8:53 a.m. - 2005-07-26
New Eyes Rant
Picking up from entry entitled "Redemption Rant" ...
Inside, the very walls seemed to throb with life so new it flickered between worlds, emerging like time elapsed flowers before my wondering eyes. Awestruck by the precious ordinary. Here all along, unbeknownst to that sleepy pilgrim that was me. Reverently reaching for the tools of existence, I rediscovered the toothbrush. The ballpoint pen. All springing from a source I suddenly knew not. The source that granted my next breath. That WAS my next breath. I lay me down in an intimacy that curled about my anxious heart like the crook of a new mother's elbow. Like the cleft in the rock. The sustaining beyond language. Innocense bestowed, generous and unfailing. I slept the dreamless sleep of Eden. Predating the clouds. In the morning, I casually left for work. Veiling the fading glory with a dab of Revlon Medium Beige. No one noticed the change, yet it was unmistakable. Subatomic. I am my Beloved's and He is mine. This thought startled afresh throughout the day. Pressing upon my chest like an irrestible urge. This bliss that continued to open on ever more spacious corridors of hope. Lillies lurching homeward. Fields expanding and goldening before me. While the everyday events proceeded seemingly unaffected. The miracle was that no one saw the glow, perceived the brush of wing. Encased in some private womb of God, I floated impervious to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. For a time. So the question naturally begs ... for what would I trade the pearl of so great a price? For what would I barter my soul? In what guise would the angel of light decide to appear one ordinary evening as I sat reading in some dimly lit coffee shop? The walled city in which I had settled like a grateful immigrant receded imperceptibly as I exchanged glances with a tall, balding man in wrinkled khaki shorts. Nietzche and pasta and garlic and a tentative smile. Egypt beckoning once again. I took my hand off the plow just long enough to shake his. The die was cast. Some fusion jazz version of a 70's hit was straining to be heard over short order cues and sturdy cups colliding. "That's my song," he said to no one. "Great song," I politely replied. "No, I mean, that's my song. I wrote it. That's me playing the sax," he explained, this time to me. Not knowing quite what to say, I grinned and sang along with what would have been the words. "Can I join you?," he asked. I moved over in the circular booth. He smelled of spice and black coffee. Exotic and at ease, with bright blue eyes and a paperback about nothing at all. I felt small and foolish, with my thrift shop copy of quantum physics 101. My heavy questions. That unreachable itch within my own skin. The familiar enmity that took only brief sabaticals. The unwanted guest at my own table proved once more to be me. One no doubt more noble had arrived. In a moment, my unsightly soul slid back underground. Abandoning myself like a fluke encounter, I embraced his world as my own. Just like that. Waiving my birthright yet again for a dallop of common stew, this time in a costly bowl.
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