The Resurrection of Lazarus
Resurrection of Lazarus
As I delved into the fantastic longevity of my life, I found myself ready to die. Never had I thought my death to be so timely, yet I had no reason to live. With no reason to struggle against the winds of change anymore, I rather just slide slowly from existence, gliding …. Floa…ting…and gone.
I am now self-conscious in the between. Parallel between heaven and earth, sky and space, creation and preservation and suddenly…..a window appears. I float toward it. The window shines a bright ruby red and unlocks itself. I glide in its direction, and it slides wide open. I step through its window pane as if looking through the eyes of God.
I saw the day break forth as an auspicious work on a pastel painting. Nigh unto the painting stood the artist with an air of magnificence more marvelous than the “creation” itself. Adorned in an inflexible coat from which both collar and tail reached elongation and curtailment in momentary spasms of time, the being started walking. And the world paused as spectators often do when witnessing a magnificence happening. If the being were in a desert and the wind hot and heavy, a person could steal a single grain of sand without deforming the shape of the airstream sweeping it along. If it were springtime in the mountains, blooming roses could be perceived as encased jewel boxes. Touch them and you control open beauty and an enclosed secret. In a fire, a flame could not flicker or hurt, and a single swipe of the hand would clearly destroy the fire like chalk on a chalk board. When it stopped moving, the day resumed.
Upon the garment’s seam sparkled a glorious arrangement of precious stones, both countless as the stars in the heaven and as dazzling as they were bright. The garments even shifted transparency. One moment a glorious light shone and the next….nothing. The coat was the object of adornment; embellished by the entity purveyed within its splendor. For rendered under the cowl neck barely visible was an outline of an expression. Pulsing in vibrant colors of blue, then a shade of green, then gold as it looked upon me, and I was forced to look away.
Suddenly a brightness brought forth from within the spirit blinds the world of its former appearance, and the world succumbs to the powers of pure light. The world succumbs to its power, transforming itself into a huge white linen room. The design of the room retold the beauty in its corners. A single shadow would not have been found in this place for light conquered every corner and space. The same light, which began from the deity, spoke life into the walls as God walked through the room. The shifting light shown upon the ceiling and there out of the marble stone ancient drawing reveal their selves. Sun, moon, and stars were in the drawing. The creation of all things was in the drawing. All of time was in the drawing. I, Lazarus, was in the drawing. The once transparent light now shines a lovely shade of purple heedless of being seen. Walking at a slow pace, it begins to approach a massive double door standing sixty feet in the air. After coming within an inch of the door, it creaks a elongated, “I” and swings shut in a loud boom as if to say, “…am the founder of living waters, the rising day and the morning night. The air you breathe to rise in the morning light. I created all things before anything was. I am, and everything is in me. LAZARUS, COME FORTH!”
I awake, wondering why he made me leave.