Good morning, good afternoon and good evening readers,

Today we visited the dormitories and spent time with our Iraqi friend who speaks English. You may remember from a previous post… “If I could walk through a door a thousand times more, it would be that one”. Well, we of course had another blinder of a conversation. She found out we aren’t Christians, shit we’ve been rumbled. But she told us about a very special moment she experienced. Ideally, she would love to us praise the lord. But it’s okay, she said this only because she cares for us enough to share something so special to her. What a diamond. Anyway, I had turned her story into a creative writing piece. I would ask that when you read this, you please play the below song. When the music starts, you start. Ya dig?

The devoted mass fill the chancel as we wait our turn to enter the rear room of the church. Myself and my dear friend Rosen are waiting in sweet anticipation and I can feel her ardent hope radiating from her body. Our hands are interlocked. The rope of our faith intertwined within our fingers, the ties that bond us. Rosen turns to me, looking deep within my eyes. The sunburst in her iris is almost too much to bare, she is ready for Jesus to see her. She tells me, “If you see anything, please squeeze my hand. And I will do the same for you my friend”. As we agree, a bellowing voice calls us into the room. The time has come.

Through stained windows of tinted glass, the sun pours through, colours dancing together against the stark white wall. The crowd stares intently, waiting for the something, anything to tell them that they are home. The shards of the vibrant spectrum play with one another in a synchronous harmony. They morph and warp into an ambiguous shape. I squeeze her hand and she squeezes mine back also. Our clammy hands absorb together, an abstract of solidarity. A kaleidoscope of swinging, swaying and spinning pieces. The image becomes clearer. A silhouette.

“Could it be? It cannot be”, I whisper to myself. “What is God bringing to me before my eyes?”

As the mosaics fade and shadows fray, I see her sitting there. She is there, with him. I squeeze Rosen’s hands so tightly, so intently. But this time she does not squeeze mine back. The vision gains focus and Mary is looking down upon me. Her pink lips, her honey eyes and her hopeful heart all smiling at me, at only me. The once familiar voices around me have become muffled and slurred, for they do not see what I see. They have not been chosen. They do not see. My entire body is levitating in the air. In this moment, as a bird I could fly into the heavens to meet them there. She remains in silent serenity and then dissolves into the air. Once again, the colours ripple and change their shape. This time the silhouettes’ presence is stronger, more certain. Yet it is filled with a incomprehensible softness contrasting against the clarity of his features. Just like Mary he is staring straight at me, his eyes bore into my soul, uncovering the crevices of my mind and forgiving me for past sins. We share seconds of loving energy, peering into each other’s pupils in our divine connection. In an instant the colours fall into the earth and I am left with the white wall to bring me home. My feet thud to the ground, and the soil shudders beneath me. With a thundering, graduated howl the sounds of the room return to my ears. They are all huddled around me, Rosen’s hand still tightly clasped around mine. “What did you see? What is it him? What it Mary and Jesus? Did they see you?” they desperately cry. I say nothing. For, this moment was not meant for them. When you are ready to see, they will come to you and only then will you be truly awake.

In creative kindness,
C x