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Centripetal

P urgatory Christian Passen

I

find myself once again turning to you for guidance. I have cursed your name, I have turned my back to you, and I have run from you without looking back. Despite all my best efforts, I find you standing before me with open arms. I collapse to my knees and beg for your mercy, but have have already given it to me. I crawl to your feet to kiss your toes, but you step back and say, “Stand up.” I look up at you with fear over flooding my eyes. Every bone in my body is shaking. I can hardly speak, for my voice is but a faint trembling whisper. Your offering hand descends to mine, to lift me back to my feet. Ashamed, I look down. I have found I can no longer look you in the eye. You’re stare is so strong, I feel as if you see right through me, as if you are stripping me of all I am and all I pretend to be, simply to see what is actually there, beneath all the pathetic defenses, I insist on putting up. Before you, I feel as if I am naked. With every ounce of my strength, I reach out my trembling hand. You take hold, with a soft, welcoming, yet at the same time, firm and sturdy grasp. I feel as if I am lifted up with such force, that the whole world has moved from beneath me. The surrounding air feels cold, yet refreshing, as if I am standing on top of a misty mountain, embracing nothing but fresh air. Again you look at me with a stern eye. I stand before you with no sense of pride or confidence; such worldly things have been lost or forgotten. All else feels distant to me. There is nothing but you and I and the fine line between Heaven and Hell. Behind you lies the gates of heaven, which some people have described as “The pearly white gates” or “The gates of Gold.” In this light, I don’t see the image, that so many people before me have portrayed, instead, I see a somewhat peculiar sight. I don’t see shiny gates of gold, but rather red silk like a curtain. As if a play is about to begin, I expect to see the curtain open and reveal a wondrous view. A sight of angels, harps, clouds, and an overwhelming white light, brighter than that of the sun. However, this curtain remains closed. Opposite this curtain is another, the gates of hell. Behind this second curtain, what I

Pa s s e n

Centripetal Volume 12 Issue 1  

Volume 12 Issue 1--Fall 2010

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