On the Edge

There is a grand view as we sit on the edge of this wall. There is no fear of falling although the ground is so far away we can not see it. A misty sunset is on the horizon, but never seems to fade. Forests and mountains, hills, fields and rivers are between us and the sun. We absent mindedly kick our heels against the wall. The dirt falls from our shoes down into the clouds. There is no where to go, so we just breathe.

"I have been hopeless for years, it is nice of you to join me."

I try to muster up some reason why there is hope, but I am too tired and just sigh. Behind us there is giant lake, its a resovoir really. The world is beyond that and we are scared to look. Too tired of trying to live faithfully in that decaying place, I do not turn around, I just breath in this amazing view. I am so tired, I am crying.

Its a wierd place to relax, the edge of dam, but there doesnt seem to be much else, and like i said, i am too exhausted to speak, let alone move.

With some effort, I invite Jesus here to be with us. But the world shakes and shudders, the waters ripple. He is too big to sit here. He is everywhere. But he makes himself small for me and sits down on the edge of the resvoir with us. He too breathes in and out, taking in the impossible view. I am surprised that Jesus can just relax with us too.

I am no longer afraid to turn around. I look at the resevoir and realize its tears. The resevoir is so large I can not see to the other side. It is so deep it seems to be as endless as the sky.

I wonder for a moment if these are my tears. If i will have to cry them all. My eyes are already puffy and sore from crying, from trying. But they are my tears. My tears for the lost and the forgotten. For the bodies in Baghdad that are piling up in the morgues and only are a sentence in the LA Times. They are for the homeless men desperatley panhandling for their next high, or their next meal who no one listens to or even looks at. They are for Carmela. They are for the US government and Global Warming. They are for my family and neighors and friends. They are for myself. A few trickle down my cheeks. I look over at Jesus and they are pouring down his face. He is given over to crying, like a heart is given to pumping blood through a body.

We continue to sit on the edge of the dam, breathing in the beauty, crying out the tears. No one says a word.