Paradisaic intentionality happens by initiating and sustaining the conscious manifestation of communion. Being one with God on purpose in the immediate present. Trusting where the spirit moves while we are relinquished to the very gaze of Christ.
… from the Spiral-Bound Notebook
What you see is who you are? Father Richard Rohr
Hello? Are you there?
Laura, it's me… I know I left a message already, I was hoping you would pick up.
He spoke in stammers, his fever still over 101. The city had been under cloud cover for nearly two weeks with rain and cold wind ushering in a late and grumpy November.
Couch cushions were on the floor, blankets were tossed about from the bedroom and nearly every item of clothing from the closet had been tossed out in search of the cat.
How on earth? When the hell would she even have had a chance to get out.
Hey, call me will you…? You're never going to believe this but I can't find Zoe. He swallowed deeply and tried to hide the sound of his stuffed head. I know it's been tough for me to talk about… Sorry it's taken me so long. I'm just in a bit of a panic as you might imagine. Shoot me a text or something, if you can. Thanks
He rummaged through the cupboards and took out a large garbage bag and began filling it with the random items he'd been strewing about the apartment since falling ill; open soup cans and Kleenex wads, a box of Triscuits along with three Gatorade's drunk down to various levels, blue, purple and orange. Two different Sunday papers had been dismembered completely. He threw laundry into the wash and upon sitting down in the leather chair only then noticed the top ledge straight across from him at eye level, the window had been left ajar.
He must've opened it during one of his fever's in an attempt to move through sweats. So much of it was a swirl of aches and pain, one dream dissolving into the next with all of them being quite epic in nature. It reminded him of the legendary night on his journey through the Poppy and into so much more. Still, the illness dreams were different… circular and barely making any sense, abstracted characters and words, the repetitions of alleyways and hallways from high school.
Throughout the illness he had an underlying sense that after he was better he was really going to have to make it up to her somehow. Still, all of it stayed in dream state.
Litter… must change. Food… Can food… Zoe…
Now he stepped into the shower to get a full restart. He'd pick up something downstairs, ask Anthony and the others if they had seen a chocolate Burmese cat anywhere around the neighborhood. What then? What if some kids had her?
Would that even be so bad? What sort of a friend was he in the first place, completely forgetting about her for most of the time he was sick. Maybe she got hit by a car, traffic was crazy sometimes depending upon the time of day, especially right outside of the coffee shop at rush hour.
How many people within their lifetime would ever be gifted with such a smart and spiritually balanced companion cat like he was? Her English was immaculate.
Good Lord I hope she's okay. Kids these days get a hold of a mysterious looking creature like that and the next thing you know…
He heard his phone buzzing as he made his way back to the bedroom. It was his mother, more than likely calling to see how he was feeling. Why couldn't Laura just call? Why was that so important?
All he knew was that he wanted Zoe home. He let out three crackling bronchial coughs and decided to sit down to finish toweling off. As his dizziness settled somewhat just then he heard the ring, more than likely for the first time ever, of his apartment door bell.
Hello? Am I at the right place?
No comments:
Post a Comment