Someone walked in the room and I automatically put my hands out to rest on them and pray as they stopped in front of me. There was great need in them as if the oil and honey pouring from my hands was unusual for them and the first relief in a long while. Drawn and travel worn this person seemed to rattle like the breath of the dying…bone shakers I call them.
I continued to reach out while a heavenly substance ran through my arms and over them. Then for the first time I saw their face. It was skeletal even though they were alive, the head was mostly blackened and skull-like with barely any flesh. Somehow I knew this individual had come in from the fields of toil and labour spending years in the heat of the noon day sun. They looked so burnt I was amazed that such bereftness had managed to reach this point.
It was a bit like the crossing of two paths; one on the way in and one on the way out.
This condition seemed to be the result of a great labour and a punishing schedule, as if the toil was to work out of their system a poison they refused to give in to. I waited beside my visitor now resting. Then the River came, gathered them up and carried them into heavens intensive care. It was a privilege to provide safe passage for such a person, whoever they were.