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Unknown Soldier · (10-17-2019)

...Let us Pray...

We stood in a circle, holding hands and peering deeply into our chests with our eyes closed and our minds focused on whatever natural emotion would keep us rendered towards the amount of rejoicing for Father O'Malley to determine was the length of time that was necessary. This was the first time I had prayed in years and for the first time in my life, it actually felt right. For the first time in my life, I wanted to partake as the priest that stood before me seemed like a wholesome person of the utmost faith. There was a certain sense of solidarity that I immediately shared when he opened his car door. A sense of solitude and safety comforted me and caused all the confusion that was racing through my mind of schizophrenic illusions to cease and let me capitulate into heartfelt worship that the three of us were now about to engage in.

I took in a deep breath, feeling my chest rise to its fullest capacity, and as I was inhaling deeply into my lungs I felt the air contained in the center of the circle dissipating and as if I were sucking it out from a balloon. As if it had been put in a vacuum that was right out in front of us. The taste was that of a clean and crisp waft of wonderment that engulfed itself from all the way at the tip of my esophagus, to the bottom of my diaphragm.

It was if the wind itself from some unseen force in the distance had helped me insufflate my insides. It all finally felt perfectly safe as I accepted the sanctity of my new savior. Father O'Malley was like a wizard who had reached out into the wilderness and pointed his magical wand outward into the distant void and called upon an invisible and indescribable sense of sublime to come forth and encircle us in the totality of our realm.

It was as if the moment we touched hands the sphere facing inside at the front our faces created a new rendition of reality that lived and existed in its own phenomenon that I could feel, taste, touch, smell, hear, think, and most importantly SEE!

I could feel the full force of the power of the circle, oscillating and titillating in my previously tense nerves, now reassuring and refreshing them as if they were kick-started by a kick to the gut.

I could taste the temperature and dampness of my mother's tears on my lips yet again, and its soothing sensation secreting itself back to its former fruition when she had given me that kiss just moments before. It had come back to me!

I could touch the wrinkled and cold wet clammy hands of my new perceptual leader clinging to me constantly and forcefully for what I now hoped would be forever. Latching to my skin and my soul like a vice that would never give in to any incongruities and let me go.

I could smell the wet autumn leaves from far outside our radius with their damp and decomposing veins where once water flowed through them with condensation. Making their way closer and closer as they danced in the wind by such elongated and elegant means.

I could hear the humming of sweet nightingales chirping in a collaboration of a chorus echoing off in the obscurity of my observation. Crying out to the evening sky and caressing my eardrums ever so perfectly.

My thoughts, now clear and conscious and no longer condescending or battling between two personalities attempting to claim the inner turmoil within the deep recesses of my mind.

But most of all I could SEE! I could see the colors of the world evaporating with evanescence all around me as their brightness now shining brilliantly everywhere! It was as if maybe they had been deceiving me for my entire life, or perhaps I was being shown by my commander in the congregation the happiness and harmony that I never thought could ever really happen. I felt that as if blindness was once a disfigurement or an ailment that I once suffered, and that I was now being shown an awakening to a world I had never knew endured. As if a pair of three-dimensional glasses had now been placed over my eyes; however, much --- MUCH --- more exhilarating!

Over the distance a solid rainbow paints itself across the clouds before my very eyes and bridges itself directly over the top of the three of us, shimmering and glowing more ablaze than the setting sun out in the sky. Tracing itself in particularly in motion from some isolated area far off into the heavens. It now beamed its rays of light directly upon my face as I felt completely overtaken with complete euphoria and I begin to faint.

My father on my left had taken this as a sign to let go; however, the priest gripped more tightly and refused to falter from me and still kept his eyes shut and speech focused on the prayer that he was prescribing before the two of us. That was when I knew that he felt it too. I would not know at this moment if he had felt the same elation as I; or rather, if he simply knew what kind of systematic symphony of joy that came to the jubilation that had fallen upon me at this very moment.

What was the significance of this circle? Why did it hold some holier than thou sense of intensity and suck the sadness out of every single one of my senses? Was this by magic or divine right that I had felt such supreme feelings of satisfaction! I dare not speak or interrupt the faint whispers of the Father's prayers for fear that this astounding atmosphere could be torn into obliteration. I need it! I love it! I yearn for it! I now claim it as one of my own!

The limousine continued to mutter and vibrate lightly with the engine still on and waiting patiently for our procession to end. Causing a certain sense of urgency for the entire cavalcade of events that were taking place to continue quickly and come to an end. It did not rev or rejuvenate a sound any higher than the steady purr as it sat waiting patiently like a cat sleeping peacefully in its soft bed.

I felt the priest's hand, gripping my right palm tightly and crunching my fingers together as if he had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. Had he known my parents and had been told the entire history of my non-commitment to his faith? Had he been some guardian angel secretly watching over me my entire life, and had finally found his one true calling?

What mysteries lie behind the face and demeanor of this priest I could not fathom to imagine, but one thing I knew, was that I loved him. I really, really loved him. His soothing voice that mesmerized me into his prayers and his warm touch melted me into his heart. The light breeze that once blew in the distance now intensified and the chill in its blast shivered my nerves as a pile of leaves fell from some far off tree and landed directly in the center of our sphere of faith. A collection of leaves followed quickly in its steed, building a collection of them directly in front of us. Now, swirling like a whirlwind up into the sky and exploding outward all around us!

It came from a yew tree, but from where that tree was rooted in the ground was unfathomable for me to understand or know for as long as I had lived in the home in which we were praying in front of. I had seen the trees on a trip to Europe in my younger years, but I never knew of them to be of any existence in the North-Western hemisphere which was where my family now resides.

I knew not of any large massive yew trees to be anywhere in sight, but what I did know was that their longevity and regeneration capabilities were most definitely what made them specifically special in their presence on earth. I also knew that since they possessed these types of qualities, that they were considered to represent in Celtic literature everlasting life, rebirth, changes, and regeneration after difficult times, and protection.

The leaves had fallen in droves upon droves all around both me and my companions standing inside the circle when previously there had been not but a single leaf or tree from which it to fall from anywhere in sight. Where had they come from? Why wasn't anyone else falling away from the prayer to bear witness to the same sanctimonious surroundings as I was? I could see my father, still with his face buried in his chest with his eyes closed and his mind buried in prayer with Father O'Malley.

I turn my head to look at the priest, and he finally turns to bring his eyes back up to me. I had heard the words that had precipitated out of his mouth and had been deep in concentration with them at the forefront of his speech, but over time and as the intoxicating indoctrination's that he had been bestowing upon me had come to materialization, I had become overwhelmed in an orgasm of unordinary accomplishment.

The whole ordeal ends as both the priest and my father release their grips from both my hands and the gravity of the entire situation comes tumbling down as the weight of the euphoric situation that has just transpired collapses on me completely. The reciting of the scripture from Father O'Malley's lips is finally decimated to complete silence and my adrenaline and pumping heartbeat finally begins to calm itself as it slowly pulsates down slower and slower with each passing second. Father O'Malley looks at me with his eyes now wide open, and a subtle grin now creeping upwards across his face.

He pulls an old fashioned gold pocket watch from his left front pocket and dangles it directly in front of his old and rugged face. Collecting his reading glasses from his other front pocket and promptly placing them across his nose to engage the view of his timepiece more attentively. This particular pocket watch is the minuscule size of a mere quarter piece of silver, and to that very reason, it is why he must dangle it ever so closely to his eyes and use his readers to gaze upon it.

The glowing gold outer case that protects the glass and tiny arms slowly ticking away inside have a slew of strange and intricate holy designs on its front, which lead one to the conclusions of obvious interpretations that it is indeed of a bygone era from which I had no idea on where it could have possibly come from. Markings of the cross and the mother Mary praying intently to her babe in which she is coddling in her long interwoven arms. A serpent leaps out hideously from behind Mary's shoulder with its definitive sharp and destructive looking fangs as if attacking her unknowingly.

Why would a priest of such caliber have in his possession a token of such a repulsive nature? He looks at it intently and then makes some unreasonable comment; or at least it was to me, about how short the prayer was that had just taken place and that normally these types of things should take much longer and was only interrupted by my father's insistence upon its end.

I guess I should not be surprised that my father was the one to break the chain and cause the whole ordeal to come to a screeching halt. Was it only a mere two minutes that I had been indoctrinated into this world of subliminal sanctimony? Was my sense of time transported into some realm beyond the grasps of my mind's comprehension? Was my body left here on earth while my soul wandered around aimlessly hypnotized by the mere mumbling of Father O'Malley's communications?

Because it had certainly felt more like an eternity that I had been swept far away into ambiguity. I had no time to think and dwell on these miscommunications of my mind, as my father leads me quickly into the back seat of the black limousine by dragging my arm with a tight grip tucked directly under my left elbow. Stepping on wet leaves as they crunch continuously beneath both our feet. Not a word is mentioned among any of us about these ceremonial droppings of yew tree leaves that took place just moments ago. Why were they not noticing any of this or mentioning it with any sense of incongruities and continued to remain ignorant of its existence?

I turn to face my childhood home one last time, to see my mother peering out of the upstairs window. The tears flowing down her face are now insurmountable and begin to smear the inside of the window as if a rainstorm had just taken place inside her bedroom. Her hands clasping the window sill and grasping with white knuckles as she watches her baby be drawn away by her husband's lead.

Her weeping squeals of sadness are the final things I hear as the door closes and locks me inside the back seat of the long black limousine. It slams with a deliberate force that almost takes off my left foot in the process as if he couldn't close it fast enough. The priest then bids adieu to my father, who was already halfway up the stairs to the house and doesn't so much as turn around to reciprocate the gesture.

Then, the priest walks around the backside of the black limousine and opens the door opposite my side and climbs in next to me. He removes his coat and insists upon me doing the same, as we both fasten our safety belts, the unseen driver behind a black case window in front of us pulls the car around the circular driveway and makes his way down the long winding road from which the vehicle had made its initial appearance when it arrived.

Shaking my sternum back and forth as the rocking and swaying of the car keep twisting and turning along the crooked path beneath its tires. The two of us sit in complete silence for quite some time as I stare out the window watching trees and power lines pass before my eyes at an alarming rate. So fast indeed that I had begun to wonder if I wasn't latched inside some kind of rocket ship or perhaps one of those DeLorean time-traveling devices I had seen in those popular movies from the 1980s.

Faster and faster the long and solid black limousine continued to travel down the road, as the vision just outside my window was nothing but a blurb of colors mashed together in some sort of painter's color wheel that had accidentally had water spilled upon it. My initial reaction to this influx in speed is to call out in calamity to the driver and plead with him to slow his progress, but my voice seems trapped in the back of my throat as an attempt to this exact request is met with lackluster effect and my tongue ties itself in knots on the tips of my lips. Father O'Malley must have noticed the squirming nature of my misplaced speech as tremors of timidness shake my entire body as the absolution of fear was ever looming over my normal confident self.

He places his right hand over my left kneecap and squeezes it ever so slightly, reassuring and reinvigorating my reception to his touch as I had just done so previously when we held hands in the circle and prayed together. I am ingratiated by the engagement of his touch once again, and his eyes come in complete contact with my own and his lips smile once again before he opens his mouth to speak to me.

Father O'Malley: "I've been waiting for you Mark Christian. Since the day that you were born."

I assumed that my father or mother when they made the call for him to come get me that they must have told him my name, but somehow deep in my heart I had a feeling it was by some other means. Somehow I knew that I was connected to this man by some spiritual subconscious that I simply could not explain at the time.

Mark Christian: "Why have you come for me, Father O'Malley?"

How I had actually known his name was beyond a shadow of a doubt the most strange thing I could have ever fathomed or imagined in my wildest dreams. This spiritual connection was now further validated as his name somehow came tumbling out of my mouth that had seemed to be in such a stranglehold just a few moments prior. I was never introduced to him and yet I feel like I shared so much with him in just the short time that we had come to know each other.

He did not answer by the speaking of his words, but instead by the comfort of his caressing nature as he leaned in close to me and pulled my head deeply into his chest. One thing I did know, was that I loved him and no matter where he was taking me I no longer cared as I felt completely safe and secure. I was willing to accept whatever path that this fast traveling long black limousine was going to take me on regardless of whatever destination it finally led me to. After realizing this notion and snuggling up next to him like a small child, nestled underneath his left arm that he wrapped behind my neck, I drifted off easily into a deep and dark uninterrupted slumber with dreams of sheer delight. Fantasizing fervently the answer to the question that I had asked him.

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