Updated: Aug 22
There is a chasm, deep and unquenchable, in the bellies of my children. Moment upon moment is spent in feeding its depth. Mountains of sustenance are spirited down its mouth in a steady, infinite stream. Food and drink, drink and food, food and drink, drink and food!
All the while, a cry comes forth from the deepest part of the blackness. From the very bottom, if there truly is one. The cry is this: I AM HUNGRY, I AM HUNGRY, I AM HUNGRY! Day and night, the cry finds me, cowering and toiling in the kitchen. My knife and spoon, raised defiantly, as I slice and dice, stir and serve, over and over and over, knowing that I will never satiate the beasts.
As fast as my body can move to prepare dish after dish, it moves like an animatronic mom in a display at a theme park. I am robotic and mindless as I work, leaving my spirit to ask questions about my plight. “How did I become ensnared in this trap?” I wrack my brain, trying to remember the moment that I sold myself into this slavery. I don't remember agreeing to this. Did someone ask me? And if they didn't ask, did they at least know what was ahead for me? Why wasn't I warned?
And then the complete exhaustion that can only spring from an assault on the triune, body, mind, and spirit sets in. And I become numb, and my thoughts become confused, disjointed, and slippery so that I can no longer hold onto them. I lose traction in my run toward a specific cause to blame. I am forced to pull out the final card and play it lest I become desperate, perhaps hysterical, even.
I announce my move in an authoritative croak, sounding very much like a bedraggled toad, “Everybody, brush your teeth. It's time for bed!” And all of my energy, so minuscule that I have been forced to divert it to essential life system functions, is now pooled to fuel a brief, and intense burning behind my eyes, necessary to strike fear into the hearts of my children, lest they argue against my declaration and cause me to act out in some violent rage against them.