A SECRET PLACE

 

The old soldier shook his head and shrank away down the dark corridor in disbelief. He doesn’t – he can’t understand.  I pity him, but he pities me.  Bless his heart, he was only trying to help.

How many times has he pleaded with me, “Lady, please to tell them what they want to hear – you don’t mean it.  That okay.  Just say it.  It easy.  Okay?  Then they let you go.”

But for me, it is not easy to deny the truth.  How can he understand my commitment or why I steadfastly hold my ground?

The ground he sees is only a dirt floor speckled with a creepy, crawling citizenry.  The ground on which I am firmly planted is a ground surer than this trodden earth.  He doesn’t understand why I endure this dank, windowless cell, when a few choice words would release me back into warm sunlight.  But then he doesn’t know there is light and warmth in my secret place.  He doesn’t know that these gray mortar walls cannot confine me.

He is quite oblivious to my hiding place.  But I find shelter there.  There I am safe, content and at peace amid its perfume.  Yes, I realize that physically I reek, my clothes reek, everything in this damp dungeon reeks.  But not in my secret place.  There exudes the ethereal, sweet smell of roses.  To that enclosed garden I retreat.  It’s my home, where I really live.  I emerge only when I hear the creaking of the steel door at the end of the hall – the signal of the soldier’s approach.  He usually comes bearing a bowl of rice and a cup of stagnant water.  I eat it with thanks.  Then when alone, I return to feast on the sumptuous food that my guard has never tasted.  Heavenly manna sustains me, not the meager rations stingily doled out by my captors.

My captors are driven men, driven by hates and ravenous for power, even if just power over this wearied body of mine.  Does it give them some perverse pleasure to know this flesh is waning away?  Do they realize my spirit is being daily strengthened by spiritual food?  No.  Their own spirits have shriveled to the point of death.  Their souls are slaves to wanton hungers and passions.  But their bodies are sated and fat.  Pity.

At least my guard has a smidgen of mercy.  He often tries to engage me in conversation despite his bumbling English.  “I talk to you.”  So he tells me about the weather and his family.  It seems they have little more than myself materially.  Yet I have many treasures stored in my secret place.  I try to tell him about my best Friend, but he insists that I must not mention his name here, lest his superiors overhear.  He continues on about his burdensome life.

“You not only one who have it hard.”  I am not sure if he is trying to console me or himself.  “You lonely lady.”  I am never sure if it’s a question or merely his perception.

It is true that I long to hear the cherished voices of those I love, yet I am not unbearably lonely.  I have a dear companion in my secret place.  Or better, our secret place.  But this wizened peon has never heard my sweetheart’s voice.  His heart is still too hard to hear.  He just thinks I’m a little delusional and crazy from too much time in this dark pit.

But I think his world is crazy.  Selling one’s soul for morsels of food that can only satisfy one’s stomach for a flash-in-time is utter insanity.  Yes, it is true:  the flesh is weak.  My own flesh grows weaker every day. But I refuse to let my stomach rule me.  I am more than an animal, bearing every day just to fulfill the cravings of carnality.  I am a re-born spirit that is alive and free and a living soul.

In my secret place, sometimes I sing with the voice of an angel.  Sometimes I run with the feet of a deer.  Sometimes I soar on the wings of an eagle.  But sometimes, I see this nasty hellhole and come crashing down to the dirty floor.  But then, my Comforter is there!   He sings over me his songs of deep love.  My God lifts me up and places me on a high mountain.  His perfect love chases away all fears, for it is fear of death that keeps one in bondage.  I am not afraid for this body to die.   I shall live with Him always!  He is my Life and we will spend eternity together!  That truth has set me free.  He who the Son sets free is free indeed!   My spirit soars again!  My boundless spirit is not bound … despite this corporal body here in this wretched confinement.

How I pity my captors!  They know not the bondage they are in, ruled over every minute by the relentless taskmasters of greed, lust, and hate.

I must go to my secret place to pray for their release.

© 1996 HIM/CAVenable

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