He points a finger at me, shakes it like a wand, like a prayer, like shaking me awake.
“I need to talk with you.”
Gordon’s on his tiptoes, looking for me through the lunch crowd, punctuating each word high in the air with his left pointer finger. “I’ve got a question for you.” He’s stabbing the air. I feel poked in the chest, pushed up against the back of my chair. I reach for water, something to wet a thick, scratchy throat.
A question? What kind of question? Why ask me a question? How can he ask anything of me — and think he’d get anything worthwhile?
I live in the curve of questions, sheltered under and arch of mystery, all my declarative periods couched with a questioning mark.
I know little and answers elude me and my world is wide expanses of wondering and seeking is the way I find my way. Gordon’s scanning to see if there’s an empty chair at my table.
He’s carrying his plate high, his lunch, a green salad, a pulled pork sandwich, baked beans. I lay down my fork, all those tines.
“But…” Can he hear me over this din? “I won’t have answers.”
Gordon’s lost for a moment in a sea of luncheoners. I murmur it to myself, to Gordon who can’t hear me, “I never have answers.” I have this knack for stating the blindingly obvious.
Sitting beside me is only going to disappoint — I feel guilty of false advertising — but Gordon’s already smiling, pulling out the straight back chair next to me.
“So…” Gordon sets down his plate, readies his fork for baked beans.
My stomach tightens, readied for the prongs of inquisition. He turns to me, his glasses slipping down his nose. He pushes them up with the back of his wrist. They are small round glasses, no inhibiting frame around the outer edges of the lenses, nothing blocking his line of view. Gordon turns towards me, asks his question quiet.
“This is what I want to know…How do you see God?“
He’s waving his fork in my direction.
How do I witness the face of Holiness? How does the invisible become visible to the naked eye — to my naked and ashamed soul?
How does the immaterial reality crack the fantasy of our daily material illusions? How do we find the door of the wardrobe, the way higher up, deeper in? Is that what’s he’s asking me?
I have no idea. None that I can clearly articulate.
How does one say how they daily see the Spirit?