angry

I didn’t know who to trust

or what to believe –

the grief hovered in my soul

 like a dagger

waiting to strike, to wound, to cut, to hurt,

cynicism and bitterness fed coals to glowing flames

of unending misunderstanding

and doubt and questions.

Confusion clouded my head, my mind, my waking hours.

The weightiness woke me in the night whispering of lies and despair.

The pain consumed me

yet the flames flickered on

all consuming-

never consuming-

upending-

never ending-

Desperation clawed, a helpless choking hold,

pressing into the pit of my stomach –

I could not see anything but the unfairness, the unhappiness, the abuse, the selfishness, the hideous sacrifice, the hiding of cowards, cowering to save their own skins,

My desire, my love, my inner conflict led me step by searching step

and it led me to take steps I would not have imagined-

There is more than one way,

more than one place, more than one angle

to thrust in a dagger-

to threaten-

more than one motivation-

and my senses and flooded emotions could not compete with my sensibilities

I could not see- grief and rage ran searing across my vision –

I could not see what you could see-

so much of my life instructed by unwieldy power, by abuse of leadership, by lack of love.

Compassion and kindness were not given a fertile place to grow and 

trust had been choked aside so long ago.

My panicked grief, my abandonment, the gaping wound of loss-

left me vulnerable,

powerless.

Abandonment and isolation brought me trembling to my knees-

And looking up I saw they’d paved a path before me and it seemed the only possibility-

the only way to take-

the only promise to relieve the pain-

the only chance to restore-

one way to puncture the pressure-

the aching howl in my soul,

My fingers clutched the handle and I stood and stared and started down the path 

and slowly, slowly,

raised the dagger of manipulation.

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