Fabric of Humanity

If you are selling something, wouldn’t it be wise to sell the benefits?  If I were to tell the tale of a black sports car flying up a winding mountain road in the summer air, I might refer to the feeling of floating, gliding through the hot dry air, a cool breeze making my hair dance.  I certainly would not even consider telling someone, that if they don’t drive, they will be walking, and they will get run over, and their blood with cover the pavement.  Would I even go so far as to cackle about their demise?  Sounds ridiculous right?

Apply that concept to the notion of heaven and hell.  Wouldn’t someone who claims to love God and his most precious creation (people!) want to show them the benefits of the christian life.  Why then, so often are my ears attacked by angry people yelling angry threats about the worst possible demise of a human being?  “Your going to Hell” they shout.  Spiting angry fire swirling around words and threats. Do people have a say in God’s punishments?  They joke and jab, laugh and condemn to people who perhaps have never cracked open a bible.  This makes me consider that they really aren’t familiar with the idea and character of God.

I value people, to me, I think they have something of value way beyond their physical bodies.  A soul.  In my mind, souls drive the cars we call bodies.  The best way to sell God, and Christianity is show that you value the person beyond their format.  Talk is cheap, so very cheap.  I have many atheist friends that have a very good point about scientific research.  Things must be observed and proved.  What better way to prove God, than to show his values and principles to everyone, everyday.  I show and prove God with the way I treat people.

The fabric of humanity is the clothing of the soul, and everyone deserves a shot at heaven.  I never want to stand in between them and God.   If perhaps, I understood the vile and terrible place called Hell, why would I wish it upon anyone?  It simple, I wouldn’t.

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Copyright © 2018 Zachary  W. Gilbert





I sat at my thick banquet table.  Cool night air danced in my hair.  I another great year, another great feast.  I ran my fingers over the cold speckled stone of the table.  The food was warm and rich.  I could tell my friends were impressed.  A large fire housed in ornate stone, warmed my guests.  There was laughter and the clanking of expensive silverware.  My dogs waited beneath the tables in perfect obedience.  I love the taste of meat, and so do they.  Even though they usually have to settle for cold scraps.  I savor the warm juice, and the way it melts in my mouth and makes my belly feel full.  I think I ate more than I should have, again.

Later that evening, I look down on my open court banquet hall.  Every night I see the same wounded beggar.  Something is wrong with him.  I don’t know what.  The servants are drunk again.  They don’t see him stealing food.  My dogs are licking the sores on his body.  There is no meat left, if there were, my dogs would kill him.  I’d enjoy seeing that.  But, all that is left is cold hard bread.  Sawdust really.  I make sure not to leave left overs.  My eyes catch the last glow from the dying fire.  The blackened wood has orange lights dancing on it.  He looks like a dying ghost crawling on my stonework.  Leaving rank blood in the wake of his crawl.  I wish he would go away and respect my privacy.

In the night, my body surrenders its last breath.  The morning finds me dead.  My spirit is flung off of the earth.  In a moment, I see it spinning away from me in vast cold space.  I think I am falling, but I am being pulled.  I am given no time to take in what I see.  I feel like I have fallen into my fire at home.  It is the size of an endless ocean.  I hit the surface hard, it is thick like molten rock.  Churning and boiling.  I am bounced and tossed.  On the horizon there is a distant light.  I scream in pain, as I swim though fire.  I arrive to a rocky face.  I look up into the sky.  In the clouds, I can see people at a banquet.  They are far away.  A vast darkness separates us.  A man, I have never seen before but somehow recognize is holding the beggar.  They have water.  I shout, and shout.  Somehow they hear me.  I ask, simply for a drop of water.  My mouth is so dry.  A burning, sticky, hot kind of dry.  I feel the heat of the fire.  Melted rock, falls from my lips.  Toxic gas vapors swirl out of my nose from the back of my throat.  Why don’t I ever burn up.  Doesn’t this nightmare end?  I am locked in a moment of pain.  I keep thinking my skin will melt off, but it never does.  I am trapped in the moment when fire first finds flesh, and bites.

The man lets the beggar go.  Somehow he can walk.  Somehow, in the night…  He must have died too.  He looks fit.  Younger.  Alive.  The man tells me I can’t go back to warn the living, I can’t leave.  I must stay, wrapped in eternities blanket of fire.  I am a orange ember trapped twisting in burning rock.  Pain, shouting, and flame are all I have left in  my new reality.  I burn in the privacy of death.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert