Finding the face of god pt.3

And so I go, onto the last part of my routine, my ritual. Seeking solitude away from the peels of warm laughter that echo through the air. Away from the chatter and good natured jests that are hurled back and forth like a ball on a swing. Away from the eddy’s that cause the water to murmur over the rocks in the rivers path. Away even from the sweet melody of bird song, spun like a weaver spins golden flax from their loom. Until all I’m left with is the breeze that issues through the air and treetops swaying and lilting in chorus down the line, heralding my arrival.

I find my the spot I’m looking for easily, its become a pilgrimage of sorts, something that I keep to each year. Not many people travel this way, very few in fact and that why we liked it, for the peace, the tranquilly it brought. It was our little piece of Eden. There is nothing to mark the spot, but I know it instinctively, my eyes akin to focused lasers I think, even after all of these years. Tenderly, I unwrap the blanket that I brought with me, it chequered pattern somewhat faded after many years, the edges frayed; but each crease and wrinkle sparks so many happy memories, memories of a time when I felt whole and complete.


This is where I scattered her ashes, the spot we both agreed upon if either of us went before the other, although her Urn sits upon my bedside table, it is this place In which I feel most connected to her, this place I which I feel her presence more than any other. I am getting too old now to easily fold my legs upon my knees, it almost becomes a collapse, but in honour of her while I’m still able, I, like a rusty machine called into action once more, creak and strain and ungracefully preform my manoeuvre.

Locked into position and resigned to an uphill struggle to stand vertical, I move my attention and dust off the mental photo-book within my mind. Scenes come alive once more like a living painting, vibrant and full of colour. Like a conductor orchestrating a symphony, I add sound and texture to the painting, I step into the painting and am transported back in time. Laughs and giggles weave through my ears, the remembrance of how the dry grass felt in the hot bearing sun as I grabbed clumps, launching it affectionately towards her.

The shock of cold water as it hits my face, watching, as she laughs dancing away from my grasping hands. The scent of her delicate perfume as it’s aroma teases my nostrils causing them to twitch, the bitter taste of grass in my mouth as I chew upon a stalk I plucked from the nearby bush. The soft tenderness of her skin as my fingers lightly glide down her arms. When we turned to each other and gazed into each others eyes, searching for truth, for trust, unspoken words as we come together, a clash of tectonic plates with magma erupting like fireworks as passionate lips find one another.


How long has it been? Was it really all so long ago? we were so young back then and carefree, the world was ours, our love would last the ages and send shock waves through heaven; poets and bards would write about our love throughout the ages, a tale to rival Romeo and Juliette. We remained childless as we could not conceive of having to divide our love, we rarely left each others company…. But with these thoughts, the memories begin to fade, her embrace weakens and her hand slips from mine. I’m floating in space and a gravitational force is pulling me away from this light filled scene of wonder. I swim uselessly against it, vainly flapping my arms and legs clawing at thin air, as if I can gain a foothold in the ether.

And with a jolt I’m back in my body again, the air taken out of me, like a new born baby, I start to cry, not loudly; but with ever increasing tears that begin to flow and increase, holes in the da. The emptiness I feel, the loss, torn asunder is a black pit seemingly never to be filled. A cauldron of seething emotions stirs like a pit of vipers within me, ANGER!, PAIN! LOSS!, REGRET! Threatening to overwhelm me.

Then I feel it, an awareness that somehow, is a hand is upon my shoulder. I freeze and in those moments a realization that there is no sound! Everything is still, no birds, no rustle of tree leaves, even the very air has frozen. Time has stood still.

Weep not, my son, for nothing is lost, nothing is gone. Your pain is felt and your emotions are treasures most precious that I hold tenderly. The time will come when lost love finds its way back home, two separate pieces of the heart are reunited and matrimony reigns once more. Weep not my son, for instead of seeing the cruellest of blows, look upon this as a gift, a reflection of what is to come, a cinema-graph of life once again in another time another place.”


“I can’t live or go on without her, this hurt has injured me like a mortal wound, I will never get over it until I am reunited with her again. I know it is within your power to bring her back. Please I beg of you!! Either that or take ME to HER. This bag of bones is almost worn out anyway. I have little to live for anyway, won’t you grant me this favour?

“Son, your time is not yet and it is not within my power to grant your requests..”

How can this be? Are you not almighty? Have you not the power over even life and death?

Ahhh. Dearest child that I hold close to my heart. There are restrictions, imperceptible guidelines and boundaries that are in place that prevent such a thing. For perhaps reasons that may not be sensible to you. I am thee that creates all things and yet, I am not thee in the fullest sense of your thinking. The power of a thousand suns I utilize but this is a merest reflection of the inconceivable power of all things.”

This did not mend the rent in my heart. Such was the depth of sorrow in my being that even this.. God or part of God could not provide soulful sustenance. As If hearing my thoughts (which being God, would probably be no large feat), the voice spoke again.

Son, I will grant you a boon. If you so wish it I will unveil myself you may gaze upon that which is true.

A few moments passed in which I pondered this and they hung heavy in the air and appearing to be long passages of time, until I finally gained the courage to turn and gaze upon the majestic and divine and unexplainable. At first I perceived nothing, I let my guard down. But from between the air a shimmer, a light shone forth that engulfed and seared me down to my essence, to my core and soul, leaving no hiding place until I stood naked and helpless in the gaze of the infinite. A voice like no voice imaginable within our universe, a voice that sounded both indistinguishable from my own thoughts but vastly different nonetheless, heralded by the trumpets of angels spoke to me.


This gift I give you is but the merest unveiling of infinite love and mercy you call light, It is all you can percieve presently. Think of this as the almost total eclipse of your sun body, for to stare upon the full majesty of that reflection of infinite love would sear your soul.”

Enraptured and enthralled, I stood transfixed as that voice ran through me like a gargantuan freight train.

Live son John, for I live though you and your passing in sorrow dims my light a little less, and each passing in sorrow leaves an etching upon me that stays eternally. It will never leave and always remain as potent and raw as the moment in all time that it was conceived. That the transition from one world to another is deeply misunderstood, is both a necessary part of the divine plan and per contra, not part of the divine plan is a contradiction that cannot be understood upon the Earth plane.

In those moments I felt that unconscionable sadness and love for my pain and lack of understanding, then it was gone. POOF! Into un-existence it vanished, as If it never happened, not a trace of anything except a vague memory of something that may have been imaginary. Struggling to recollect what, if anything had happened, I surveyed my surroundings and everything corresponded as it should do. The memory dimming all of the time, being replaced with an unknown source of joy and rightness with the world, I got back to my feet with relative ease, rolled up my blanket and with a whistle started the journey back home. Yes, I thought to myself, life is good.

On the way home I stopped at an an off sales and bought a little bottle of whiskey, for the cold nights you understand, my one last vice under arm, I wondered if God would make an appearance on journey home…..

Image credit: JadeJenkins

2. by MiralynnMage

3. by ManuelAdrianzen

4. by NEBKi-Arts

Header image by: Harkale-Linai, based on a picture by one of the photographers of the Pixelchrome team

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