NOTE: The audio of my reading of this post is at the bottom. Thanks for reading (or listening).
It is whole, not a tooth mark on it. This is some kind of magic—because I ate from the fruit yesterday—and every day before. Yet it re-appears, beautiful and enticing, just as it was when Eve first considered it.
She ate it to the core. Why is it still here?
And why do I keep eating it?
It is sweet to the taste, that first bite, exploding with flavor in my mouth, but then it sits, acidic and heavy in my gut, and I regret my choice every time.
Yet, like Eve, I daily eat the fruit. The desire to set my own standards, to be MYSELF (separate from God) and for everything to be about ME, to be in control… oh, it lures me in.
It sounds like it’s promising LIFE, doesn’t it?
False advertising. LIFE would not burn so. LIFE would not eat away at my gut, eat away at me.
Yet I cannot stop myself.
I need. I am not complete.
I am empty.
“Eat it. Be like God. See. Know.” The whisper enchants. It flows with the rhythm of my blood. I cannot tell if it is within or without. All I know is my emptiness.
But this fruit fills it full with dark.
A morsel of bread, torn, crushed.
It does not delight the eye. It does not entice the taste.
“This is My body, broken for you.”
I recoil. To take this means I admit this lack within me. I allow Another in to witness it, to fill it—with Someone other than me.
But who am I?
“I am the living bread.
I was broken for you.
Eat and live.”