Zack and the Mystery Light

Bathed in moist, soothing darkness, Zack slowly returned to the peaceful state from which he was so abruptly jostled. A cadence of comfort once again gently bounced him from side to side in his crowded quarters. Taking a deep, sighing breath he drifted into an unimaginably dreamy world. Bathed in light, strange dreams began to fill his narrow view. For the first time he glimpsed the vast unknown that lay beyond his cramped confinement. Magical shapes moved in the light, fuzzy at first but clearing into mystical beings.

Pursing his lips, Zack uttered a bubbly, “ooh.”

Just ahead a mysterious shadow waded into a sparkling, flowing stream. It was as if Zack were suddenly there, beyond the warmth he had known, shivering and afraid. The glowing form of a man joined the shadow. A peaceful aura surrounded them. They approached, paused and then dipped together into the wetness below.

“Uh, oh,” Zack sputtered.

Suddenly the shapes returned, dripping, dripping. Zack was blinded by powerful light. A majestic voice shattered the eerie silence. Heavenly sounds and flying shapes burst into panoramic view.

An unbearable urge grew within him. He must find the glowing presence and disappear with it into this wondrous pool. He must see once more the soaring, singing, angelic visions. Striking the sides of his chamber Zack’s cadence quickly sharpened. He lurched forward, and a new world violently burst into view. The shivering cold returned. Blinding light reappeared, moving shapes bent over him grabbing all his parts. He punched and kicked, but there was no chamber to receive their blows.

“What is he called?” a gruff voice shouted in the distance.

Zack heard the soft reply of a gentle lady, but could not understand. It was obvious, however, the man did not approve.

“That is not his name,” his voice returned, “None of your fathers has used that name.”

“Put me back in my cell,” Zack tried to scream, but no one seemed to hear. Zack lay confused knowing neither his place nor his identity. Nor would he understand what happened next for, like Zack, the next visitor could not speak.

Stooping down, an old man scratched a slate for the others to see, “It is as Elizabeth has said,” he wrote, “His name is John.”

John snuggled into his new swaddled chamber, warm and dry. His pulse returned from its quickened beat. He was where he should be. He would never again hear his old name. And someday, someday, he would kick again and bathe in splendor with the Wondrous Light.

His Royal View

High on a hill, such vantage.
A commanding view
  were it to be seen.
        
A cooling breeze.
   were it to be felt,
    were it to be breathed
     were it not for gravity-yanks
      and voltage-surged nerves.

Yet through eye-filled blood cakes.
  he saw your tears.
Through the roar of the crowd
  he heard your adoration.
Amidst the weight of the world
  he bore your burden.
And against all odds.
  He lifted your sins.

A soldier from his knees proclaimed,
  “Surely this was the Son of God.”
                               G. Yeatman