Begin the journey
|I don't believe in an interventionist God
But I know, darling, that you do
But if I did I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you
Not to touch a hair on your head
To leave you as you are
And if He felt He had to direct you
Then direct you into my arms
(Words by Nick Cave)
||I’ve felt you coming girl, as you drew near
I knew you’d find me, cause I longed you here
Are you my destiny?
Is this how you’ll appear?
Wrapped in a coat with tears in your eyes?
Well take that coat babe, and throw it on the floor
Are you the one that I’ve been waiting for?
(Words by Nick Cave)
or are you inspired
. Do you prefer thoughts
Not so long ago, I met a girl. She was, in my opinion, very attractive; had smooth, olive-coloured
skin and mysterious dark brown eyes. Eyes that could enchant and devour anyone who dared to look into them. She turned
heads wherever she went.
As I got to know her better, I became convinced that she was like a steam-roller, (that was the impression she gave me), and had been
like this ever since she’d left school. She was used to getting her own way and “steam-rolled” over anyone who dared to interfere, or
who stood in her way. She could push all these people aside without giving it a second thought. If they didn’t move then her heavy,
solid wheels squashed them. No mercy at all! And she continued in this way for quite a number of years.
Until one day, as she’d just driven over a young passer-by, (who, by the way, had tried jumping up to be beside her in her seat), she
saw through her windscreen a bright light directly in front of her. She thought maybe she’d left the headlights of the steam-roller
on, and that they were reflecting off this person who now stood in the middle of her road. But no. The lights were off. Strange, she
thought. This person himself was actually glowing and had a bright aura around his whole body. She looked in the glove compartment
for her sunglasses but couldn’t find them. Probably, she’d left them at home as, generally, the days were mostly cloudy and grey.
She wished she had her shades with her now though.
Very reluctantly, she stopped the steam-roller’s engine - this had never happened to her before. Years and years had gone by and not
once had she turned the ignition key to the ‘OFF’ position. She sat, mouth wide open, staring at the beautiful vision in front of
her. Definitely NOT God, she thought, but... beautiful. She couldn’t stop looking at him. And she couldn’t count the number of people
she’d squashed or pushed aside, but there was no way she could do that to this person. She couldn’t bring herself to go through with
it. There’s something special about him, she thought, he has this ‘glow’ that I’ve never seen before.
No, she couldn’t do it, wouldn’t drive her machine over him. He was special. He had no powers, only gentleness and love, both of
which radiated out from him with the intensity of the sun. He was pure and untouched. He didn’t know this for himself and only
certain people could see this aspect in him.
She climbed down from her seat. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 steps and then a jump of three metres. She hit the ground with a loud ‘ouch’. She
wasn’t used to this, and her ass had become numb from sitting for so long. As she came closer to him, she wished even more that she’d
brought her sunglasses with her that day. So she put her hand up to her face and squinted through the gaps between her fingers. He
held out his hand. She touched it. And great sparks of electricity flew up her arm and danced around and inside her whole body. As
a little girl, she’d never tried putting her fingers into the electric sockets in her house but wondered now, if this was the kind of feeling
you got if you did, maybe multiplied by ten thousand or so.
He let go. Her hair felt as though it was standing on end.
I bet I look silly, she thought, what will he think? She checked. It was still hanging loose over her shoulders.
She let her eyes move up and down this being in front of her. She was lost for words, (a rare thing), and he probably didn’t speak
her language anyway, she guessed. She was aching to touch him again, but felt embarrassed to do so. Fortunately, he offered her his
hand again and without hesitation she took it.
This time she held on for longer, much longer. Time passed. It moved forwards, backwards, fast and slow. And all the time she could
feel his electricity flowing into and through her and then back to him again. Her mind melted. Her eyes glazed over. Pure bliss. She
was floating away on a sea of pure happiness. Happy. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be this way. Her emotions were running
wild. She even forgot who she was and what kind of person she was. But soon she remembered this and quickly let go of his grip.
And then, all of a sudden, she could see again. She wondered how he could have made her feel that way. She looked into his eyes and
saw her dreams in them. She looked at his mouth and saw the start of a smile appear there. She blinked, saw the smile again, and then
he disappeared. She looked at her outstretched arm. Her hand still felt warm.
There was no one else on the road with her. He’d gone. Just vanished. He’d appeared without warning and gone the same.
She was still a little dizzy after her experience of what he’d given and shown her. She carefully climbed back up the steam-roller
to her seat and looked around once more, just to check that he wasn’t still around, then started the engine up again.
But now she drove more slowly, more carefully. Looking in all directions for a glimpse of this mysterious person again. She was
angry with herself for letting go of his hand. She wished she’d have held on for longer. Forever even. She could picture him and
his beautiful golden glow in her mind all the time. She wanted more of what he’d shared with her.
Even to this day, she’s still driving her steam-roller. She’s painted it now though. Yellow. She’s hoping it will attract his
attention somehow, wherever he was. She still squashes people who are in her way, but says sorry to each one as she passes. I think
that maybe a little bit of him stayed with her.
I saw her only the other day. She says she’s still looking for this person. I told her that maybe she was looking from the wrong place...
“Don’t you mean ‘in’ the wrong place?”, she asked.
“No,” I replied, “you’re looking with your eyes. Try looking with your heart.”
I’m sure I saw a smile on her face as she looked down at me from her sky-high seat.
Layout, story, content by Craig Johnston (except where indicated)
'Thirty Summers' by Cowboy Junkies, from 'The Caution Horses'