Same job, different uniform.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Freedom, Acknowledged or Not

He cowered in the corner of his room, sweat beads popping out over his scarred face. I heard whimpering.

A Judge, the only one in the case with the right and power to do so, granted him a pardon. No strings attached--not even "If you do it again, I'll..." With a mighty pounding of the gavel, the guilty prisoner had walked out of the vast courtroom into the light.

I moved toward him and touched his shoulder. "How long have you been this way? Why don't you go outside? Drink something. Have a little nourishment."

Those grey wild eyes turned. "I am in prison, you fool. And how did you get in here? Why are you mocking me?"

I stared. He believed he was still in prison.

The declaration was irreversible, not even open for appeal. This heart had been given the intolerable compliment of freedom, peace and goodwill. I had watched him leave the courtroom with bounding step. Now I blinked in disbelief as he shrunk into the corner of his wide room.

It must be a mighty delusion that denies a man the truth about his circumstances.

The universe had not shifted one iota. All was intact except his understanding.

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