Published in “Whupping Christ For Hollywood”, Texts’ Bones Journal (2004). Reprinted in In Pursuit of the Perfect Gourmet Garam Masala (Ed. Daithidh MacEochaidh, Pub. Skrev Press), 2007.
I have been waiting for the storm forever now. The rage of the storm sweeps to destruction all that lies before it. But the eye is the heart of the storm, and that, they tell me, remains calm. This is true and I know why (the air there is dead.) I know why the eye remains solitary, silent and still. It is because the eye is watching. Always watching. It needs silence and stillness to continue without distraction. (Life is the biggest distraction of all). Sometimes the eye watches for me. I know this too.
I feel that I have to reach that calm somehow, must see it up close. Why that is so necessary I don’t know yet. (Maybe I am just a watcher as well) But there are some things within us that we know without anyone ever telling us: we know that God is good but sometimes he is away and cannot attend to our pain, that love is good but hope is better, that we must step on grass lightly in the early morning so it springs back whole and green once the tread of our feet have passed. And I know that I must reach the eye of the storm. (That dead eye.) I must watch for it as it watches for me.