Something comes from nothing.

Like the miracle of Moses parting the Red Sea, Rex unexpectedly offers four days of Jeb time and suddenly I’m a woman in an empty house with open passage.  My to-do’s get checked and crossed.  Mornings are spent in my turquoise kimono with golden sun and extra time for words.  I spend my evenings at the River House with long-time friends and belly laughs.

We make our way into the Village where the sleek restaurant/bar pulses hip, downtempo beats over bodies milling in black.  I see humans hoping for minor blessings.  Servers ready to go home, hopeful for big tips.  The guys at the bar scanning, wondering if they’ll see a new face in this small town.

A local divorcee faces a woman squarely, four knees barely touching.  The hand with his tattooed wedding ring will reach to brush her in a gesture.  He’s eager with the prospect of leaving the past behind.  His hands planting themselves upon her with more certainty as their glasses empty.  Patrons smile approvingly, they know everyone needs love.  We all seek saving graces.

courtesy of Wikipedia

I drive myself home and ponder the inexplicable.   The sun miracle at Fatima.  1917 in Portugal and thousands of people brought to their knees as the earth’s central star danced the sky with multi-colored hues.  Their bodies blazed in penetrating heat.  The multitudes were pressed to the deepest humbling, at the mercy of the cosmos.  They crossed themselves and readied for certain death – this was the end of the world, for sure.  And then, just as suddenly, the afterglow of stillness.



The sun hung, just like it always had and they were left to mingle amongst each other, reverberating in phenomena they could not fathom.

As I steer myself to my abode, I sing off-key and loud with Julian Velard‘s Bjork cover tune.  My low-lit house greets me, where I’ll leave the dishes in the sink for another day.  It’s time to rest in open spaces.  Slip beneath soft sheets.  There’s no fanfare here.  No walking on water.  But divinity is present.  I feel the miracle of the greatest something in this nothingness.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s