To you, O shade
O mysterious one who has crafted this illusory experience of faith around my head like the thick, grey cloud that forewarns a storm.
I take steps blindly,
but scrambling to clear the fog from in front of my face
and this makes me so off-balance it’s a wonder I do not falter more often.
May I ask you, O nameless, faceless one,
how long have I been walking in circles?
With my feet turned inward,
untrusting in their movements, without purpose or direction.
Do you intentionally darken my way?
Is this mystery really only a curtain that leaves me, the audience, unaware of the change of prop and scene?
Will the curtain be drawn readily?
Or am I in intermission and the lights have not yet been unmade dim?
I feel as though you, the director of the play, have not been upfront about the subject of the play and I am confused at the spectacle before my eyes.
For you sit in the high chair in the back of the stage where I cannot see you, hear you, nor reach you, and I do not know why I continue to stay.
you signal slyly
with the the lights flickering
telling me, the audience, to take my seat again
For the curtains will draw,
and it will only take a few lines or so for everything to be made clear.
In the least, this is how I trust you.
For in your mind,
and as best you were able to translate those high thoughts into your script,
you have a plan that will be exposed under spotlights for all to see.
Particularly me, that is, if I indeed want to see, and have been given eyes that see.
O deep darkness who exists in unlit places,
may you allow me the eyes I so strongly desire, even when I won’t admit it.
This is very hard.
For who am I to depend on?