Disciple or lover of God? Who am I
Copyright © 1995 by Odell Sneeden Hathaway III
Who am I?
I am the prince turned into the spider—or maybe I am just the spider who thinks he could one day be a prince. I am sitting on the edge of the sink watching the young woman washing her hair. All I can do is stare up at that glorious sight, intoxicated by it. And when she tries to chase me away, because she knows that I could be hurt by the water she is using, I just sit there staring up until a drop of water flies off her hand and lands on me—burns me and crushes me. And as I lie there dying, I can see her concern for me, and as I die I hope that my death will bring me closer to her and turn me into her prince.
Who am I?
I am a baby lying in my crib crying, wanting, and needing. My mother gives me a rattle. I play with it and soon find that it is not what I want—it is not what I need. I quickly become bored and start to cry again. This time my mother gives me a pacifier, and for some time I am fooled by this and silenced. There are many who can live their whole lives sucking on this pacifier, never truly fulfilled or alive. I can’t be pacified this way; it is not enough for me. I soon start to cry again. My mother places a blanket over me, and the warmth of it feels so good that I fall asleep hoping that this is what I need. There are many who believe this is what they need; they never wake up again in this lifetime. I quickly wake up and start to scream. She gives me a bottle filled with milk from her breast, but even this can only pacify me for a short time. It is not what I really need.
Who am I?
I am the young sailor just barely able to walk. My mother’s milk is not quite dried on my lips, yet I stand on the dock in a fierce gale, feeling the arms of my true love around me in the wind and spray. I long to leave my worldly mother and this phony home—to set sail to be with my real lover as she throws herself at me. Oh, this does not happen on a calm, dispassionate day but rather in the heights of her glory and her passion—in the hurricane! Oh, to fight for my life against her rage and then finally to submit to her as she takes my life and I become one with her, my lover, forevermore.
Who am I?
I am a lover trapped in a chair, staring at my love from across a smoke-filled room. I need her, I want her, I can just barely see her. I sit there, and every once in a while the smoke clears and my lover blows me a kiss. For a moment I am filled with joy, but that soon passes and the joy—and the girl—are gone. Then the smoke clears again and she blows me another kiss as she vanishes from sight. Each kiss leaves me less satisfied. I want her and I need more. My lover can tell that I need more, so she sends me her handkerchief. On it I can smell her and hold it next to my skin, and I can know joy for a moment—all because she held this piece of cloth next to her skin. Oh, there are many fools who can live their whole lives with nothing but this cloth. I am not one of them. For me, this quickly grows old and soon serves only to remind me that I still have not touched my beloved. She knows that I am alone, so she sends me her handmaid and tells her to kiss me. Although I am aroused by this, I am not satisfied and still long for the kiss of my true love.
Who am I? I am a disciple of God and a lover of God—and therefore I am all of these.
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