Monday, June 13, 2011

Something special.

Listening to hide and seek imogen heap 

This weekend was noteworthy for a few reasons.

#1: Bikes 

Coincedentally, this happens to be the Monday of Bike to Work Week! Not that I'm biking to work, because I did that once, and let's just say I need to refine my cycle skills before I give that another throw. I appreciate not having to waddle around.

But aside from looking awesome in our safety gear, we rode our bikes to the beach Sunday, where we played our first game of league volleyball with some dear friends.

The chilly beach was just not ready to handle the heat of Team Balls in the Face.

Ok, fine, so we lost.

But it was perilously close! Like, other team had to win by 2 points close. Nevertheless, we had a fab time with our numb feet in the cold sand, taking in the views and waiting for this city to come alive in summertime. 

Partaking in our bike rides and volleyball matches proved to be treat-like morsels of anti-norm goodness. Something special. Breaking free of the weekend monotony we youngins fall into during the winter (eat, frequent the bars, sleep, repeat) felt liberating, and moreover, it felt right. I felt farther away from burying my weekends in the blur, and closer to learning more about myself and my guy, as I hope to always be doing. 

I guess this brings me to my spiritual encounter. I hate to call it that, because that turns it into something all paranormal. It wasn't anything like that. In fact, I think you know when you've had a spiritual encounter when you find yourself in a situation that strikes you as so poignant and meaningful, yet the next guy or gal on the street might not've thought anything about it at all, or at most thought "Huh, that's funny." 

An example. I found myself making a particularly lengthy bus voyage back from a trip to my beloved second home, my friend Trader Joe's. Suffice it to say I was somewhere between surly and miserable when I boarded my second bus, but I noticed something that kinda made me smirk a little despite my sourpuss state. An elderly couple boarded the bus, slowly but surely. A blind man, who was smiling and chatty, was guided aboard by his festively decorated lady, who wore a lively red dress and a matching red hat, adorned with flowers. After asking myself if these folks had just fallen out of a storybook, I couldn't help but marvel at how happy they seemed. Here's this guy who has no eyesight and a limp, yet he couldn't seem to wipe the grin off his face. It struck me as pleasant, but not in an overly spiritual way - more of an, "Oh, well isn't that nice?" moment. 

And then I forgot about it. 

Just a couple hours later, as John and I were riding our bikes, I noticed my storybook cut-out characters, inching down the sidewalk, arm in arm. In my neighborhood this time! What are the odds? It really hit me strangely, and I had the half disturbing, half comforting feeling that they were following me. 

It was then that I realized they were coming from here.

My neighborhood parish. Yes, the one I have been neglecting.

And I don't know, call me crazy, but it felt like a message. It felt like an invitation, an extended welcome. I can't explain it, but it stirred me, and it felt like someone was watching. 

And after having an extensive, out-of-the-blue weird right place, right time faith conversation with some of my co-workers, I feel like someone's trying to tell me something. 

I plan to start listening in a jiffy.

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