Restless - The Scheherazade Project

Hello friends and visitors! Again, my apologies for being a sparse blogger. Life has me extremely busy and is keeping me away from my computer ... I apologize and thank you for understanding. Rest assured I'm not far away in heart, though. Hope everyone is well and I appreciate your faithful checking in. I really do plan on being back more regularly eventually! Don't give up on me!

To keep my creative juices flowing, I try to at least participate in my monthly writers' group. Death seems to be a recurring theme in my Scheherazade Project pieces, but this one isn't my fault - Faith picked the picture ;). May's assignment is simply to write on this untitled photo. Comments and criticisms welcome.

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Restless

Death and dying can be other than literal, and sadder.

Here we see a gravesite in humanity's collective soul. No bodies lie beneath the markers here, but pieces of confused energy. Unrequited possibilities.

Here the angels have erected a cross for children returned to God almost as soon as they were given. Some by choice, others with searing protest. Some mothers sacrificed their children out of fear, selfishness, or ignorance. Others released their children before they knew what was happening, wailing as their dreams ran through their fingers like sand. Each cross stands in quiet, anonymous testimony to a life unknown to anyone it would have touched. Anyone but God.

And here, behind each little cross, another cross with their mother's name. Though she still lives, breathes, and loves, a piece of her being uneasily writhes here. For you see, part of a mother's heart is used in the creation of her child, regardless of want or timing or even the power of denial, and she never gets it back. And subsequently, here lies that part of her heart, enveloping her little one forever.

No one tends to this graveyard but the angels, and no one sees this graveyard but God. But God does see, and waits to comfort. Their names are written upon His heart.

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