Self-Inflicted

Be prepared. Never under-estimate. Always do your best. Amillion cliche phrases barreled over my mind the instant before the initial tidal wave hit me like a speeding downhill freight train. Regret and horror are a steaming engine and excuses are an endless line of loaded boxcars pushing with all their weight.

As this massive force swept me from my raft, I could feel the hand of The Almighty One pull out from underneath me. Total abandonment. Overwhelming fear. Completely void of all trust. As I was violently thrown down into the depths of  that watery oblivion, like some sort of unholy baptizm, a white light appeared all around me and its warmth enveloped me. I felt a voice. He said:

"My Child, I asked you to leave the island. You had outgrown it and it was set to waste away in flames. You, My Son, were the one who made a raft. You set yourself to drift the wide open lonely ocean. You were the one who figured out so well, all by yourself, how to catch food and keep shelter. Your will to survive, My Child, has demonstrated true passion for My Will. However devoted the gesture, nessesary it was not."

"My Son, why have you chosen to struggle like this? Do you not know that you can fly?"