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Reborn From The Moon [ON HOLD]
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- Parts 7
April 4th, 1968.
This was a very significant day of my life, or should I say death?
That’s right April 4th 1968 was the day I died.
The day I died, was the day the great Martin Luther King Jr. was shot and killed.
It was 8 o’clock, 2 hours after MLK was shot and killed and about 30 minutes after he was pronounced dead. All of a sudden, I heard glass braking behind me. There was a lot of shouting and breaking of things. People were on the street fighting, shouting, breaking into stores, it was complete and utter chaos.
I had absolutely no Idea what was going on, why these things were happening. Then I heard a shot come from about 2 feet over. I panicked, dropped my bags and ran.
I ran until I could see the cover of the forest. I thought that if I got lost in the forest, my pursuer wouldn’t be able to find me, and I could live. But somewhere in the bottom of my stomach I knew was going to die. That I needed to.
That feeling terrified me enough for me to stop running for a split second as soon as I got to the edge of the forest. That feeling, that split second, caused me my life. The moment I stopped, I felt a terrible pain tear through my back and stomach. I had been shot.
I was able to drag myself into the forest long enough to get away from my pursuer, who wasn’t chasing me anymore, but I didn’t know. I had dragged myself to a clearing in the forest before I couldn’t go on anymore. I was lying in a spot where a single moon beam was reflecting on the ground.I looked up and saw a million stars in the clear night sky. The moon was bright and shining and at that moment, a comet flew across the sky. I remember my last words were: “What a beautiful way to die.â€
Little did I know that my life was just starting.
Because I had a purpose, one I couldnt fulfill until I had died.
A purpose to be a hero.
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Sometimes, I feel like I was designed not to live - but just to survive. My brain doesn't crave joy, meaning, or legacy - it just tries to prevent crisis. It calculates food, money, safety. It panics. It runs. It hides. And somehow... it keeps missing life. I've spent years trying to understand why my mind behaves this way. Why it imagines catastrophes while standing still. Why it avoids the simplest task. Why it overthinks even brushing teeth, but can ride a cycle for 100 km in the rain without blinking. One day, when I was still, completely still... with no task to distract me... this strange feeling overtook me. The thought that maybe - just maybe - I am not supposed to design my own purpose. I looked up. And I said, silently: "God... if You made me this way... if You crafted this restless, impulsive, chaos-driven machine of a brain... then You must know where I fit. Use me. Don't let me rot in guilt and survival. Don't let me just float. You know this universe in ways I never can. You know every corner of it. So You must know the one place where this exact wiring of mine can become meaningful." This wasn't surrender from pain. It was surrender from trying to control something I've clearly never understood. I don't need peace. I don't need success. I need to be used. Fully. For something only this kind of life, this kind of mind, could contribute. If I am a tool, let me build something. If I am a flame, let me burn where light is needed. But don't keep me in the dark asking, "Why me?" Maybe I wasn't built to ask. I was built to be assigned.
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