He is in the bed, there are days, and this a heavy one, his mind is trouble, apart from the pain, there are memories. Lying on the bed, all the time in the world to think, the only noise, the coughs and roars of others in the wards, the rush of feet on the corridor, old age he sighed, wishing he could get to his feet. He has a rush of thoughts, it’s as if all that is wrong, his mistakes have come to overtake him, crush him inside. Fight he says, trying to push the images away; it’s a collage of all the harm he has encountered, why did I not do more. Please God, release me from this nightmare, please, he pleads, how I wasted my life, why did I gather all those things; the previous week he was worried about the insurance cover on his classic car collection; at this moment he doesn’t care if they all suddenly rust, what does it matter when you can’t take it with you. That was before the stroke. Alone in a private room, who needs time to think when what they have to think of is only about themselves.
Solomon had lunch with a good friend, a co believer; they were exchanging Godly wisdom, the conversation was alive, there was energy, the conversation they have; the lives that had touched them in many happy ways. How the heart fills with light, when you look outside yourself, how the body has time to heal, when you don’t have to stress yourself out. Rest sighed Solomon to his friend, a very thoughtful soul, who spent most of their days, encouraging the words of eternal life, rest is essential; as he pointed out to his friend, gesturing with h
is hands to his fellow diners; no one here got here on their own, no one ever does, amen.