Dust off your soul
There was a time when she could not sleep for the gnawing thoughts that ate at her efforts to find peace.
“Tell us,” they shouted, “Tell us before we die. Speak of us, why don’t you?”
“But I do,” she reasoned.
“Not enough!” They screamed. “Not enough!”
“She looked at them in silence, thoughtful.
“That’s your problem,” they grumbled, “you think too much.”
“And whose fault is that? Maybe if you left me alone half the time I would do something!”
“Liar!” They chorused. “Liar, liar, pants on fire! A liar is a thief is a murderer!”
“Oh stop already! Hypocrites! Look at you, all righteous and knowing in your void. Would you reveal yourselves to the world if I showed you the way?” She drew her lips apart in a silent scream and waited. Stillness rushed in, surrounding and filling her gaping mouth.
Silence. Then rose a soft murmuring of hushed voices. Then again silence. She waited.
“We have lain on our bellies in interminable dark trenches,” rumbled a voice, “crouched behind an eternity of thin walls, waded through fetid waters of abysmal depths to get to you. Our strength, tenfold now, is a thousandfold only in your hands. We are but soldiers, warriors to your cause. Lead us to battle and our power is unsurpassed. Leave us to lie in treacherous torpitude and we wither into nothing. We are your saviours and your saving grace, your respite and your refuge, your peace and your power.”
The voice went quiet. “Show us? No, lead us.”
“But where do I begin?”
“Dust off your soul.”