Gethsemane

We were in a dark abyss, perhaps we'll call it a liminal space. It was empty other than the two of us. Sometimes an abyss can feel frightening, but this felt safe. I could not see you, but I felt your presence. I could not hear you, but we were communicating. Out of human habit, I spoke to you out loud even though it felt unnecessary.

I asked, "Will you show me your favorite color?"

Slowly the blackness changed to various images of blue. We were encircled by deep blues. For a moment, we were under the ocean’s surface submerged in a nautical blue that danced between the borders of green, black, and purple. Then a whale passed that flirted between navy and charcoal. Yet, we didn’t stay. We were summoned upward until surrounded by the cosmos where space, stars, and planets glowed in cobalt, indigo, and ultramarine—like brilliant blue flames. You showed me all the blues you preferred. My eyes welled with tears as I marveled at the beauty of your color. It was as if I had never seen blue before.

Afterward you asked, "Will you show me your wounds?"

I said plainly, "Yes."

I don't know how, but images of my wounds surrounded us. Images and feelings from all the past and imagined Blaires that ever existed engulfed us. We were swallowed by my wounds. I was suffering. I was concerned it might be too overwhelming for you. I asked if you wanted me to stop.

You said cleanly, "No."

The images enveloping us persisted as I replied, "You sound like Jesus. In Gethsemane when Jesus was engulfed by all-consuming wounds that weren't his he chose not to stop. The wounds were meaningful for his godly transformation. I don't see why the same can't be true for you. Jesus wasn't even a man, and neither are you."