I walk through the buildings. I breathe the cold air. I look at the faces of others. I keep a morose morbid look on my face. I walk into the parking lot. My mind feels burdened with anxieties and the "what ifs". I look at these people, these people who look so calm, who look like they have their lives figured out. I look, and I look, and I look. My walk feels heavy. My head feels heavy. I don't know what to think of this. I don't know what to think of that. I would like to close my eyes. I would like to rest.
“Your Calvary is still far away,” I hear a voice say.
At that moment the parking lots melts away. The trees, and the branches melt into a white emptiness, and suddenly a flash of light blinds me, and with that, I am left in a white blank void. I look around. I ponder the environment. I think about this. I think about that. I let my mind wander in this blank space of reflection, and then I feel a heavy knock in the back of my head. I fall with my body on ground that feels a bit grassy; even though there is no grass to be seen. My eyes close, and when I open my eyes I feel a great heaviness on my back. I look over my shoulder, and I see a charred black piece of wood sitting on me. I move my eyes and my head, and I discover that this is a cross that sits on my back, but it is not a cross made of wood. It is a cross that is completely dark and charred in color. This is a cross, I realize, of my own making, of my own fears, and my own weights. I would like to stay on the ground. I would like to sink into it. I would like to rest. I would like to rest very much, but I realize that this cross must be carried. I see nobody around me, but the words leave my mouth.
“Can I get a Simon of Cyrene over here?” I ask the grass.
“No, but you get a me.”
I turn my head to the right, and I see… him.. He grabs the side of the cross, and he gives me room to get up and help bear it. We both walk down the path. We walk past the trees. We walk past the animals. I hold the right side of the cross, and he holds the left.
“How did you do it?” I ask him, “How did you keep bearing it?”
“I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid,” he says, “But there is this chapter in the letter to the Philippians, chapter four. You might be able to find something useful in there. It’ll only take you a minute to read.”
And with that, I close my eyes, and I open them again. I see that once again I am in the parking lot. I see that ,once again, there are leaves in the trees. I see that ,once again, the cold air pierces my flesh. I see that I am in front of the car. I grasp the handle, and I sit inside, and I ponder in the silence of the car, and the noise of the tinnitus. I ponder. I think. I reflect. I turn the radio on, and I let my mind wander the spaces again.