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"I Come, A Righteous Man" Copyright January 1, 2024 by Gary E. Andrews. A work in progress.

"I come, a righteous man!"
What... prompts me to call out, in the darkness...eludes me.
My fear...ascends...and flows over a threshold...where...I am no longer...fearful...still filled with dread... of what might come...of the darkness.

My voice does not echo.
Darkness. Complete. No distant light. No...light beneath any door, any...crack. Darkness.
I feel myself standing. I fear to take a step.
Are there no walls to echo my voice? No ceiling? I lift my right foot, feel it go back to solid footing.

"I come!" I speak again, more loudly, and declare myself, "A righteous man!"

A chaos of voices!
I fear to put out my hand!
The voices...they... are there, all around me! Left! Right! Behind!
They shout!
They laugh!
Their voices blend in horrid harmony, rise and fall in pitch, call out individual phrases of derision, ridicule! Disgust!

I hear one, say,
"Ye come, a dead man!"
There is derision in his tone, a man, I think!
Others laugh in agreement, repeat, "Ye come, a dead man!!" and laugh anew!
I fear again!

They murmur, mumble, groan laughter, grow more quiet the longer I wait.

Finally, there is silence once more. But now, in the darkness, in the silence, I hear...the shuffling of feet on the hard surface beneath... us all, under my own feet.

Words come into me, and before I can think of them or what the thing to do with them is I've spoken again,
"Where is the light?"

The chaos resumes!
"There is no light!" they shout! And laughter; they laugh!
They call out insulting phrases, "Light! Hah!" and strings of invective, obscenities strung together in ways I've never heard in my...my... life.
They scream and laugh.
In the din I hear one, a woman's voice, say,
"That life is over now."
There is...a tinge...or remorse, of sorrow, of pity perhaps, in her tone. She is drowned out by the taunts of...a mass of others.
I long to communicate with her.

"I...I come...a..." I start, but cannot finish. My voice is drowned in the noise.
The chaos dies down, to murmurs, grumbles, groans, low chuckles, as to a joke unto oneself. The shuffling of feet.

I...feel...despised...by a crowd.

A light! There is a...a puddle of light. I move my head, try to discern whether it is near or far, or just illusion in my eye, in my brain's interpretation.
No! It is! It is light! It increases the puddle, round and larger, gently brighter...as...as of...something...someone coming nearer, step by step...
I see! There is light beyond the horrid human shapes! The silhouettes shuffle their feet on a stone floor, move off to left and right, back into darkness, in silence, aggressive silence.

There...is a white...shape...and a shape like...an arm reaches out..holding a shamash, the candle by which other candles are lit!
A candle alights! The shamash draws back into the...white, ghostly shape, as it turns and begins walking away, the light it brought going with it, dimmer, smaller, step by step. The candle lit stays.

"Wait!" I cry out! I call out a second time but my voice is drowned in the shuffling of feet, the drone of a thousand voices murmuring low in derision!
I step forward into the stream of light reflecting off the floor! Or is it water? It shines with that path of light! I step, and step again, and again. Looking left I see the light from the candle reflecting from the shoulders and faces near behind me, the disheveled hair of a multitude! Ahead there are silhouettes, the disheveled hair, the bodies, some clothed, others naked. To my right as I pass I see what the light shows me. The horrid! The horrified! They are men. They are women. I wonder of children, seeing none.

'Wait!' I think, but do not call out. I want to know the light-bearer knows of me, that I am there, worthy of conversation, worthy of... salvation, drawn out from that...place of darkness, from among that...horde of despair.

I'm at the candle. I see the white shape, the light that came, far away, as in a...a passage, a stone...tunnel.
It...he...stops. I sense he turns toward me, but then turns back, goes on.
I pick up the candle, hold it, look back into the darkness. They stand, resolute, resolved in silence to come no further.
One, a woman, points beyond me. I sense her urgency, that I must go, and go now!
I gesture, feeble, grateful, unknowing, turn and begin to move up the passage.
I am suddenly there, close behind the light!
I glance back. They are there, barely lit from my candle, just behind me, right where I left them but have not left them at all!
I turn and stay in step with the light.
'Whither goest thou?' My thought is unspoken.
No reply to the unasked question. I keep stepping, forward, stumbling, forward. The walls of the passage show in the light that I am moving forward, and quickly, rushing. I reach with my left hand to touch the wall, feel the smooth surface and know many have touched the wall in wonder before me, wearing it, polishing it smooth.
We're moving very fast. I speak,
"Were we not moving so fast I might have time to think."
And suddenly...we're not moving so fast! The...light...before me does not speak but somehow repeats,
'Time' and 'Think'.

Now I see, visually, see my...life...displayed on those walls, above, below, to left and right, all...my life...my life! Every...every moment...every idle moment, every action...failures to act...kith and kin...strangers...friends...every...everyone...whose...life i ever...touched.
I am at once proud and ashamed. It's all there. Everything I ever do...ever...did...in life. I linger...we...linger over one...event.

"See, here," the light...speaks... "You were being selfish with your sister." I fear greatly for my behavior! I want to explain it somehow, to alter that...ancient...reality. The voice of the light,
"That's 'okay'," it...says. "That's how you learned...not to be...selfish." I do not feel...redeemed...but...just curious...at that... assessment.
My mind...if I still have one...ponders as always at the words, the wisdom, the...learning.
I...in life...had the epiphany that we are born from a spiritual plane into a physical plane, into...bodies, with minds of free will, and that the basic tenet of my religious...my spiritual belief, is that we are born to a purpose, the purpose of making decisions, and that by those decisions our soul is either enhanced, if we decide well, or diminished, if we decide poorly.
I see...am...shown...other events of learning, of doing...the right thing.
But I see...a long list of mistakes, misdeeds, I carried with remorse for much of my...later...life.
But my sins...mine are not...not...great sins.
Thou shalt not kill. I never killed any man or woman or child...that I know of.
I loaded the government's bombs and guns and missiles and rockets...but...the pilots flew the planes away and rarely...or did they ever? ...came back without the weapons...that...I knew of, that I recall. I think to search the panorama of my life to know that answer. But we are moving...moving...moving on.
I am not...fatigued...not tired by...the movement. I do not feel my heart beating. My lungs gasp not for breath.

I stole. I remember. And now all the incidences of theft are displayed there about me. There is no debate, no explaining. I stole. I knew I was stealing and I stole.
I coveted. Women are...were a delight. Their faces to look upon. Their smiles. Their eyes to look into. Every one. Even other men's women, paramours, wives, I coveted.
My Mother. My Father. What a long picture parlour this is! I did good things. I did bad things. I acted. I reacted. I failed horribly to serve them well. Regret. Remorse, are useless now, were useless long ago. Their passing. My...inability to...grieve. My...sad, intellectual...processing of the inevitability...of life...and death... My thoughts tangle! I don't know now, how to...think of it.
I wonder at the...the light...which seems now...not to notice my distress...my...need for explanation, the comfort of some other... mind, affirming my righteous...my...desire to think of myself as...a righteous man.

We move. I feel, now, a sleepiness, a desire to rest my...eyes, my mind. I perceive it as desire to escape, to flee from this...reality... back to the unreality of dreaming, and daydreaming, the mode of my...life...in many of my later years. That thought becomes oppressive, with a...knowledge...a belief...that I could have done more for the rest of humanity...even in those weary years of later... life.
What comes? I begin to fear...what comes.
Women.
Women!
I no sooner think of them than they are displayed. Every girl, every woman, every time. Oh! I fear for what...the light...might judge. But...the light...is disinterested...moves on...toward...something.
There; I'm...sixteen. She's thirteen. My first time. Not hers. I'm sitting in the burger joint, seven, maybe eight of us at a table. She rides by, passenger side, cute, waves. A couple boys wave back. One says he...had sex with her. Two others say they did too.
One says, "She's just thirteen."
Another explains, "He mom's an alcoholic; beats her."
A third says, "She's always looking for a place to spend the night, so she doesn't have to go home.
The...scene changes...I...don't remember how...we end up in a rooming house, just...sleeping rooms...some guy she knows...told her she could use his room; he works a night shift.
"I just don't want to stay there alone tonight," she explains. We're there. We lay on the bed, our clothes on. Sleep. Morning; out before the guy comes home. I go my way. She...I wonder...did she go home, go to school. I don't...remember...being specifically concerned; concerned, sympathetic, empathetic. But...
Oh...another sleeping room; this time, a guy I know. Said I could...use his room. We're there. This time...I don't know what I'm doing...how to... She's...cooperative, finally takes the lead...I...I think. Finished.
There's...some conversation. I say, "Let's take a bath; cleanse ourselves of this thing we've done." She laughs. I really...talked like that, thought...that way.
Another time; front seat of a car. People in the back not having sex. Her, explaining to her friend, "Honey, I've just got to!" She lets me.
No...thought. No...concern. Nothing.
Another girl. Same room my buddy let me use. Quick. No...zero attachment. Somehow...we got together...I took her there...sex...once and over. No further... relationship.
The pictures flit by, girls, women, older, never any younger. A...lifetime. It...was...easy. They wanted to. I wanted to. We did. I resist...guilt. But guilt insists. Just... promiscuous.
I glance over my left shoulder; the dark place, the...ghouls, growly murmuring masses, still...right...there.
I look ahead. The light...still moving, just a little in front of me. I...follow.
Thievery! I think it...and it is displayed! Every petty thing. Every...thing of...larger value, schemes and scams, crimes...of...opportunity. I took the opportunity. Not many. "Not many!" I speak, a plea. Can I ask...to be forgiven my crimes? Oh. Misery. Miserable me. I...feel...shriveled, wretched, un...worthy. I don't want to review them. They insist on being...reviewed! Yes.
While the old man counts out penny candy, a quarter's worth, for one of us, the rest of us shoplift. We do it several times. The last time...I remember...another boy steals a whole basket of apples. We go up into the woods and eat them. I...don't remember...were there...seven of us? My two brothers, two other sets of two brothers. Could we have eaten that whole small basket of apples? Did we...leave it there in the woods? Far from our homes. I...don't want to remember.
We're building a cabin. Wood washed up by the river. We need more wood. I spy some at the top of the riverbank, behind a house. We begin dragging it from where the owner...the owner...has it stacked, and down to our cabin. We leave a trail; we steal so much...we leave a trail. It's a grand little building. We get caught.
I want to put my head down...just...follow the light. It doesn't work. My trail of thievery goes on at my feet...every time...every thing. I know I come to a time when I don't steal any more; but...when? How many...times...must I remember. All...all of them. Misery; physical...discomfort. Remorse. Regret. Sorrow. Self...loathing.
Life...is long. There came a time...I lamented life having been short, looking back, suddenly, I was an old man. Older than old men I had seen aging before me.
How...have I lived so long? How have I...ended...here? Did I do...enough...right...to counter-balance...my wrongs?
'Two wrongs don't make a right!'
The...teaching...is there, in my cognizance, in my consciousness. I knew I...
'To know a thing is wrong and do it anyway...is sin.'
The teaching...is there.
How can I be...contrite...remorseful...when...I knew...I knew...I knew...what I was doing.
'Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do.'
That's...that's Jesus...dying on the cross. I'm...not a religious...was not a religious man. I saw the religious men, with their betrayals, their undeniable actions and words demonstrating they did not believe in the words they preached. Thieves ran off with the money believers gave them, ran off with their deacons' wives, husbands, abused their children, their own children, other peoples'. The politicians and their pseudo-faith; terrorists with theirs. Pseudo-patriots cloaked themselves in religion.
"Thank you for your service!"
"God bless our troops!"
"Senator...caught...en flagrante! Fifteen year-old Senate Page! Sexting...I'd like to pull your underwear down!"
God bless America. Family values. Hypocrisy. Hypocrites. Predators...and prey.
So...can I...ask...can I expect...to go on...now...to some...better place? Some...reward? What...in a lifetime...my...lifetime...might merit...reward?
I... Am I...dead? Is it too late to think a 'conversion' to 'believer' is still possible? Can I even 'convert' myself? How can I, now, believe and expect to...buy in to the metaphysical stories I rejected early in life? The thieving, sodomite, predatory priests and preachers, holy men, neither feared a Hell nor hoped for a Heaven. The terrorists surely did not fall for the promise of forty virgins and to stand before Allah and point to these walls and review the broken, bloody bodies and grief and expect reward, saying, "I did this in your name Allah! Ain't it good?"
No.
I'm...here...now...in the ever-elapsing moment...of now...as always...as it always is...was...for a lifetime.
No...going back...no 'do-over'. It is...what it is. I was...what I was. I did what I did. And now... Am I dead? Whither goest the light? I am tired. I seem to have no body, no hands to raise to affirm my existence. I simply...am.
"I am!" I read those words on a church marquee, a quote from the King James version...a version...of the Bible. 'I am'. Am I. I...don't know.
My life...displayed... a panorama...on and on...on the wall to my left, the floor if I direct my gaze there, moving, the wall to my right, the ceiling of the... the tunnel... the...passage. Where am I...going?