Monterey

How many times can a mind wander once the pew meets the knees? The spine straightens, another sigh released. Elbows press upon the bench ahead  while the eyes close and the heart tries to steady itself, thump, thump, thumping to something that sounds like the bass line from that song that was playing that time we ended up in Monterey. Focus. Focus. Focus. The spine straightens again. Entwined fingers clasp against themselves, against their own sweat and clammy cells, as the breath once again tries to remain steady, the wood continuing its unforgiving assault on the flesh. 

How long have I been kneeling here, trying to wrap my head around the posture in which I’ve found myself? The lower back starts to give a little and it takes me back to those days as a child when I used to recline on the bench, my knees taking less punishment, my mind clear of any notion of wrongdoing or beyond or divine or blood or body or brokenness or eternal or hell or peace or the realization that the world keeps spinning even if you’re spinning faster and faster and faster. 

The posture in which I present myself begins to fade into a serenity I haven’t felt since that crisp Monterey breeze, our eyes mistaking a sign we thought we read correctly only for us to end up at the shoreline of a place we never tried to be. An answer to a question I never knew to ask. Another sigh released. 

Divine, indeed.