The Burial

This is the first chapter of the book, The Great Lamentation. Some chapters are short some lengthy.

A church could be seen from the top of the road, it seemed completely out of place, or was the road itself the intruder? It was a beautiful old building; its foundations were preserved from the Middle Ages, although it had been rebuilt over the years. It had tall towers, a large cemetery; grief took its form. But also hope, strength and courage. Its essence was ambiguous, for it possessed both in its great Either/Or. A word that always frightened him, for life itself had this element: Either/Or!

It was a beautiful morning, the day of sorrow was before his eyes, the loss was there, pronounced and painful; it could be seen in the eyes of the only one. Out on the road the cars went by quickly, no one could understand, nor know, the loss and pain that life had filled him with. The leaves swirled in the raw wind; red cheeks filled with tears. The sky was all blue, it was a beautiful day.

There was a dance once, he dreamed of it. There was life once, it was still and still only a dream, but it was about her, whom life had spurned. There was a song once, the one he wanted to sing, but did not dare. There was an hour he dreamed of, the one he had tasted for a little while, the one that gave him a moment of peace. It was a beautiful day, it was today, and here it was, the day of sorrow, which was then anyway, now only pain and suffering were his supreme will, for so she had taught him, she who no longer was.

He was devastated, full of grief, his heart burst into a sorrow that he could not contain, nor hide. Among all the people he was alone; weeping, he leaned over the edge of the grave, where rose after rose was thrown down over the beautiful lid of the coffin. He sobbed and cried, did not feel the tap on his shoulder, did not see the looks that disapprovingly condemned him, his abominable behavior. The hearts that had not known grief, for they were empty, cold and nothing. Just as empty was he, this young man; Nothing, this terrible power.

He called to her in his heart, he cried loudly, and threw his rose on the shining coffin lid. He took out his little note, where he had written down all his love for the lost, the missing; from his heart a prayer, a thanksgiving, a cry for help; was there a loving God?

A man patted him on the back; he held the little white note convulsively in his trembling hand as he looked up at the bearded face smiling sadly at him. For a brief moment he was at a loss, who was this man? It was a compassionate man he met, a mediator he did not know. Not a word did the man say, he just stood there, full of reassurance and comfort.

He found the words so true: true affirmation is true will! Those words were there in all the loss, in all the sorrow, as he quietly threw his white note into the dark hole of the earth. When he looked up from the terrifying pit of the grave, the man was gone, but something remained. A sense of life, trust and a quiet hope; a love that grew, a transformative feeling.