One Thousand Years
Genesage
" The Pain Within"
(Chp 4:7)
One blast of light from the East ended all Tom's hopes of dying.
One rush of mighty wind blew all Toms anger away. It felt internal as well as external. A surge of something foreign that welled up from within as the “wind” blew through him from without.
He didn’t know what it was, it had been too long
Whatever he had felt, this evaporated his rage and strength as if they had never been. The concussion of light. The cacophony of sound. Force of wind knocked Thomas from his knees to fall flat on his face and he stayed there.
It was as if at the moment of his greatest despair, an answer.
Blazing across the sky the world of darkness was shattered by thunders. Piercing blasts booming in the soul deeper than any bass he had known of. This reverberated from inside himself as well. The noise had finality, power, an essence of being and life.
In the Last Stand of Mankind in Armageddon; when all was lost and utterly hopeless; light had indeed sprung forth.
When the light ended; Tom had entered into the Kingdom of God, the “Millennium”, the thousand year reign of Jesus on Earth.
That memory jolted Tom back to his present circumstances.
"Tom."
Coming back to himself startled, he heard the gentle whispering fingers of the still soft voice floating out to him. It was palpable having essence of life to it. You could “feel it”.
The silky caress chilled him rather than invited.
It took hold of Tom as a caress. Touching not just to his ears only, No, it reached out to his soul. It called beyond his understanding and thoughts. It worked its way inside him. It encircled his heart to clasp his emotions there.
There were his “feelings” were still raw.
It was not hostile but simple; tender; imploring. It was easy to listen to. Easier to let go. A means to comply, to allow the words to enfold him. He wanted to listen. He wanted to hear.
He wanted desperately to allow the words to have their way with him.
He wanted to believe.
"Tom"
So familiar, he thought, he knew that voice.
Somewhere, somehow, in another place, in another time, he would have said he knew that voice. Familiar yet so foreign he could not know who it was. How could He? The voice could not be from a..., his mind would not say what.
Yet it had to be as his eyes could attest,
still it could not be.
The voice reached ever deeper down into the center of his heart.
His mind was at war but his heart wanted to concede. If it were alone on the battle field his heart would have surrendered. But his mind would not let go. His soul was torn between the warring factions. Torn by warring loyalties and affiliations.
Down into the private crevasses and hidden closets no one knew. The secret rooms where only Tom went. The voice went…. holding something in it.
As a living thought, a coherent word, a ‘word of life’ object…. no door could resist it.
Holding the key that even Tom did not know. The voice was fumbling with a “lock” putting the key into it. A key that was to a locked door inside of him that the voice seemed to know how to open.
Would his heart betray him while his mind said No?
He really did not know, he only perceived what was happening.
As the door was opened inside his heart it was there that the memories he had been recalling were found. The emotions attached to the images replaying over and over again in his mind stored on file by his recall.
There ingrained inside him was his anger, his loss, his pain, the responses to what he had been through.
All those emotions tied to his soul with those experiences he could not forget.
Like a card index of memories he felt the voice rustle the stored feelings there playing them one by one. Touching, lifting, examining, and experiencing each and every one of them.
All of these emotions on file in card like style had been displaced scattered as if by wind.
Lying a foot on the desk of his reason, piled on the floor of the carpet of his heart, not a one emotion was filed correctly, not a card of experience placed in order. In the office of his humanity his work was shut down, closed, unused.
The voice seemed to know that.
A secretary of arranging, the feeling conveyed in the sound and timbre gave design to the emotions lying on the desk. The heart began to catalogue, the mind began to file, the soul began to clean its house, emotions became filed.
Nothing in the heart, soul and mind was sacrosanct.
Each emotion associated with a memory the voice lifted like a hand touch. Softly almost caressed the scope of emote there…. bringing it to light of day.
Empathically each intensity when experienced this time took the sting away.
A little at a time there was no hurry, no rush, a gentle persistency. The feeling was played away as it was another experiencing it. Someone else aware of the pain there. Someone else feeling what he felt, knowing what he knew.
The touch of the voice was so gentle.
The peace of the voice so pervasive. All the memories were cascading in order. They appeared to be less intense once they were displayed.
Now they were being categorized and catalogued in a logical order. A place far beyond his ability to do. Though not removed… their power over Tom was diminished.
The voice displaced the lock of the focus of Tom’s attention that He, Tom, in so contriving had made the lock with his own hands. Never realizing that he too had locked the door.
So potent his memories had become he was unaware of their power over him. Once began, those memories growing powerful and intense not less.
Yet softly, gently, this “reahing out” voice found his raw emotions and they were caressed, tamed.
No one could have held the door shut to Tom’s heart once his emotions had been touched. Tom if he had been able to would have barred shut the door had he been able to do so. He was not. It was not within him to close what was being released so gently from his binding heartstrings.
Tenderness and sensitivity the voice held healing and warmth.
The warmth, the gentleness allowed his mind to unwind. His thoughts to flow without thinking or reason but to just to allow the balm to pacify.
In his heart and in His mind all those memories like a caged tiger were storming that door to escape from the inside. Prowling they had waited, looking for the moment to escape at any time.
It was a time bomb ticking, beating. waiting. Thumbing ever louder counting the countdown, beating to the rhythm of his heart. Time was running out, the bomb needed to be diffused, Tom would need some sort of release.
Once that floodgate was opened a crack, the dam that would surely burst for all the pressure that was contained behind it.
Crashing out it would flow all the stored weight of experiences it held back.
All the pains that were inside just waiting to drown all who stood beneath the torrent. If the door but opened..,
Caleb and Apple saw the tears first.
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