After a dream...

I  learned later on,  that he sat down in silence in that church, day after day, until his day came upon. On that day, he ran away from everyone, and hid once more at Frogner church. There he sat, knowing well silence was the only companion that would ask questions, but never demand answers. He knew silence would not demand an explanation, of what he was not even aware was happening in his life and in his mind. He remembered the old notion of God, through the lessons someone else had bothered to tell him long time ago, and he went to seek a glimpse of his existence, in the only place he knew where to seek.

Later on I learned, that on that same day, when his day came upon, I was sitting in the cathedral of Stavanger, completely empty of hope, and with a weary heart that kept  beating to a pace I did no longer recognized. Those were some of my darkest days. The days when meaningless kept putting her face on  everything, even in my little angel that  I loved the most, making me acquainted with the most shameful feelings I've known. I remembered the old notion of God, through the lessons someone else  had bothered to tell me so long ago, and I went to seek a glimpse of his existence, in the only place I knew where to seek.

Weeks went by, our destinies crossed through the written ways, and then fired themselves by the  excitement of receiving a stranger’s letter, carrying words of hope. How strange for certain it is,  to be touched without being so, by the same sun or the moon, the written words, and even perhaps by the same God we both went looking for. I do not know, for if God came to us, his inconspicuous ways gave us an enormous amount of beauty in such a period of scarce light. That immense invisible light could only be felt, while it transformed itself in the hope and meaning, that eventually lead us to use our humble dignity to overcome selfishness.

Among the simple treasures he gave to me in a take-away bag of a famous Oslo restaurant, was a CD of Iver Kleiver and Aage Kvalbein. I learned afterwards Kleive used to be the organist at Frogner church. Whenever I’ve passed through there, I’ve stand outside the door, but I have never dared to go inside. I can only dare to  imagine Kleiver’s beautiful music playing or the ghost of that man, sitting inside, calming his turmoil’s  in the silence of some years ago. I have always turned away, and return to my life, not knowing if I ever would dare to cross that threshold, because  I am afraid of the emptiness I could find.

These moments and thoughts return and leave from my life unexpectedly around this time, and until Christmas. As the years pile up, remembering becomes a question of  authenticity, of God’s participation on these and later occurrences. If he played a role, I presume it remained true to him until the last day that silver cross hanged from his neck; while for me, undoubtedly,  remains as a place I am called to ponder upon the matter, with the longing a beautiful dream leaves behind. 

And the question always remains: Was it you God?

From Stavanger
-I-I-I-