Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Ten)

I was walking down hill. The woods to my right receded and the valley floor came into clear view. The valley seemed far deeper than one would expect from the height of the hill I had just climbed. Drawn down, I just had to go.

I began to think of Shekinah. I do not know why, he just invaded my thoughts. I began to wonder about the nature of my relationship with him. It seemed so intermittent, so irregular, and inconsistent. I tried to shrug off these nagging thoughts, but they were stubborn. He had never openly indicated that our relationship was anything more than host and traveller. For sure, some pretty amazing things seemed to happen when he was around, but there never was what appeared to be a demand for anything else. In fact, he even walked too fast for me most of the time. Such an action is hardly the manifestation of a desire for ongoing fellowship.

The valley floor slowly came up to meet me. It seemed a quiet place; in fact, it was devoid of any discernable activity. Then, quite unexpectedly, a voice called out from behind a low stonewall that had, as far as I was concerned, just materialized off to my left. The voice was male, but not in any way remarkable. In fact, it was just a voice of any number of men over the age of forty. “Come over here, seeker.” “Seeker?” How did he know anything about me or the purpose of my presence in that valley?

I walked towards the stone structure and became aware of the faintest smell of sulphur in the air. Usually sulphur’s stench is over powering. On that occasion, it was just a hint in the breeze but there just the same. I went around the wall and there sitting upon a common park bench was a man clearly advanced in years. His clothing was expensive and neat. He definitely had a sense of style and not a little drama, given the bright yellow silk scarf around his neck. He was clean-shaven save for a tuft of white hair just below his bottom lip. He gestured for me to join him on the bench, but I declined. My refusal did not seem to effect his demeanour in any way.

His eyes narrowed as he studied me from head to foot and back again. Finally, he spoke; “So, Shekinah brought you here and you do not know why?” He posed his remark as a question. A clever move as it creates some uncertainty and makes it difficult not to respond. He continued; “Nasty business that black dog following you.” I remember wondering if that was another question. “Yes, I came here aboard the Pneuma and yes, that dog episode was far from pleasant.” I referred to the ship in an attempt to gauge what more this man knew.

The subject changed; “I am here every afternoon from one ‘o clock, always, never miss a day. I like to think of myself as dependable. I don’t hold much to relationships, which dissipate, like mist. I am for the organized and the predictable. Solid, that’s the way things ought to be.” He looked at me and gestured again for me to sit. “Shekinah is not the sort I can get to grips with. You never know what he is going to do next. Not much chance of success when your friend cannot be relied upon. Not so?” The questions, those tools of doubt, were now morphing into accusations.

I wanted to defend Shekinah, but felt that the accusations were not far from the mark in reality. “Where was Shekinah? I had been left alone in the wood, hounded by some demon dog and now this!” My thoughts ran amok. In the periphery of my vision, I am sure I saw the corners of my host’s lips curl ever so faintly upward.

I replied; “I cannot answer your questions, at least, I am sure, to your satisfaction. However, one thing I am sure of is that Shekinah is my friend and he does have my best interests at heart. I cannot explain his absence, but I am sure he is doing what he deems best ...” My voice trailed off, robbing it of any semblance of being convincing. I felt like I had betrayed him. After all I had witnessed, I could not mount a coherent defence of his good intentions. Perhaps this new acquaintance of mine was a better option. At least he spoke straight. I did not like that snappy dresser but I really had the sense of knowing where I stood with him. There was seemingly nothing abstract nor esoteric about him at all.

We were not alone. I spun round and to my horror there sat the black dog, about one hundred feet behind me. It glowered at me. My head flicked back to face my then current host. He had not moved, his countenance unchanged. Is this now my choice. My predictable new ‘friend’ or that dark desperation of the dog.

It was then that I saw the ruse. Shekinah had been manoeuvred completely out of my thinking. Doubts about his intentions had moved him aside, my host’s apparent dependability and predictability had removed the necessity of mystery, and now the dog represented what was to happen should I not choose to sit on that bench. This destructive partnership had separated me from the unseen reality and blinded me to all except the predictable, the dependable, and the prison of life devoid of magic.

“What was that Shekinah had said about magic?’ My mind raced about seeking the answer. “Why was I even thinking about this?” That question gatecrashed my already chaotic thoughts.

“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.” “Yes, that was true of that day, but did it remain so for my current situation?” I began to entertain the thought that this man and this, or perhaps his, dog were of the magic that was stolen, misunderstood, twisted and abused. My mind settled, I felt myself choosing to agree with the idea of Shekinah’s magic. As I did, the world around me began to shimmer. Everything became a haze, defined outlines disappeared.

Voices were coming from every direction. I felt a wooden floor beneath, hands touching me, and the many faces looking down upon me suddenly became more defined. I recognized, they were part of the Pneuma’s crew. Suddenly the sea of faces parted and one like the sun shining came between them. “Shekinah!” I shouted, not meaning to. My tone was one of relief mixed with generous helpings of fear, dismay, anger, frustration, and relief.

My outburst did not perturb him in the least. He offered me his hand and hoisted me to my feet. “Today, you won the battle to believe. In the face of seemingly strong and compelling reasons to walk in predictability, you chose, on your own, the voyage of mystery. Congratulations, I could not do it for you, but I was there watching, waiting, and hoping.”