July 2, 2008

From: Gary West
Sent: Wednesday, July 02, 2008 8:48 AM
Subject: Robbed

I look up and the perpetrator is walking away from me.
In his hands he carries my most valuable items.
In his hands he has my sanity. My mind, my heart. My dreams.
Do I dare shout at him. Do I dare try and get him to reveal
himself. Is he the Satan or is he the Lord of the universe?
I lie in the ditch submerged in bile and sewage. Gutted and left
for dead. I have a pulse. I can see shadows. Everything is in black,
white, and tones of gray, no colors.
I have not the ability to clean myself, to stuff the damaged
organs back in. I find myself at ease with the thought of death. Much
more so than the thought that my creator has acted against me.
It is too late to cry for mercy, it is too late to make deals, it
is too late to offer my physical life for the treasures robbed from me.
I am crushed and beaten, partially dead and dying. I have no fight
left. I settle inside myself and realize that I am left for dead, should
I just remain silent?
I wonder at the method, the suddenness, the brutality, the
severity, and most of all I wonder if this is an inside job.
As I lay in this busted state, I can't help but wonder what brought
on such a strike. Did I walk into the line of fire or was I ambushed.
Why do I fear what caused this as much as the event itself.
Perhaps my shortcomings, my focus, my what???? I tear my life apart
one brick at a time. Looking for the reason, the explanation, the map
for the madness.
I cling to the right thoughts. But haven't I always? At least
since he warned me 28 years ago. I watch passerbys as they serve their
own desires. I watch them from this ditch as they care not for right
thinking. Why am I here? A spectacle. A broken resemblance of a
beautiful life. Why do I still care? Why do I still worry? Is God
through with me...what good am I now?
I am at the bottom, God knew the things I really felt were
important, he didn't strip me (or allow) of the items that wouldn't
hurt. He took my manhood, my future, my cherished past.
Now I lay like road kill and the smell is unmistakable. The smell
of death. Death has its own odor. It is the odor that no one relates to
until they have it surround them. The odor that is as repulsive as fear.
I find myself so mad, that I want to just go back. Turn away from
all that is right. Turn from all the teachings, sermons, readings, and
songs.
But I don't know why this has happened, who do I rebel against? I
know that my heart is for God but my mind is full of madness. With no
where to place a rope, no place to assign blame it is like a wild
animal.