Mariane Doktor, servant and writer

A journey in creativity and faith

Month: March 2015

Come to life

I see my reflection in the shop window.
My limbs are stiff,
I can’t feel my body
I can’t move.
They take the dress of me
pants and blouse instead.
I lose my arm.
A person bumps into me
I lose the other arm and both legs
Where is my head?
Assemble me!
A person screws me together quickly

 

The silence of the closing hours is sneaking
The light is off
Darkness creeps in
The city is empty
I am empty
I’m stiff
I try to move
I hit the window
The glass cracks
A trembling clatter
Glass shatter

 

I fall
My head hits the cold asphalt
I lose my arms and legs again
Iooking at the starry sky

 

A Sound of foot steps approaches
The feet stop at my hair
The man bends down
He puts me together
raises me
A red drop rolls down my leg
I bleed
My limbs are not rigid anymore
I can move my arms and legs
He approaches me
Breathes into my mouth
My chest moves
He looks me in the eye

 

My feet are wet
as standing in a puddle
I want to move the feet
But discover that I’m standing
in the middle of a rippling source
Still water
Trickles out of his body
I bow and take a sip
I breathe
I feel my heart
I am alive

Mannequin

Out of Darkness

 

A power drill in my mind, building castles out of my thoughts.
The flesh is hungry, arms stretching out, and aspiring, planning, building highways
A plate with sweet fruits at my nose, my thought, my feeling
My ego weaving blankets out of moments and impulses, and they will vanish in a sewer
The flesh is dead, the shell is empty.
I can’t hide on the moon, on the couch, in the night, in sweets,
in the sunset, under my blanket, in nothingness or at the end of the world.

I have to get out and turn around. I’m broken, I can’t repair myself.
The high heels sink in the dirt. I stumble and the dress is no longer pink, but mud-colored
I fall on my knees and huddle as if the mud is a womb. I have to return to the light.

He must become greater, I must become less

I wake up to the sound of silence
And the song of a lark
The air tickles my cheeks
I open my eyes and see
A never-ending river of clear water
My feet hit something
Handcuffs on the ground
I meet a man, who is sitting on a rock
I ask him “Do you know whose those chains are?
“They’re yours” he answers, “Do you want them back?”
I shake my head
“Do you have faith?” He asks
I nod
He looks at the horizon
“All things are possible for Father”, he says
He arises and walks towards me

flod

 

Fill my empty hands

Fill my mind and my heart
with your water
I will catch every drop
remember each drop
How it feels on my skin

I was thirsty and you gave me water
I was dirty and you cleansed me
I called and you answered
Every good gift is from above

 

vand

Where do I find peace?

I stood in my kitchen reading on my phone when it was as if my body was filled with lead. 220 Assyrian Christians abducted by IS was the headline.  The lead began to speak words in my mind I had not heard for years.

Why don’t you stop? What good is it for?  You are useless, and no one loves you…why don’t you become like everyone else? Does God really exist, can you see him anywhere? Drink this cup of fear, then everything will be better. Deny, deny, deny. Say what they want to hear and you will save your life.

I lied down on my bed. My heart was restless, where could it find rest, peace?

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