the scream

School has started. Routine is needed. Focus is needed. 

What has been accomplished this summer? I feel not enough. I did not read, educate myself. I worked. and worked more. I spent time with friends. 

Emptiness. Loneliness. 

Powerful feelings that strike at awful times. Every family vacation, no matter how fun, I am seem to be drowning in these feelings. I need sleep. I need to be alone. I feel engulfed by so many other people, and so insignificant.

I am insignificant. Who am I? What have I done? What haven't I done? 

Why should the world hinge around me?

Small, sweaty fingers drop the metal object. It falls with a soft rattle to the earthen floor. The high-pitched, unconstrained giggle bounces off the shape as the youngster unsteadily bends over to pick it up. She is caught up in a warm grasp, the familiar hold of her mother who draws her away, away toward their living accommodations. The warmth of the day slips away as wisps of smoke from the fire that prepared the food find their way against the darkening sky.

 The starry vast grows to recognize the sight of that metal object reflecting their shine, the rain grows to recognize the music of her drops falling on that metal object, the flies grow to recognize the feel of the cold smooth surface under their dancing feet. From under the gathered dirt, the object hears the stir of day and the still of the night, the weak cry of the grieving young woman, the lonely footsteps of the traveler. 

Not able to do anything. Not able to accomplish anything. Empty. 

The sun's glaring power warms the dirt. Another traveler, on his way to a distant city, causes the dust to rise and the gravel to stir with each step. His sandal strikes the grave of the dirtied object. Bending over, he brushes away years of accumulation, taking the metal into his hand. The rhythm of his strides begins again, as he firmly begins to rub his thumb against the dirt.  Slowly, the dirt falls to display the dull shine of the metal. Patiently, the man cleans the object. In his hand, he holds a precious, clean, beautiful and perfect cup.

A cup able to thirst the quench of the traveler, to quiet the cry of the grieving woman, to the sinner who wants more, who needs more. 

No longer empty.

A cup able to be filled, and to fill others.

but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

8/29/12