Postcard from a Vacation Home

Hullo Lovely Girl-

Likely, it will be a few days after I write this before I can drop it off at the electronic post office. In the meantime I will scribble my heart out (have you ever known me to do otherwise?), overcome like I am by such wonderful emotions on a Friday morning.

Firstly, I should let you know , with great enthusiasm, that I’m at a super-secret -150-acre hideaway so far removed from everywhere I’ve ever known to be real, that I’ve half-convinced myself I’ve become a character in a novel. I imagine that I can write my own story, summon fantastic turns of events from the air, bring back lost things, find the treasure I have been seeking, and I only need write it down to make real these dreams. Have you ever known anything so powerful?

There are all manner of animal companions here. I can hear cows in the distance. I’ve seen a full-bellied pig, snout busy with the earth. There are cats and there are mice. Most notably, I have seen a pack of twelve dogs, running and barking, tail wagging apostles of this holy day. I have outstretched my hands and I have called, “Now which one of you is Atreyu?”

In some other universe, we are here. Now. And I am dragging you out of a second floor bedroom to show you the sunrise because I believe I have seen God in it, through it, radiating.

It is precisely this type of instance in my life—the intersection of beauty and time and clarity—that I find myself most enamored with you. If you’ll excuse a bit of what others might label hyperbole, I’d just like to say that I am quite convinced that nobody has ever wanted anything more than how much I wish you were here right now with me, laughing that sacred laugh of yours, walking down the gravel road that cuts across this compound before turning into Main Street, dead ending at some wonderful General Store.

I love you so much. On days like these, it is beyond measure.

There is a particular type of holiness for secular fools like me.

--by phonerings, a hundred yards from gators, 06/12/2011