CESSATION WASN’T THE INTENDED DESIGN

DEAR DEATH,

I have always wondered if it’s my Father, who gives only good things: created you. It has been an itch in me for quite a while, asking and pondering how someone so good can create something so bad. My wonderful awesome Father took me on the journey, to quench the thirst of pounding questions that had filled me to the brim like a surging wave in the ocean. He rolled back time, to the beginning where as a man I can see things from the very start; Him, when nothing was there but Him constituting of everything.

He told me, “All things were made and came into existence through Him; and without Him was not even one thing made that has come into being.” He said these words to me as we journeyed seeing the reverse of everything, heard the whispers of time coming back to Him.

I don’t know if you remember anything that was before you got the name you are now identified with. I don’t know if you still remember the reason why Father created you. I know you weren’t created like me, but you were to give meaning to that which He created; continuation. I saw you young, full of power to do as Father bided. I saw you gracing seeds, how your hands turned water into mist to wet the dust which He spoke into being.

To see the hands of the Father is to know the relationship between the waves of the ocean and the shores, the swashing relationship of kissing, gently touching the other and giving promises to the one for ages, fulfilling those promises. I tell you, if only you can remember the hands of the fathers, when He was done with preparing, forming and fashioning the heavens and earth.

When the earth was without form, and void; a state of being which had to come to an end as the beginning of another state begins. Father spoke light to be: I know this image, the beauty as how light was formed is still burned in your mind. You still remember the seething might of light as it consumed the darkness, bringing it to an end, and yet the beginning of the light started.

Oh you beloved of the Father, why bow down to him whose strength was never compared to yours, oh, you were strong, more companionate. How did you fall, what name were you called before a third of you feel.

Terrible was that day, fierce was the battle, cruelsome was change that took to your power. Authority was stripped off you leaving you naked. As you fell, I saw your pride and angry given a cloak; fear.

To be with Father, you were to give end and beginning; happening in explosives, burst of beauty. In ways only a seed tells as it gives up its existence to be a plant growing to give more seeds and food.

I saw you being built into a prison; fear, holding captives all those who were sired by Adam. I saw you become a cancer to that which father had proclaimed beauty; an outcast in the heart of love. What kind of whispers did the accuser of brethren whisper into your ears, what did he promise in order to make you give up the place you had for Father in your heart?

Didn’t you know that all things are Father’s; all things are Him, for to be outside of him is to be a counterfeit. Now you bring no beginning but an end, you bring waste. Jealous bleeds from the end you bring

As we stood, me under the shadow that Father casted, watching you lose your glory, Father reminded me. He said that he is the alpha and the omega, the beginning and end. It was never you. You Death had no power on your own outside Father, and thus He took the keys back from you to. Father’s end doesn’t stop life, it begins it. The story keeps being lived, for that’s life. Well as yours is about the cutting short a story.

I fear you not death, for in the change of seasons, in the burning of dreams to ashes, my Father is amidst to breath fresh anew in all that He created whose hearts still beat for Him.

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