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ee. That Darkness in Their Eyes?


                When truth-be-told in its’ purity, we’re all convicts. Guilty until proven innocent. It’s early morning. Cold. I’m awaiting the departure of my train. People are boarding now. I get in line. We’re all so close together, yet all caught up in our own worlds; so far apart. I look into the eyes of those around me and see life in the eyes of most. In the eyes of some however, not that it’s intentional, but as if it’s a threat, a warning, a flag, or a claim, I recognize the sign of darkness. A fate of death around the corner. That darkness in their eyes? It isn’t from them. It’s in them. It speaks to me. Like a mark that their time has come. It's predictable. I know. I’ve seen that darkness too many times. And later, I read about them in a newspaper, or see a piece in the nightly news on television. And that sign I perceived in them? Filled up darkness in their eyes tells the story. The identification is eerie. I want to warn them but I don’t. I didn’t. I am not the Grim Reaper’s messenger.

                Some people say that a person can see their life pass before them in an instant when faced with immediate death. Just imagine seeing your future pass before you in an instant. A future beyond this physical realm. If this happens to you, disappointed, you won’t be. Changed and elated, you will be. Perhaps. That future promises an experience far greater than anything we can conjure with the human language. For me, it's called, a vision. Or a dream. A special dream. And it doesn't wait for a threat of immediate death to be enabled. For me, it happens from time to time; unscheduled.

                After boarding the train, the heat surrounded me. This train was so hot inside. Hopefully the air conditioning would kick in once we started rolling down the tracks. I found an open seat next to a window. I wasn’t interested in stowing any luggage just yet. Too much commotion going on with all the people milling around in the isles of the train car.

                After an annoying several minutes, and shortly after the passengers finally settled down, the train began to roll through the train station and onto the open tracks ahead. The conductor was announcing the destinations. Somewhat garbled on a speaker above me, his voice cracked through the tinny speakers. It would be a long trip. I settled back in the seat and just gazed out the window. Awaiting life to settle down.

                My thoughts drifted to philosophy. Words. Definitions. Without definition, …words are just unknown symbols, either in primitive thought or on paper. But then, the words animate. That usually happens when I’m getting the urge to write.

                We all ride the same train. But we have different views of the passing scenery through the windows. The trains’ destination we all have in common. But our life is a conviction of what we see. We all ride the same train. Yes. And even though we’re all born with various differing convictions, we do have one thing in common besides this train. We’re born with it. We’re all convicts. Guilty until proven innocent. Mortality is our sentence. Conviction. The definition: A formal declaration that someone is guilty of a criminal offense, made by the verdict of a jury or the decision of a judge in a court of law. Conviction: A firmly held belief or opinion. Antonym: Acquittal.

                The root of the word “conviction” or the verb associated with it is to be convinced of it as truth. So as far as religion goes? I’d rather have the acquittal. Man’s organized religion is a mess.

                "And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: So Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation." The King James Bible. Hebrews 9:27,28.  

                When truth-be-told in its’ purity, we’re all convicts. Convicted of a deadly crime. Punishable by death. I saw judgement more than once. In vision, or dream. Why am I guilty before my judgement? Why?

Contact: Author's Forum: pbatusa
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