What is death to self (Luke 9:23-26, e.g.)? Who does the killing, and how? Is it the same for everyone or does it differ depending on the particular way self/sin has its stranglehold? I had this original idea back in February, found it in my journal months later, and decided to actually write it. I find it (the poem, the idea, and the way it has played out in my life) intriguing. See what you think.

(I will say that its picture, as you can guess from the title, is a sober one, and even a little graphic in one place. It might be triggering if you have the trauma of this issue (or maybe even any gunshot death) in your history. Read at your own discretion.)

LIFE BY SUICIDE
I unlock the case
And open the lid
     on gleaming black death
Today is the day
I’m finally gonna do it
I’m gonna end this ache
 
How many times I’ve opened this case
     gazed
     dreamed
     pulled it out
     and fired
 
But just as I’m about ready to hand the money to the piper
I renege
I flinch
     shattering windows
     scattering people
     sitting my neighbors bolt upright
         in their beds
Until temple bloodied and ears ringing
Sulfur smell choking the air
I slink back
     and put back
Case closed
 
That’s the way it’s been
But today will be different
Today.
Will.
Be.
Different.
 
~~~
 
No it won’t
No I won’t
I can’t
I won’t
 
And then there he is
     at my elbow
     proffered hand
Why’s he here?
I have to do this
 
But the hand remains
The eyes steeler than the gun
     than the grave
The curious whisper of a smile playing around his lips
And that’s actually what swings me
     to loosen my grip
 
Fine
Take the damned thing
It’s all yours
 
Now this is the part I can’t believe
So sudden it feels like a dream
He pulls me close
     cheek to cheek
And the gun’s at his temple
And his head’s exploding
A spray of blood and brains and bone
     earthy and sweet
Before it takes me too
To darkness
 
~~~
 
Darkness
And … Light?
Yes
Morning light
But the ache is gone
And the head’s intact
And I see the case is on the table
    with a new lock
And his hand’s still proffered
And the grin’s way past hint
And his eyes are molten kind
And he says
Like he’s been waiting to say it
     all my life
     (his life?)
Come have breakfast

“Death to self is the condition where the fact that I do not get what I want does not surprise or offend me and has no control over me.” (Dallas Willard, Renovation of the Heart, from memory so it may not be exact haha)