A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story

– Feather’s Fall –
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Please explore the Feather’s Fall Feature page to begin this journey of doubt, faith, struggle and hope.

Story Arc (1. John)

“This is bullshit!” There was less conviction this time. It had been a long time coming and the tipping point was close.

“Hello? Can anyone bloody-well hear me?” He thought he was shouting, but he was no longer certain whether his voice was carrying. It might even be possible, he considered, that his voice was so worn that he only heard himself because no one was bloody listening.

At first, everything was going well. The plans were put in place, everyone was onboard and off they went. They sang the songs they sang, did the dances they danced and it was pretty awesome. Each celebration only raised their sense of accomplishment – successes were apparent everywhere and people were actually listening! And wasn’t that the point he wondered?

Where’d it go wrong …

He tried to find the phone … it was somewhere nearby … that’s what he knew. Of course, as his hands slipped through that stuff that sure felt like sand, but – since his sight had failed a while back – he couldn’t be sure. He could feel the grit as he moved his hand around, slapping into the granular assumed-to-be-sand-stuff, but he couldn’t find the stupid thing! And, of course, there was something new … he thought there were a lot of new things occurring way too fast when the last thing he knew … no that wasn’t right, was it? No, the last thing he remembers before this hell was when things were going so well! And wasn’t that the point, he thought again?

They arrived … well their reputation did. And once they were there in-person, people wanted to hear what they had to say. It was different, even possible, some commented. Others shouted it couldn’t work and scoffed! While many seemed resistant, there was hope, longing in their eyes. And all they could do was repeat the same thing, over and over, with passion of course – he remembered – but not judgment: “If we can do it, so can you!”

That usually was all they needed. And so it went and so the message was shared and man did it spread. It seemed things were changing. There was less tension and, if he was honest with himself (which it seemed he had no choice since no one was helping him!), things really did seemed to be changing. And there was satisfaction in that …

He gave up, he couldn’t find it. And now, as his hand hung in the embracing grains of pulverised rock, he felt water lapping its way up his wrist. At first it did not register. It seemed that as his sight receded, so too had his sense of feeling. Touch was okay – though a lot of good it did him (he complained) in finding that stupid phone. But suddenly there was the sensation of water and he knew that couldn’t be good. He thought he would be hearing gulls flying away from the rising tide, but he couldn’t hear anything. Which, of course, led him to a moment of swearing as only he could – this of course was a surprise to many who got to know them as they walked the walk along the way. But, lying there, it seemed that he was likely not even speaking, he was only imagining his rote reaction to losing power … instead, he realised with resignation, that he was tired …

The response was grand, everyone said so. Things seemed better, streets were cleaner and, after some time, didn’t the food even taste better, he mused? It felt like there was synergy – things coming together. People actually smiled and that was the biggest surprise for him. Sure they wanted to change everything, but that simple smile, even from strangers, as they walked the walk, was the best reward. Usually offered with no expectation, no demands, just the gift. But, he should have known (and at this recollection he wanted to get really pissed as he remembered this, but there was no energy left). The others got mad – yep they did: Arrests, media coverage, anger and images taken out of context! What took so long to nurture seemed lost and they fled. They hid, couch surfed, dumpster dove, whatever it took to share the walk, but finally …

What did it matter? He had tried to get away from the ebbing rise. Already he could imagine his arm – from below the elbow – was blue. Sure felt searingly chilled! And then there it was … what was that sound he thought? He couldn’t lift his head, nope! And – even if he could – he couldn’t bloody well see. But there was a sound … rising water? … sirens? …

Maybe he should have felt … like he had to hide again … but this was something else. Was that wind? Ah, he thought with a moment of doubt, is that a helicopter? Did they find me? Hollow joy for a moment of desire lingered, but now seemed inconsequential … because the sound wasn’t … mechanical? Or completely … as he drew what energy he had left, it sounded more like feathered flight dancing into a hover … and then the wind died …

A Winged Wordle

A Winged Wordle

Feather's Fall Continues

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (1. Miriam)
• Story Arc (2. John)

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This blog was originally published May 5, 2012
by The United Church in Meadowood