The light burned out, leaving the young man in utter darkness . . .
But as the dancing swirls of smoke floated from the charred candle wick, the young man continued holding his vigil –– pouring out his soul to the cold, unforgiving rubble laying lifeless in his lap. The dingy confines of the cave surrounding him threatened to swallow him whole as he desperately waited to hear a comforting response, soothing words, a familiar voice.
But the young man knew that his father’s bones wouldn’t talk . . .
There was so much that he’d wanted to say . . . but time had suddenly ran out, and now the young man was left with nothing.
Held captive by his regret, imprisoned by his mourning –– the young man feared his life was over. And like the light of the candle blinking out of existence, hope seemed to vanish.
The young man remembered the words from the Teacher . . . “let the dead bury the dead and you follow me.” The words had felt callous. Even the memory of them stung his soul. They sounded damning –– sending a tempest of emotions coursing through his veins.
At the painful recollection, the young man exploded, yelling –– “Oh God! Loving and losing hurts so bad. Why won’t you help out? I’m dying over here!”
As he ground his teeth in anger, breaking them down into powder –– the young man caught a glimpse of his heart, and saw that it was in pieces . . . much like his father’s bones.
The young man had become another corpse in his family’s walk-in coffin –– even though he could still breathe.
Then something especially-beautiful happened right then . . . the words of the Teacher came back and embraced the young man, drying his bitter tears. And he finally understood that the Teacher was warning him, pleading with him, begging him to not forget to live.