missing at the end

To have come to the end of myself, it doesn't come with the certainty I thought. It's not all bad, because at least at the end of myself, there's hope of God. But the end of myself feels like holding the end of a rope and having no idea what I'm dangling above. Having no idea what I'm about to fall into, or if I'll be holding on desperately forever. 

I'm not aware of the people in front of me, anymore. There's a dull ache in the back of my head, the only colour is yellow light, and when I start hyperventilating, I walk away as fast as I can before I start choking on air. 

There's a glass wall separating me from you. I can see you, hear you, speak with you -- and I cannot go any further. I can't nestle with your soul... I'm gone. You stand in front of me and I shake and my fingers curl up, and I can't get to you... can't gaze into your eyes, can't fall into your embrace... can't still out underneath the skies anymore. 

I drive, fighting some kind of soul-food deprivation and sheer exhaustion, battling hard breaths and shame in tearless cries, yells, pleas. 

Where have I gone? No, really, I don't know where I went. I've gone missing, and even though I know it's really for the best, I mourn myself. At least I mustered up some kind of feeling, at least I managed to caress your soul with some kind of grace. But now I am gone, and with me, gone any heart, gone any deeply felt memory. 

We don't mean anything anymore.. our loss isn't devastating now, because it's not really loss, it's just admission; were we really here, in the first place? 

I don't care anymore, and don't ask about specifics, because I'm torn up about the universe. I'm torn up about places I have to be and places I won't be, I'm torn up about the dull ache that signifies the deep breaking place, the place I end up either nothing or resurrected, and if I knew how, maybe I'd let go of the rope and risk whatever's beneath me.

I'm glad you dream, though, and I'm glad I haven't taken that from you. Maybe soon I'll be alive for real, maybe I'll wake, and know you for the first time. 
I hope you'll forgive me for faking being found, and have mercy on me now that you know I'm missing. 

I've been looking for myself, and CS Lewis words have been murmuring under the pain of my head these days, these:  Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.

Guess I'm wondering still, how long I can hold on, and if my hands end up slipping, what really is beneath me. 

Guess this is the moment, hey, to hope in what I've been unable to press into all these years for being stuck with the illusion of myself -- God & resurrection. 

Swing, swing, here is death, where is resurrection, 

I gone missing and I could believe, look for God & him I will find. 

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