Wednesday, 31 July 2013

Hospitals as sacred spaces

Think about it.

The walls of a hospital cradle the living and the dying. People in hospital drift into and out of heaven or the hereafter or the great beyond or the dark void or whatever you want to call it. 

Don't let those sick green walls, that smell, decieve you. Those brisk footsteps, those spotless white coats.  Hospitals are sacred spaces.  They hold up the living and dying to whatever is to come next. Heaven opens or closes above hospital beds and the walls are drenched with prayer. The prayers of those with eyes closed, forehead against the wall, begging for him to open his eyes, or her kidneys to start working again. For him to be born safely, for her hands to be steady in the operation theatre. For blood to be found, an organ, a doctor, a drug.  

Please, let him get through the day.

Please, please please, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you, God.

I don't know if I believe in you God, but if you're listening, please help me.
Please let it not hurt, please let me get well.

Promises, too.  I will stop smoking if I get out. I will be nice to her if she lives. 

I am sorry I said that. I am sorry I did that.

Please forgive me.

There are no more prayers more deeply felt, nowhere else are hearts as broken open, pouring forth to heaven.

Please, Thank You, Sorry.


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