"Why have you forsaken me?"
To be without. Abandoned. Deserted. Is that the climax of all worldly suffering? Was he enduring these feelings for the first time because he was, for the first time, cast aside, rejected? His first taste of the intolerable? Had everything, up until now, been nothing but a pleasant stroll in the park?
He loved. He was loved?
The harshest punishment. Father? Gone. Not gone. Is there. But not there for him.
At the eleventh hour. Unattainable. Unresponding. But why? After all this? An unwanted child. A faultless child. Unable to understand. Alone in the desert. Not alone and alone at the same time: The father is there, in the distance. There but unreachable. Like a mirage.
Nailed to wood. Roaring like a lion. The unfathomable realisation that he, who loves all, has left him (the most faithful). Hanging. Dying.
Is this the ultimate sacrifice? Father. That the why. The how. Was unbeknown even to him (the unquestioning son)? At the end.
A deathly dry air. It’s in there. The spirit. In the breeze floating past his nostrils. Breathes in. Not there. Lost. Everything that there is. That ever there was. The only thing that ever mattered. There. Still there. Always will be there. But not for him.
He led him here. All this way. Did what he was told. Faithful. To the end. And what? Shunned. At the end.
I don’t deserve his forgiveness. Lying here, on the lawn, in the late spring dew. Dampened as if I’m just another blade of grass (but I’m not as I’m not rooted, not connected). Still, some feeble attempt to cleanse the filth in some lost hour. Under cloudless quiet sky. Stars sparkling like tears that won't fall. I breathe heavy and irregular. Out of time with the universe. Out of sync. Out of rhythm. Unclean! Why does he love me? Why am I forgiven? Why is he there for me? Dirty me. Always there for me.
I don’t deserve this.