(background on the musing below. i wrote it about 2 years ago. i was contemplating quiting my job for another job. i had taken a leave of absence and was commuting to Hermosa Beach to tryout the other job. it was a shitty job and i resolved to return to HELL. the story of Joan reminded me of this one. Also, the title means fear of something man-made, and stupid, specifically the sequence 666)
After dancing with depressions for a couple of weeks my sore, blistered feet have called it quits. I am filled with a sense of panic, but rather odd happiness, and hope. That blister of uncertainty finally burst; bringing much anticipated relief and leaving a scar that while healing will remind me of my journey.
Four long and tiresome train rides later, I sat dozing off, clutching my stuff in my lap when a handsome tall black man with a nice neat Afro wearing a simple cross around his neck, holding a red bag, and a loose fitting button up shirt which depicted Jesus ascending to heaven with angels and clouds framing him, stood up in the quiet overstuffed cabin filled with dejected and tired workers going home. With a bible butterflied open in one hand and the other awkwardly holding the rail above his head, he began to talk about GOD. The sun was setting and filled the compartment with a warm orange light. Everyone ignored that invisible man. I however, could not take my eyes off of him. His voice was strong and sweet. He looked nervous, as he searched the cramped compartment for a face, a gaze, a soul to connect with. He caught my smile and smiled back. He spoke proudly of GOD for about 3 minutes and then sat down. I said "thank you" under my breath. i thought, “Thank you” for doing and saying what was in your heart, for sharing for taking a risk for not being a humanoid.
At my stop I rose to exit and he got up and walked toward me. He told me that GOD loved me very much and that GOD knew that I in-turn loved him. He continued to say that I was a very blessed woman. That I had a great deal of courage and strength and that I would be very happy in life. I thanked him again and he smiled and his smile filled my whole body with warmth that washed away the panic that consumed me the past weeks. As we shared that brief exchange, people looked at me as if my voice, my response to the invisible “crazy-Jesus” man, that they all collectively did not want to see, was a disturbance. He let me exit before him. Nobody looked at him. But he was so beautiful I could not understand how he was so invisible. When I turned around again to look back one last time, he was gone. He vanished. i began to wonder if in my tired, depressed, fragile mental state i had imagined him? Or maybe he some amalgam that GOD sent to my mind to project on my eyes to remind me that everything in my troubled life would be okay? I imagine death will visit me in a similar manner. Singling me out of a crowd, and calmly ushering me off the train to the next realm. I certainly hope so.
