I began construction more than a year ago and I have been struggling down this rocky path, as a beast of burden, for nearly two months. I carry on my back a homemade crucifix, made of the strongest, heaviest wood covered in sheets of metal.
I see others in the distance, how I abhor them. Yes, there are other burdens like mine and I give them the pity I don’t have the decency to give to myself. But there are
others. The ones I suddenly see, in a tormenting clarity, with their paper crosses that now are torn to shreds and dance in the sky as a gust of wind comes up. But they don’t even
notice that their pain is gone so they continue along the cold road for no reason.
I wish I walked up this path to save others. Struggle under this burden for others while myself being sinless. But obviously I’m not, and I’m sure that’s why my cross is so heavy. I wonder if I can save even myself? Why torment myself with such notions of being a savior? Because I’m sure that, unlike the construction paper or popsicle stick
crosses, mine will still be intact when I reach the hill. And when I do, I will dig a hole and set my cross in it. Then begin to fashion myself on it as best as I can, exploiting my sins. I will never ask for forgiveness. And when its all said and done, my entire life will have lead to the ultimate act of rejection.