The hateful siege of years
This is a phrase Achilles uses to describe aging in such a strong and sad way – time’s effect like a siege against our lives.
I imagine Death riding on its pale horse, lording over the army of time. Years, minutes, seconds are the subjects who make up this army. Death urges them on the attack upon the castles of our bodies, coming after our souls contained within, trying to break down the walls so that our life leaks out like a cell’s organs after its walls break. Death’s desire is that we become absorbed into the gray ghostly world, with only hints of the forms of what was.
But what if the story could be different? What if instead of everything passing into shadow, life itself is ripening with every passing year, every passing moment? Something good and life-giving, even when Death believes it has won?
Instead of siege of years, the ripening of days? The growing of New Creation.
It’s not a clock winding down. It’s not a losing battle. It’s God through time blessing us with every passing second. These minutes fluttering by like fluttering butterfly wings brushing against our cheek, Beauty emerging like sprouts from the earth. Eternal life glowing forth.
What if somehow Death is playing into its own hands?
Death, thou shalt die.1
From John Donne's poem, "Death, be not proud"↩