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Once, I dreamt I carried a body on my back. It was shrouded, like the bodies from Death Stranding, cocooned in linen.
I labored through a desolate land, and I knew that on my back I carried the body of Christ.
In my dream, I thought to open the wrappings, but I was afraid. The body was too light, too frail, to be a living man. I feared I would find only dry bones and see the Savior crumble to dust between my fingers.
At last, overcome with desire to see and know, I set the body down. With trembling fingers I pulled aside the linens, to behold the face of God.
For a moment, he seemed in peaceful sleep.
Then Christ turned and looked at me, and his eyes were like the dawn that blazes above a dark horizon, his face like hot brass. My heart leaped in my chest.
I flushed with shame at my doubt, but the heat of his compassion burned it away. I knew then that the fire of his love could burn away the guilt of all the world, and all the worlds to come.
I woke in a sweat. For some weeks I went about my daily life, but my sight, as if still in dream, was fixed on the luminous face of Christ.
I realize now that my task is incomplete. In my dream, I was supposed to carry Christ to his destination.
A dead god is very little burden.
But, having opened the shroud, and seen his face, how can I carry the Living God???