Posts Tagged guilt

My mission was clear, determined in the hours preceding my slumber. A journey must be made in order to obtain the necessary information to formulate my plot. And so under the cloak of darkness, when my body and mind were at rest and the door to world’s unknown lay open and waiting, my spirit took flight and magically passed through.

Preparation of meditation and cleansing are no longer necessary for me, as once they were. I simply bring to the forefront of my thinking that a journey is required, and once I reach a plateau of unconsciousness where my spirit is able to detach itself, it does so eagerly and without pause. As if triggering a mechanism, all that I see, hear, feel, taste and touch are recorded in the memory banks of my mind; for future extraction upon reentry of my spirit.

Astral flight, astral projection, out-of-body experience; call it what you will, the process is the same, though the outcome widely varies. Normally, there is a clear and decisive reason for these journeys; as the answer to a question or solution to a problem is sought. This time, however, I left myself wide open with no particular question or problem, just the need and want to visit a dimension I had never before traveled, in order to capture and create from whence I had come.

I was not disappointed, but I was however distressed and somewhat traumatized by the experience. It was as if I was being led, instead of traveling of my own free will, and the one doing the leading had a specific reason for taking me there. The reason was to reacquaint me with my sin. The destination was HELL!

The corridor was long and dark, with hard-packed dirt floors and walls of rock that were high and arched; like the tunnels they dig through mountains, only there was no end in sight.

As I was led through the center of the tunnel, glass-fronted rooms lined either side. In each room, or life-size box as I came to think of them, was a specific scene from my life; scenes of sin that I had forced myself to forget; filing them away in the deepest recesses of my mind, where I was certain they would stay locked. Suddenly, and without warning, forced to relive each and every one.

To stand outside the box and watch, grateful when the show was over and the box went dark; only to turn and see the miles and miles of sin that lay ahead; sin that I must now suffer; as no thought, regard or consideration was given at the time.

The dread I felt, at the prospect of having to suffer so many, pales in comparison to the shame, regret and repulsion I felt; as I watched myself commit one deadly sin after another.

I begged for mercy, but mercy was not given; for this is death at its inception and what each and every one of us must go through. While the decision has already been made, the process by which it was determined is played out for us; right before our eyes, in the form of our lives.

“Be certain that your sins will find you out.”
Numbers 32:23

It was about this time of year; I remember the barren trees and the rain; the cold November rain…

We were on our way home, it was pouring, and as we rounded the sharp curve at the bottom of the hill we could see the skid marks and the mangled guardrail where someone had gone off the side of the bridge into the creek. We pulled over and as my dad jumped out of the car, I wiped the window with my sleeve to try to clear the fog; and through the rain stained glass I could see the underside of a truck with its wheels sticking up out of the rushing water, where it had flipped and landed on its top. I stepped out into the pouring rain when my dad jumped the guardrail and disappeared over the side of the bridge; and that’s when I heard her voice.

I couldn’t see where she was, but she screamed for me to get help. I stood, paralyzed in fear, watching my dad try to rescue the driver who was trapped in the truck; and then I realized the voice was that of my classmate, Missy, and the person trapped in the truck was her mother.

I took off up the road, running to the farmhouse at the top of the hill where another one of our schoolmates lived; her voice filled with desperation, calling out from behind me, “Run Jill, run…” over and over…and I did; I ran like the wind; fear and adrenaline pushing me on, up the hill through the driving rain. When I reached the house I was a trembling, soaking, frightened mess. They told me they’d already called 911 and then continued talking amongst themselves. I stood there, my eleven year old mind in shock; never having been subjected to something so tragic, devastating and surreal. I remember saying, “That’s my dad down there…that’s her mom; that creek always floods; he’s got to get her out!” and they ignored me as if I weren’t even there.

In a daze, I slowly made my way back down the hill along the shoulder of the road. The cold rain mixed with my hot tears stinging my eyes. I was halfway down when I heard the sirens, a moment later the flashing lights. I stopped where I was; not wanting to get too close; not wanting to see what was happening, feeling the hand of death reaching out, praying to a God I barely knew that it wasn’t so.

I don’t remember the exact moment my dad reappeared, I don’t remember seeing Missy at all; I don’t remember if we stayed there with her or left and went home. I just remember hearing someone say that her mothers head was caught between the back of the seat and the window and it was too late, that her windpipe was crushed; and she was dead.

It was awkward when she finally returned to school. I didn’t know what to say, I felt as if I’d somehow let her down; and I remember it was hard for me to look her in the eye. They moved not too long after, and I clearly remember the guilt I felt at not having told her how I felt before she left; how sorry I was that her mother had died; sorry for not running faster and for my dad not being able to save her. I suppose in my young subconscious mind I believed that nothing I could say would make the slightest difference, and at that age maybe it wouldn’t have.

But I still hold the memory of that fateful day that altered two young lives and minds forever; different in scope and depth, but both altered nonetheless; and as long as I live I’ll never forget the sound of her voice calling out to me through the rain…