The Holy Man and His Shadow, A Story of Redemption in Three Parts, Part Three: Communion

The Holy Man and His Shadow

A Story of Redemption in Three Parts

Part Three: Communion


He awoke in
a dark chamber surrounded by all manner of animals and beasts, monsters, and
birds, bats, ghosts, skeletons, reptilian creatures, giant toads and frogs,
lizards and snakes, horses and buffalo, giant fish stood around him too on
their fins even though he didn’t feel like he was in water any longer.  Still they were there.  He saw vagabonds and beggers with red, frightened
eyes.  There were women standing around
him in chains, battered and beaten.  Old
men stood around him covered with bloody wounds.  Soldiers stood with rifles and gaping holes
in their chests.  They wore arm bands
which bore his image.  They saluted him
gravely.  All manner of people from every
religion of the world stood around him each with their bodies mangled and tortured-but alive staring at him.  Gnarled trees stood nodding their barren
branches.  And the children—they tore
through his insides like none of the other ghoulish visions.  The children stood around him, some radiant,
some smiling, some playing catch with little rocks and stones, others looked
clearly beaten and abused, but they lived looking at him with wide, hollow
eyes.  As he looked around, blinking at
the horrifying images, he noticed the room was illuminated by a milky blue
light.  He also noticed he was still
bound by the shadows.  He screamed as one
of the ghostly children stepped to where he was kneeling. 

“Do you see
me?” the boy asked, moths fluttering from his open mouth.

“Yes,” said
the holy man, “I see you.”  And he began
weeping.

“That is
good,” said the child and he reached up and tore away a piece of the holy man’s
shadow and placed it before him like a communion wafer.

The holy man
opened his trembling mouth and the child placed the piece of shadow on his
tongue.

The holy man
winced as he swallowed the shadow.  It
moved through him like a virus warming him with sickly fever.  He trembled and opened his eyes.  Before him stood another child, this one had
been abused and battered. 

“Do you see
me?” she said.

“I see you,”
wept the holy man.  And then she tore a
piece of his shadow and fed it to him as the little boy had done. 

The holy man
convulsed as the poison flowed through him. 

One by one
the beings of this horrible circle–the monsters and ghosts, beasts and demons,
saints and sinners, the people he had judged and disowned, the nightmares and
visions of ageless beauty, his mother and father, grandparents and ancestors, the
trees and fairies, gods and goddesses–each one asked him the question as they
children had done.  Each time he answered
in the affirmative they fed him his shadow until at long last he could move his
numb, heavy arms. 

A group of
men wearing brightly colored robes approached him.

“We are the
writers of the holy book,” they said, “and we would like it back.”

The holy man
handed it to them.  They wrapped its shadow
around it like a shroud and then turned and disappeared into the circle.

The holy man
lowered his head, exhausted.  And then
the last one to step before him appeared. 

A shiver ran
through his fever-racked body–a shiver of exquisite relief. 

“I knew you
were here,” he said gasping for breath. 

“I know you
did,” the Comforter smiled, and she lifted the last piece of his shadow and held
it in the space between them.  He tilted
his head back and opened his mouth.   He
waited.  Nothing.  He looked at her.  Their eyes locked together.  Finally she moved her hand and placed the
tattered piece of shadow into her own mouth. 
He screamed as deep shame burned through his body.

“It is the
only way,” she said, “No one can digest their entire shadow without the help of
someone who loves them.”

And the holy
man fell into her arms and wept like a baby. 
He sobbed and sobbed clutching her for dear life.  After a long time, he was able to sit up in
her arms.  She cradled him as he opened
his eyes and looked around him.  He wept
again and collapsed into her arms as the intensity of beauty of the vision
flooded his heart and soul and mind—the monstrous circle had become a circle of
luminous angels, each one more beautiful than the next, and all of them
infinitely beautiful.  They were clothed
in deep white robes with crowns of gold. 
Some carried swords and others cups of wine; some carried musical instruments
or baskets of fruit, several of them held infants in their arms.  The angel children waved at him with sweet,
tiny hands.  And as the Comforter rocked
the holy man the angels drew closer and began to sing.  At first their voices were hushed like the
morning but soon were rejoicing with the full strength of day, with the full
glory of spring.  And as they sang the
Comforter carried the holy man in her arms and lead them all on a joyous
procession to the village in the valley of the hill.  As they neared blossoms sprung at their feet,
birds circled and sang out with the angels, and the villagers came running up
the road to meet them and they all joined in the song.  The young woman who had tried to heal him
with the blue streamer embraced the Comforter and the holy man.

“So there
was hope,” she wept. 

“Yes,” said
the Comforter, “you and the others gave it to him and it was ultimately too strong
even for his cold heart.”

“Thank you,”
said the holy man to the young woman, “Thank you for helping me see myself.”

“You’re
welcome,” she said touching his face, “I am so happy for you,” And she turned
to join the singing and the heavenly parade.

“Do you
think you can walk yet?” the Comforter asked the holy man.

“I would
much rather stay in your arms.”

She laughed
and lowered him to the ground and said, “If you’re able, you must walk among
us.”

“Where are
we going?” he asked.

“To the
castle of the King and the Queen.  They
are holding a feast in your honor.  For
you were once lost and now you are found.”


 

Copyright Joseph Anthony of the Wonder Child Blog

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