[Where else are you?]

October 17, 2018

Where else are you? I’m in a dim gymnasium at 10 am with a thousand college kids, and we’re singing,

or they are, an ardent song about falling in love with Jesus Christ, whom they’ve never met, and I’m

falling for it, for them, I’m falling in love with the singers. I’m not singing, but I’m watching intently

one group at the the front, who’ve been made holy by a blade of doorlight. They’re down on all fours,

these freshmen, on their knees, eyes pinched against the outer world, begging themselves,

Jesus, Jesus,but reaching for something inside. One woman in particular, waist-length golden hair, her hand

outstretched, her fingertips pink on the blade’s edge, grips me tight, unlocks me from my slumping

10th-bleacher body, pulls me out, and I’m lassoing the room, my mind or spirit is, over the crowd of

virile singers, I’m detached from the ground and flying over them, a ghost, that’s where else I am right

now, a holy ghost, a whirlwind over a bladed crowd.

 

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