Holy Week (Untitled)

In reflection. One mild, chilly day in November of 2004, on an Island off of Maine. I rode my bike out of the driveway, turning right, and then right again, onto the main road of the island. and since in was November, in Maine, there resided only one or two hundred people at the most, until late Spring came. the clouds were gray, or at least that is how I remember them. I am not sure why I went out, really, but I guess I felt a pull towards a moment or two of greater solitude and prayer, than I had already been experiencing (nothing else to do there, but solitude, as if it were an act). I rode my bike a half mile or so, to a small cliff-like hangover, and got off of it. the ocean was dark and cold. there was nothing between myself and Europe. I heard some sea-gulls, and looked above, and looked around, alone, but embraced - and heavy, because this was it - this was what he had described, vividly - this is what he had seen in the image he said that God gave to him about me. so i now sit, and then lay on the dark, wet rock, above the ocean, almost frightened, almost completely beside myself. and in the position of the crucifix, I prayed, and I shook, I shivered. and i prayed for God's Will to be done, not mine. i got up, and baptized myself, like an infant, with cold saltwater.

i think that event was the true end of the beginning for me, for us. just a month or so later, I got an email from a friend visiting Grenada, wanting to know if he could come and stay with us for a while. much death and resurrection has happened since that time.

if i were a better writer, i would guess that this reflection would have been more than a paragraph.

or maybe it would read more like this: