Saturday, January 8, 2011

Passing Through

I touch down briefly and look around. The familiar stink is all around and my eyes are adorned with the attempt at beautifying the filth of this place. I have to give kudos to those who live in this place, making the best of scarce resources – but my assignment hurries me on and I walk unseen by many to the place of destiny.


The building looms large ahead. It is a weak contraption covered with paint. The service is about to begin and people stream in in droves. I walk towards the entrance, allowing the breeze to caress my being: it is one of the perks of the job. I stand next to the car park, and soon, I hear a sound that shuts all else out and my gaze falls on the moving hunk of metal. It is covered in paint and is soon lined with others of its kind. I look at the writing behind it.

It reads: Ferrari.

Its form reminds me in some way of some rare amphibian – but this primitive contraption could never equal in design. Now, all of my being is focused on the man who comes out of the vehicle. He is the very reason why I am in this place. His eyes meet mine and from many years of understanding and watching his kind, I can almost smell the loathsome filth of his pride, can see the lack of humility in his walk. I am nothing but an ant to him, shrouded in his bizarre garb of dead plants, purchased with heaps of paper with drawings of other men.


I follow him into the building, and watch as the people around almost bow in reverence at his person and usher him towards the best seats. I follow closely. Allotted time is almost running out. I jostle my way past the ushers and seat myself beside my quarry. I know my way around the building, and without his knowledge, I have edge him towards the best seat for the day…and for the moment.


A woman comes up to sing a song of worship. The faces of the congregation light up as they join in the worship. I know that true worship heals and for my assignment, I would fall prostrate in honour of my maker, the One who lives forever and ever, the Lamb and all-powerful Lion, the one who was dead and lives FOREVER – I force my mind back to my assignment. All thing should be done decently and in order.


I realise the worship will be over as time for this service is short – or has been shorted for a reason. In five minutes the preacher will be speaking. I see the sermon’s topic is ‘Today is the day of salvation’. It will begin in 3 minutes, leaving 7 minutes for what I must do.  The man next to me looks already bored. My duties are clear. All I can do at this point is watch and wait. The preacher begins to speak, passion shrouding him with sweat in the first minute, but…


The man next to me gets to his feet abruptly and begins to walk towards the door. Behind me, the Preacher bellows, sounding almost frantic as I get up to follow my target to the door “Tomorrow may be too late. Don’t assume there will always be time, friend…” His voice fades into the past.

The man walks past the usher standing at the door, bringing out his phone in one fluid motion.

He speaks rapidly into the mouthpiece. There is an important function for the next day, I overhear. Listening in on conversation is a part of my job.

He walks towards his ‘Ferrari’ and I follow him, closing the distance rapidly. He opens the door of the vehicle; I am right behind him now.

He gets into the car quickly. I walk right past him. I know he drives fairly quickly to beat time. I have watched and known him for a while.

29mins 30secs…
I stand outside the gates of the building, knowing his car will be with me in a few moments.

29mins 58secs…
I hear the other sound I was waiting for as it comes right on schedule. My target hears the truck too late.

The lumber truck smashes into the car with all the fury of a tornado, crushing its entire frame. In reality, the vehicle of metal just changes shape. It is only metal. I hear the sounds of bones crushing and the faint snap of skull and spine. The car seat, covered with animal skin, is now covered in blood. A mangled corpse in bits lies crumpled, like old money in tatters, in the crushed vehicle. I do not care about this frame of metal that has been given so much importance. It is simply metal. I do not care much about his clothes made from cotton – plants – purchased with heaps of paper called ‘money’. I do not care much about his body. Important as it is, it is the least important variable at this point.

If I was human, I would weep, but though some angels may come with wings, we do not have tear glands. My eyes stare at the man who looks at me in surprise as light from above bathes us...beckons us. It is time to go. 

He has no clothes on, but he is not naked as he stands before me in his true form without his frail covering of passing flesh. His weak frame shivers in fear and shock before me.  Most of the time, when it was ‘pick-up’ time, humans always seemed surprised and unprepared, drenched in the illusion that the world will always go on.

Beyond that, If I was human, I would weep for this soul that was lost…for all eternity.

Its 33minutes now and I am flying past the Sun to present my target to the SON. My job is done; I go to where I’m from. This world is not my home. I’m just passing through.  


  1. Good to know you're back. Haven't been here in a while.
    Hmmm, this world is truly not our home. may we not shiver in shock and shame when it's pick up time.

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