Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Five)

A child’s voice behind me caused me to jump. I turned to see a small boy of about five years of age. He said, “They are about to leave and he has sent me to call you.” I looked around to find the hillside restored and I was alone with this little one. I thought that to send one so young to seek out an adult stranger in order to give him a message, a rather strange errand to entrust to a child. “You are alone?” I asked. “Yes.” he replied. “Shekinah always sends children on his most important missions.” He beamed with obvious pride at being one so chosen.

My diminutive companion took my hand and led me away from where the orange grove had been back down towards the town. He said very little, but there was no doubt who was in charge of this trek. His small hand gripped mine with a firmness that revealed the determination with which he had undertaken his mission. Although my legs were obviously longer, I had to work at keeping pace.

As we approached the gates to the docks two crew members appeared and heartily welcomed me back. One led me by the arm through the gate, while the other bent down and spoke with Shekinah’s tiny servant. In the sunlight, I saw the glint of a gold coin placed in the little boy's hand. He shot a smile in my direction and darted off back up the street.

Pneuma’s provisions were abundant. The crew secured many wooden crates to the main deck, as the holds were full. The hull separated from the quayside and we slowly made our way past the breakwater out into the open sea. There was no fanfare, no huge crowds bidding us farewell, just workers on the quay going about their tasks as would be the case in any other port.

The sails filled and Pneuma accelerated toward the horizon. I looked up to where Shekinah usually stood and there he was. His left hand shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun, in the other he held a rolled up chart. To my surprise, he called me up to the deck upon which he stood. “You enjoyed the visit?” he asked. “Very much, but there is so much I want to ask ...” My voice trailed off as he raised his index finger to his mouth, not rudely, or in any way that relayed frustration with my chatter. In fact, his action was reassuring, as if all that I needed to know would be revealed at the best time possible.

He placed the rolled chart on a large flat table. For the first time I saw an ornate crimson seal bordered with what I am certain was pure silver. He slipped the thumb of his right hand under the seal and broke it. The seal did not break with a snap, but it chimed with the sound of a high quality bell. The chart rolled out over the table to reveal a map.

He bent over the map and I followed suit in the hope that I might learn something. Unfortunately, while I could discern land masses, the writing was unintelligible and the symbols were completely beyond deciphering. He called one of the imposing members of the crew and they both focussed on a point on the map and then, without words, seemed to agree on a course of action. He looked up at me and seeing my quizzical expression smiled and said, “So much that you want to know.” I waited for enlightenment, but in vain. He gestured for me to sit. He offered me a beautiful crystal glass filled with the most exquisite red wine I had ever seen. He raised his glass to me and I reciprocated. We drank.

As the wonderfully rich fruit of the vine coursed its way towards my stomach, my vision somehow sharpened. The crew, although remaining in the form of men, seemed to glimmer, seemed to reflect and refract light as they moved. I looked up into the full sails and it was if the wind waved back at me. “You’re not drunk as you might suppose. New wine always has that effect whenever it is enjoyed.” I went to take a second sip and my glass was still full. As if sensing my surprise, he laughed, “The glass always remains full for him who is thirsty.”

I took another sip and looked over the starboard side and there, upon on the very surface of the sea, were the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. Some with six wings and even bigger ones with two huge wings each. The six winged beings walked side by side leaving brief golden footprints in the surface of the sea as they walked towards the ship with their wing tips touching. Then, at the command of the two larger beings, the six winged glories parted to reveal what appeared to be a throne shimmering like a mirage upon the sea. The light coming from that throne was so intense that the very sun was darkness by comparison.

Then a voice, with the sound of a million tongues, resonated from within the throne, “Enjoy your family.”

As quickly as it all appeared it was gone. Shekinah was back on his feet in conference with six other crew members. I felt it was time to take my leave and descended to the main deck intrigued at what I had seen and heard. Through the now breaking clouds of my confusion, I felt ignorance had begun to lose its grip. I felt capable, at last, of truly beginning to know.

Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Four)

The direction of the light wind changed and seemed to invite me back down the hill. Before me was a picture postcard scene. The gentle curve of the bay connected to the sea by strips of white sandy beaches interspersed with tight coves and tiny peninsulas of rock.

Down to my left lay the town shimmering white in the sun. While in the town, I had not noticed, somehow, that the majority of the buildings were of a white stone. I was convinced that this place acted as a beacon to travellers miles out to sea. When the sun light reflected off those walls, there would have been no lighthouse that shined brighter.

Beyond the town, the line of the bay continued into the distance. A low range of mountains began to grow from the earth, beyond them far larger and higher peaks topped with snow.

I became aware that the walk down was taking far longer than on the way up. I looked back only to see empty green fields stretching up and over the hill. The glade of trees was still where I remembered it to be. I stopped and looked around, all around, one, twice, three times. I was alone but not lonely. The gentle breeze was in evidence, but I could no longer tell its direction. The grass beneath my feet compressed like a sponge, the air was warm and the sky so very big. I waited.

Quite suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I noticed, for the very first time, what appeared to be an ordered grove of fruit trees not more than one hundred yards from where I stood. I had not seen it on the way up even though it now appeared impossible to miss. I had not eaten in some time and, as if prompted by my stomach, I noticed the trees were laden with oranges. My pace quickened, spurred on by an aroused appetite.

As I entered the grove, I was about to reach up and pluck a large orange, when a voice spoke. That sound of river rapids caused me to freeze in what to me was a ridiculous position. From my shadow I looked like one of those cement statues that sell at garden centres back at home.

The waterfall said, “Come, sit with me I have a meal prepared for you.” The table was set for two with seven golden candles lining the middle of the rectangular table. The candles burned although it was still day, yet they seemed to have the power to illuminate even the daylight.

Dishes arrived with just the slightest movement of his hand. The aromas were out of this world. They were like nothing I had ever smelt before. Every dish that appeared on the table contained my favourite meals prepared in a way that no mere mortal could have managed. “Eat.” He invited. I was going to, but suddenly food and my stomach’s protestations no longer seemed important.

Across the table from me, Shekinah sat in a crystal cloud of glorious and riotous colour. From within him there seemed to flow a force so powerful yet utterly gentle. His eyes were like diamonds that refracted the glorious light in innumerable directions. Fire burned upon the grass yet it got greener. In the midst of this storming of the senses, I felt only goodness coming from within him.

I took a deep breath to prepare for I know not what and sweetness filled my lungs that fed my very being. That one intake of breath seemed to suck in all that was flowing from my host.

Hands were on my shoulders. I looked and two men of immense proportions, clothed with such brightness that I could not look at them for long, gestured for me to get up. We moved away from the table and the one to my right said; “Look”.

There, as if suspended in mid-air, I saw three. One was Shekinah. An orchestra began to play. Nothing natural, it was beautiful beyond description. The music was not heard it was felt, it indwelt while being dwelt in. The sounds were as clear as crystal water. The three danced. At times facing one another, at times apart, but always in unison.

Every note released a colour that hovered, or exploded, or shot across my view. Each sound was a living thing. I could not be sure, but it was if a new galaxy was being born. Stars rocketed into the sky, from the steps of the three came planets and Milky Ways of many sizes and colours.

I heard clapping behind me as if keeping time and to my astonishment, it was the trees.

I tried to see the orchestra that was playing I could not. As if sensing my frustration the other man took my head in his hands and pressed his thumbs to my eyes. When he let go I saw birds, sea creatures, beasts of the fields and the forests singing. Their song was not words but music. The three danced.

I wanted to join in but felt so, well, so unmagical, so inadequate, so incapable of such rhythm. Shekinah’s hand took hold of mine seemingly in protest against my preconceived notions and I danced. The three and I danced.

In the dance, I saw what no eye could see and no ear can hear anywhere else. In that rhythm, I began to understand the reason for so much. More importantly, I became acutely aware of what I was still to do, still to become. At last, I could truly see.

Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Three).

I awoke to the sound of gulls and men speaking with raised voices. Clambering up on deck, a warm and bright morning sun awaited me. “Good mornings” came from every quarter. “Good morning”, I returned. The dockside was a muddle of toing and froing, dogs barking and orders shouted by disembodied voices. There was no stress, no pressure. Each working with a willingness and level of co-operation that was alien to me.

Looking around the deck I finally spotted Shekinah, he strode over to me before I could call out to him. “I am glad you are awake. There’s something I want you to see.” He gestured for me to follow him down the gangplank and on to the quay. The bustling crowd parted before him and I followed in his wake. After a little while we left the docks through a double gate leading to a broad street. On either side of the street there were cottages of various sizes interspersed by shops such as grocers, butchers, haberdashers and many more too far up and down the road for me to immediately identify.

On either side of the road were trees that were tall and handsome. Each tree, as far as I could tell, bore a different fruit to that of its neighbour. Twelve homes had easy access to the abundant fruit of one tree.

Everything had happened so quickly since I awoke, I had not been able to ask where we were. I ventured to pose the question to my guide but he responded before I could. “This is the land known as ‘Calledout’; it is a place that is devoted to the King and display such through the way they live.”

The street was not as busy as the docks, but there were many people about. Couples walked and talked while others were busy in the various shops. Children played, as they usually do, very loudly. What really struck me was the diversity of individuals, difference in social rank was evident, but competitiveness and envy were completely absent. Do not ask me how I knew this, for I would be unable to tell you. I just knew it. No two people passed each other without, at the very least, a respectful and warm greeting. It was almost as if everyone knew everyone else, at different levels to be sure, but no one was a stranger. Small groups stood talking in undisguised voices with no need to whisper.

While it was obvious that some had more than others did in terms of material goods, there was no poverty or ostentation. Well-maintained cottages and shops were all that I could see. Nothing derelict or neglected. Gates swung open and closed. Windows were whole and devoid of cracks. Gardens were maintained and neat, some more so than others, but none were unkempt. In many front gardens, people were working at weeding and trimming. What was striking, to me at any rate, was that I could see through every cottage window. Although each had curtains or blinds, none was drawn or down. The interior of each and every home was visible from the street. Amazing. Those who were inside their homes went about whatever they were doing as if there were no possibility of others watching.

Finally we came to the end of what I presumed was the main road through the village. We turned to the right and began to ascend a hill. It was not a steep path, but it snaked out before us into a glade of trees about a half a mile up on the left.

As we approached the trees, Shekinah halted and motioned to me to proceed. I looked at him quizzically but he just smiled and glanced in the direction in which he wanted me to go. I walked up to what appeared to be ruins. The closer I got I could see that these ruins was made up of many buildings with no doors, uneven walls, half a roof here, no roof there. Piles of stone and bricks peppered the land around the structures. “Why bring me to a ruin?” What really bothered me that there would be such a place just up this hill from such liberated order and cherished freedom.

I looked back from where I had left him, but he was not there. I was alone among the ruins with the sound of a light breeze exploring the empty spaces around me. It took some time, but eventually I began to see that this was not a group of ruined buildings after all. This was not some ancient and abandoned place. As my eyes opened in opposition to my preconceptions, I saw that I was not alone. Many of the faces I had seen in the village and at the docks were here, around me. It seemed as if they were unaware of my presence. They were not the happy and content people I had just seen. They seemed upset, let down, disillusioned. What was this place that was incomplete but held the seemingly out of reach promise of greater things?

I walked over to one man who seemed particularly distraught. His head in his hands he sat forlornly in front of an incomplete wall. I placed my hand on his shoulder but it passed straight through as if he were a ghost. I then attempted to speak to a woman who was passing by and she did not respond in anyway. For her, it would seem, I was not there at all.

What I had thought was a gentle breeze spoke, softly. I looked for the source of the voice but there was none. The breeze breathed, “Each of these people is really down there in the village right now, what you are witnessing is their inner person that no one else sees.” “Why are you showing me this?” The breath answered, “Even where the King rules and is willingly and lovingly obeyed there are unfulfilled dreams and untapped potential. These people began things long ago and then allowed themselves to abandon them. They dreamed and for a while believed those dreams to be possible and then doubted. During their quiet inner moments they come here to mourn over that which was not accomplished, dreams dashed, plans unfulfilled.”

“Can nothing be done?” I pleaded. “It has already been done. When the King grants life, as he has done for all of these, he resurrects the dreams and plans from old. Most do not accept that even as a possibility because they are convinced that their rebellions of long ago have removed from them the right to dream again and reach for the unfulfilled visions. For others, they consider age as an insurmountable obstacle. Again, this is untrue.”

“Why should age matter? Is this place not forever?” It still concerns me why I should have thought that. The breeze replied, “Nothing this side of the horizon is forever, only that which is beyond. But while they are still here life is supposed to be lived.”

Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Two)

I knew I had been on the deck for sometime as the sun was now nearing its zenith. Having said that, time did not seem to be that important out there. It was not something that chased but was rather a tool. I had not noticed the absence of the gulls, a sure sign of being far from land. The gentle sound of the hull riding upon the sea’s back was all that I could hear, all that I wanted to hear for that matter.

That sound was like a calming embrace after some danger had passed.

Looking around I saw the men, if that was indeed what they were, at work. Each kept his eye on the sails and trimmed the same when necessary. No one individual seemed to have sole responsibility for any aspect of the boat. He who was closest to the need did whatever was necessary.

I walked over to the starboard rail, leaned heavily upon it and stretched out as far as I dared to see the water below. As I peered down, there near the surface, a fish raced alongside. I assumed that it was a fish as no man could swim that fast nor be safely so far from shore. I looked again, was it a fish?

The waterfall voice spoke from close behind me, “What did you think that was?” “A fish.” I blurted out half startled and half not wanting to be without an answer. I felt his smile before I saw it. I turned and there before me was golden Shekinah. His eyes, that is what I remember most, saw everything both seen and unseen. There was no judgement there, not even a glimmer of wanting to evaluate or weigh.

“Why a fish?” “Well, I think it can only be a fish, what else could be so far from shore? It was too small to be a whale and it didn’t leap like a dolphin.” His head with its mane of snow-white hair rocked back and from his mouth came laughter such as I had never heard before. Not mocking, not in the slightest, just an expression of extreme enjoyment. My pride, in spite of the contrary evidence, still prompted a defensive response. His eyes levelled with mine. Looking deep within. Not a word from the waterfall. Inside of me, my sense of hurt, birthed of a presumed inadequacy, rampaged forward, up and out in a stream of regret, disappointment and pain. All the schoolyard mocking, the girlfriend embarrassments, the perceived lack of talent fuelled my flow of self-pity.

Shekinah did not move. I was sure he had not even blinked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the men continuing with their duties, not distracted in the slightest and completely unperturbed. I focussed on the eyes again. He smiled, “Nothing here is as it seems, so do not bring anything from the land onboard”. It was only then that I realized that I had come aboard without luggage, not even a change of shirt. As if he were reading my mind he silently mouthed, “Nothing”. I realized then that he was not speaking of t-shirts, toiletries and trousers.

Suddenly I was alone at the rail. The waterfall voice declared and the pace of the boat quickened. I chanced another look over the rail. That ‘fish’ was still there. Was it a fish? The one eye that was visible to me as it swam on its side drew my attention, it was him, and he winked at me almost mischievously then dived. Gone.
I spun around and there Shekinah was behind the wheel talking with some of the men who were working around him. “How did he do that?” I knew there was a higher magic at work there than any fairground trick I had ever witnessed.

The word ‘magic’ resounded through my being. My religious understanding assumed a war footing as if to expel some evil. “It’s only a word.” I attempted to explain to my now mobilized religiously moulded conscience. It was having none of it. “How can you equate the work of Shekinah with that of evil men playing tricks for harm or reward?”

I had lost the argument. I felt awful, condemned and ready for the gallows. A voice called out from over the side. This time I gingerly peeped over, not knowing what to expect. It was that fish again, or whatever it was. As soon as our eyes met, it spoke silently, “Magic used for evil is that which is stolen, misunderstood, twisted and abused. That which you have witnessed today is a mere taste of what it was intended to be.”

I slumped onto the deck. My back against the boards and I sat, maybe for hours I have no idea, with a thousand assumptions, confusions and falsehoods all running in a tumultuous panic and fumbling for a way of escape.

If these first hours of the voyage were anything to go by, the ship was seemingly on a voyage to discover what was deep inside ... me. That may make some sense now, but back then, I was becoming fearful of what I had undertaken.