Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Eleven)

The time on the hillside had left its mark. My conversation with the man on the bench seemed to have the ability to echo through my mind like a rude man barging into a queue. Even with the sound of the crew above and the knowledge that Shekinah was only feet away, that conversation surfaced like an accuser.

I tossed in my bunk. Sleep would not come although the hour was late. As my eyelids shut that face appeared. There was nothing for it, I got up and clambered to the deck. The night was clear with a stiff breeze coming from astern. The sails that were unfurled were full. I looked up to where Shekinah generally spent his time and saw only the man behind the wheel. Most of the crew were evidently asleep as only a couple of individuals were to be seen.

Suddenly I was aware of someone standing next to me. I did not want to look around but my curiosity overpowered my growing dread. There he was, yellow silk scarf and all. He leaned nonchalantly upon the rail looking out into the night. “I told you that you could depend on me. I felt your disquiet in bed and thought I would pay you a visit. No sign of Shekinah then ...? He divined in a manner intended to intimidate.

I was amazed that no one saw this mischief. Not one crewmember came over to deal with the stowaway. “Had they even seen him?” I asked myself. No one seemed to register the presence of this ‘visitor’.

“Why have you come?” I ventured. Before he could answer, I blurted out, “What made you think you would be welcome here?” “Welcome.” His voice was mocking. “It does not seem that anyone at all is aware of my being here.” The “at all” part of that sentence was a challenge that was difficult to misinterpret.

A difference became apparent to me. In that valley, this interloper was more or less welcoming, give or take the scent of sulphur and the canine presence. Now, he seemed vindictive. His tone was that of a spoilt child who was used to getting its own way in any manner possible. However, he was anything but a child. I really believed he was capable of anything, even there on the deck of the Pneuma.

I chanced a glance towards the upper deck. As I did my companion declared, “He’s not there. Not dependable you see. Unpredictable in the extreme. Just when you need him, he is not there.”

I felt anger rise in me, bubbling and exploding upwards like an emotional Etna. I was about to say something when all of the words seemingly got stuck in my throat and got terribly jumbled up. I tried to speak but only what sounded to me like gibberish came forth. I was losing control so swallowing hard I attempted to compose myself. Again, I made an attempt at speech and only a groan came forth. My whole being ached as if trying to push something out of myself. Dismayed I tried again. Groans, only groans. My silk-scarfed shipmate seemed to giggle.

A song, like one would expect angels to sing, full of reverence and peace. It was a wind song; it must have been for it sounded like the breath of the wind that gave the melody a place to perform. My groaning faded away and so did the old man. He simply faded away. The song brought with it a presence. Immediately Shekinah was there looking down at me from his customary position. The deck was full of sailors going about their tasks smiling in my direction.

I had a sense of a conspiracy being under way. Everybody around me seemed to understand what had just happened. Everybody, that is, except me. Shekinah smiled as he saw I had become aware of what going on without having a clue as to how to explain it all.

I ran uninvited to where he stood. No one tried to stop me. There were no wary, protective glances from any of the crew.

He looked me steadily in the eye and asked, “Are you a little confused?” Thinking that he was querying my charge up toward him I blurted out, “No, I am sorry. I did not mean to offend ...!” “Offend whom?” He returned. “You cannot offend me as you are welcome to be with me as often as you will. No one here will stop you, as I need no protection being beyond the reach of death.”

“I thought I would be safe aboard this ship with you. The fears and doubts of that land could not follow me here, or so I thought.” I am sure I discerned the faintest sigh before he gestured for me to sit with him at the table. We sat and he looked intently at me as if trying to decode some riddle. I then had the most horrid realization of the entire voyage so far. His face was merely reflecting what was in my heart. He was literally showing me what I felt. It was a crushing realization to finally awake to the fact that he not only knew my thoughts, motives and attitudes, but he could also reflect them back at me so I could see what he knew about me and how I appeared to him.

The desire to jump clear off the ship, let alone that deck, was almost more than I could bear. The shame of being so naked before him who had done me no harm and had showed me every kindness.

He leaned forward towards me. “What I see does not change what I know.” He spoke in almost whispered tones. I tried hard not to think anything at all that I might see in the mirror of his face. “Your struggles are clear to me, but it is where you are going to be as a man that I fellowship with.”

All at once, I saw my doubts that surfaced around the old man. My accusative looking around for Shekinah. My dependability on the predictable, the natural, and the finite stood as accusers before me.

“When you stood on that deck below and your words refused to be expressed, when you felt that which was seeking to escape from you and crept out in groans. What do you think was happening? Did you think that the interloper had somehow gained control? Do you consider my magic so weak that one such as him could snatch you away? Those questions assailed me like a siege army storming a nearly defeated city.

I have no recollection of being able to marshal even a single syllable in response. He just said, “Don’t look for me around you only. There is that which is so deep inside that no enemy can comprehend.”

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.”

Sailing aboard the Pneuma (Part Nine)

The realization of being very alone came as a sobering shock. One minute he was there along with the watchers and then, as if they were never there at all, they were all gone.

Since first boarding the Pneuma, I had never experienced such aloneness. It was not isolation, I felt there was so much life around me in that wood, but I was alone in the sense that meaningful, heartfelt communication no longer seemed possible. With whom was I going to speak?

Gradually the direction of the gentle wind that was blowing changed. It began to blow away from the town and, it seemed, around the hill and further in land. I felt that I should go in that direction as well. At least, on that occasion, I was able to walk at a more comfortable pace.

The wind seemed to follow a path worn out of the grass just below the tree line. To my left was open grassland flowing down to the sea and, a little behind me the town and the harbour. The wind grew steadily stronger moving the tall grass in a pattern similar in appearance to waves upon the ocean when viewed from a high vantage point. To my right was the wood. Each tree stood close to its neighbour and in between the proud trunks were bushes in amongst tall grass. My pathway navigated a route between these two landscapes. White cotton wool clouds followed overhead. From time to time, they shielded me from the sun as they sailed the sky.

All was silent, save the wind playing in the grass and leaves. It was quiet but not peaceful. As the town disappeared behind the hill, I was aware of something among the trees keeping pace with me. I felt no immediate threat, just disquiet brought on by the unknown, and the unseen.

My pace quickened, as did that of my invisible and unwanted companion. My mind began to conjure images of was tracking me from beyond the tree line. “Would an animal quicken and then slacken pace exactly at the moment that I did?” I stopped. Listened. I heard nothing save the wind at play. It never entered my mind to turn around and go back to the ship. I just felt I had to push on, to where I had no idea.

For a moment I thought, almost believed in fact, that I was alone once more. “Perhaps my ‘friend’ had tired of my standing still and going nowhere.” I thought. As I recommenced my walk that delusion proved short lived. My footfalls were partners to a faint padding sound, like that made by a large mammal such as a lion. For a while, I hoped that it was a lion there in the woods. I had read long ago about a lion who governed another world. I hoped against hope that it was he. I then awoke to the idea that the lion in question was in a storybook and stories are just that, stories.

The hill seemed to go on forever; those hills did not look that big from the harbour. I looked behind me and all I could see was the sea, even the grasslands had fallen away. Thankfully, I came upon a fallen tree, long dead. Its trunk hollowed out by a million insects over many years. I sat and faced the sea in a vain attempt to ignore the existence of the woods and the sense of growing threat that they held.

Suddenly, to my left, a huge dog appeared. Head held low, tail down. It was nondescript as far as what breed it may have been. Its coat was coal black, its countenance sullen. The lower jaw was only slightly apart from the upper. As the canine walked, it held my gaze with cold grey eyes. It walked along an invisible circumference, never coming closer nor moving further away. Its slow pace ensured that I saw every part of it, every twitch, every blink, every moving of the ears.

With each yard it covered my mood darkened. My sense of hope faded in the face of the foreboding I had felt as we had approached this land. Hopelessness grew within me to the extent that I began to believe that Shekinah was now gone, believing that his task was complete. Aagar and his fellows were nothing more than a daydream, a hallucination brought on by too much sun and exertion.

That black dog began to crush me without coming one-inch closer. My view of the landscape narrowed, bit by bit, until all that I could see was that black dog. It completed its walk around from left to right. It then returned along the same circumference. Every step brought a failure, an inadequacy, and the memory of a bad decision. I saw my life as an accountant might see the balance sheet of a failing company. I felt useless, unwanted, not worth knowing or knowing about. What was my purpose? Why was I alive? The questions and doubts charged like a demon cavalry brigade.

“Why had he left me? So stupid to give day dreams names and personalities. Why was I on this hill? Surely, as boring and as predictable as home had been it must be better than this. Would it be?” II could not remember enough of home to make a comparison. I felt my mind slipping its moorings.

The black dog walked on.

I wanted to turn back. Sprint for a view of the town at least. “No” I argued with myself, “Why go back, there’s nothing there except the prospect of telling people you accomplished nothing more than a walk”. Such thoughts baffled me. After all, no task had been set. I can remember debating with myself about why the opinion of others was so important. I do not recall deciding one way of the other.

The black dog walked on.

I stood up with all of the determination I could muster. My one-man drama was not for the benefit of the black dog, it was for me. I had to convince myself I could walk with this thing there or not. I continued in the direction I had been going. It walked, the black dog, diagonally behind me to my right its eyes never breaking contact with me.

The cloth bag that I had received in the forest suddenly made itself known in my trouser pocket. Whatever it contained poked my thigh. “See.” I said to myself, “It was not a day dream.” I argued back, “You picked it up and imagined it was given to you”. My argument with myself served to confuse me about all that had taken and was taking place.

The black dog walked on.

For reasons I did not begin to understand at that time, I did not reach into my pocket to retrieve the bag. There was indeed a darkness about, but somehow I knew that this darkness was not what the contents of the bag existed for. I forced my mind to trawl for memories of happenings on the voyage: The meal in the woods, observing the dance, the vision of the throne upon the sea, things Shekinah had said. My mind wrestled with the reality of the black dog and my demand to recall all that was good and true.

I walked on.