Friday, December 01, 2006
I woke up at 10 pm, three hours ago. I kept seeing nails, huge nails. I held them firmly in my hand imagining them pressing on my hands and feet and into my heart. In my dreams, I stored the nails in my work apron pocket. I passed them out. I tied burgundy ribbons on them and hung them on a tree.
What does a nail mean? Nails bind objects together like glue or tape or more aggressively staples. Nails bind wood to build homes. Stakes, huge nails, bind tents to the ground. In Roman times, stakes bound criminals to crosses of wood.
Sometimes words just do not say it all. Nails speak to me and for me. They say more than I can manage with words. Pain and beauty in one place. Sorrow and acquainted with grief, those who bear the mark of the nails are bound together by One. Alone and not alone. Hopeless yet not without hope.
Oh, if only I could say thanks for the nails, I would be brave and strong. However, I do not want to think about nails that I carry in my pocket. I want to give them away. I prefer to share my grief that is meant for me to bear. Unresolved and trembling I look for a brighter day. But not for now, not for me.
It is not about me or... my nails. I am part of something bigger than me. Bigger nails. Huge stakes.
Do you have nails? Where did you get them? How do you bear them? What do you do with them? Do you identify with those who carry a hammer or a cross?