545. The Fount of Light

I walked from hospital to chapel on an afternoon best remembered as a near perfect summer day. The sky, a deep blue, the kind of blue typically seen only at elevation; the trees, hardy in their battle against wind and rain swayed like majestic giants in a gentle breeze, whispering well wishes; the grounds, pristinely manicured, a sign of care and money communicating peace through order and design.

The chapel rose from the ground, stone by stone, each cut by hand, each unique, patterns of nature expressing beauty to shame great masters. I walked alone. My thoughts happy for the space. The chapel growing in size with each step and I felt as a son returned to the father, my shoulders heavy with lessons learned the hard way.

He approached and I thought nothing of it, an older soul in a body at ease, steps soft, eyes clear, a smile natural in the ways of smiling, as natural as the flower before the sun. I would have made nothing of the encounter, ordinarily, until he spoke, not to me as much as with me, as if his only mission was this moment, to greet, say hello; and I felt an energy I had not felt in a long time, an energy few possess, an energy with the power to move heart and soul rather than stone and soil. We talked for some time before he apologized and introduced himself as the chaplain. I enquired if the chapel was open and he said by all means I must visit, to spend as much time as I liked. His handshake felt warm, not of hand, but of heart and I believe he knew, from the touch, my soul needed the energy he gave. Before I could break the spell, he was gone and I smiled or perhaps he smiled me. I watched him walk away, his feet soft upon the ground and I thought that under different circumstances and another time, I'd like to share word and bread and I'd like to think he would have welcomed the occasion.

For the brief moment of our encounter, my fears took pause, and as the old soul disappeared into the distance, they returned, shadows of mind emerging for breath, begging for attention and so I drew breath and welcomed them to journey with me and together we would visit the chaplain's domain. I was not as alone as I had thought.

I entered not from the main door, but rather from the side, a smaller arched door adorned in carving that needed no translation. To the right rose the main tower, nankeen stone reaching into the sapphire sky, and I felt not alone. Looking into the bell tower, I saw no one and I knew at this moment no one would be in the tower. Still, I looked again and the feeling grew stronger. I drew breath and my hand began to tremble and before my mind flashed a vision or a dream or perhaps just a hope.

As promised the wooden door was unlocked, opening with heft, notably without squeal or squeak. Natural light spilled into the warmly lit narthex, a candle unto itself keeping watch over the darkened nave. Aisles lined the cavernous interior and from above hung embroidered banners, each a testament to trial, tribulation and triumph. I felt as if transported to the Tao Hall of Whales and, as if from instinct, the solemn weight of memory bowed my head. From light years removed, I felt a bond sewn in the sinew of brothers, a bond I feared I would never feel again.

Raising my head, I breathed in the cool air, letting the light from the stained glass walls illuminate the path before me in a kaleidoscope of color. The nave's belly held not pews but chairs, perhaps a thousand, all the same, arraigned with meticulous precision, slated backs slightly curved, reaching upward, ever upward, like soldiers in attention. I stood front and center, the alter some distance before me, not another soul to be seen.

Following the lead of the chairs, my eyes looked up and I saw arch upon arch, wood inlaid upon stone, receding as I imagined trumpets might. On either side of the alter, perched as owls at night, the gleaming instruments of divine calling. I spoke, almost unconsciously, two words, the only two words that seemed fitting: My Janus. What happened next, I should not have been surprised, made me smile. My voice, of what should have been only a whisper, resonated, not by accident, but by what could only be called intelligent design, and I longed to sit among many, listening to a single voice, the old soul, bring order to chaos, his voice as clear from the rear as from the front, as from the conversation of what seemed a long time ago.

Then, for some unknown reason, standing in the luxury of other men's labor, I felt utterly alone. The feeling started in my gut and like a wave rolled upward leaving my face flush. I seldom feel lonely, but in this moment, standing within this storied place, so magnificent, I missed my boy. I missed Ceru and the wonderful hues upon the smooth stone before me appeared to pool, the image more dreamlike with each remembering. I made the sign of the Tao and bending on one knee, lower my head.

I never heard the steps. His hand laid upon my shoulder like a heating pad. I rose without looking as he said come with me, and we begin to walk. In the center of the nave stood a fount, not of water, but of light. I stood to one side and the old soul to the other. He nodded his head and I placed my hands in the fountain of light. What happened next I cannot explain no more than music and be explained in words or a song by ink and paper.

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Younger C and me outside of All Saints Chapel on the campus of The University of the South, inspiration for the chapter posted above.