Caritas Christi

It was as if the palms of their hands emitted light. Quickly opening and closing them to the music, pulsating, entrapped and ensnared to a streaming and never depleting embrace. The exhilaration didn’t dare change but provided consistent streams of qualitative and quantitative zen. There were their hands again. Beating like drums against an invisible wall, screaming for it to continue, enthralled to break down the Jericho in their hearts, willing for a new start and a tempest rose to a fever chill and sent them all into a sweat. And the light, a cosmic blanket of white staring insanely unprejudiced into the depths of their soul…all they wanted was for it to continue. It’s all that they could do to hold on with a bare knuckle grip swaying with the crest and troughs of their existence, riding the waves of an enigma straight to the scene of the break down. They rode the notes and melody down river, crashing themselves against crags and skulls. Frontal lobes complained of abuse in the form of electrical shocks but was amplified and energized by electrons, millions of catalysts to an overall energy that broke through a universal ceiling and they all were thankful. Thankful that those three seconds could never come back. That those three were full and a foreshadow of the next three, and three after that until they couldn’t count anymore and time didn’t matter. They realized that breath was in the form of waves, and not what they breathed out but rather what breathed into them. It was all they could do but pour ourselves out in order to receive certain waves to transpire to heights unknown. They lost themselves. Thankfully.