From the darkness a voice asks, “Would anyone here like to hold the prayer rope of Jesus?”
There is no reply. Everyone feels daunted by such a prospect.
The voice queries again, somewhat insistently: “Anyone?”
I struggle to overcome the inertia of trepidation and answer, “I will.”
A stubby piece of wood is placed in my hand, like a broken twig or branch, deep reddish in color. From it stretches out into infinitesimal distance an energetic cord.
The nearest bead on this cord is barely visible, and vibrating with subtle intensity.
After a moment of holding the stick, the bead’s content becomes clear.
It is a person, and with the stick he or she has punched a hole through the chest in order to be strung on Jesus prayer rope.
Seeing this, I do the same. The stick passes through my body easily, creating a spacious open void.
The piercing doesn’t seem to hurt, though I sense it reflects profound effort in the realm of human struggle, where life’s deepest issues are resolved and redeemed.
And suddenly I see that all the beads