I have not been writing for a few days. It has been as if hell unleashed itself on earth for me. I did not know that such suffering was possible, though I have suffered much in my life. For the last few days I have been prostrate on my bed. Sometimes pain does not have a voice. It cannot speak. It is silent. It just has to be endured. And how, I do not know. I only know that I am still here. Weaker, dizzy, reeling, fragile, vulnerable, but still here.
I try to plumb the depths of the Universe to understand – but I don’t. Who can? Can anybody? Sometimes I think I understand, and can find peace. But soon, I find that I did not understand at all. And once again, I am spinning in some horrible vortex. Lost. Thoughts all jangling, until the screaming comes. They say that even the stones can cry out. Am I a stone? Where are the stones? Are they crying? I do not know. I cannot see. I cannot hear. All that I know is the onslaught of something that I cannot even describe. Where are the stones?
Enduring is all that you can do. We, us, me. Who? I don’t know. Who am I anyway. They say my name is Lorraine. But who do I say that I am?
They say I am Beloved of God. They do, you know.