He came when I needed him

This is a Rumi stocking-filler

Where he came from I don’t remember, he never would say, and why he came to me is anyone’s guess. There wasn’t much left of me to salvage, but what there was he brought back from a dark place that still gives me nightmares, but he talked me out of it, stayed with me through the years, and slowly there came a hope inside me, something I thought I’d lost for good. I stopped drinking, that was tough, but he helped me through it, hell, he was the one who got me through it even when it got ugly at times, he stayed, with the patience of a saint.

Saint Rumi I called him; he was always there for me. Yes, I’d taken all my dependence and put it on to him until I found I couldn’t live without him, couldn’t bear to be apart from him. But it was more than dependence. From a blackness of spirit, with no hope of reprieve, a weariness in my soul, he came to that place and told me of a light that someone had revealed to him, and he said too, that light could be mine. I came to believe him. He told me of a man who could show me this light, and this became my whole purpose of being.

One day he rushed in through the open front door, bursting with something and calling my name.

“Helen, Helen, he’s here, he’s here,” said my friend Rumi.

“What is it, who is here?” I asked, becoming infected with his joy. He came up to me and clasped my shoulders, a big grin on his face.

“It’s time,” he said.

It was then I knew who it was that had come.

“When?” I asked.

“They say he will speak tomorrow, in the big field. We will go there.”

That night my friend went to talk to some people and I prepared for the morrow.

He came back late, his face was beaming and words were pouring forth from him in a torrent. I couldn’t understand most of it. It was as if he was very drunk. Some of his exuberance and joy rubbed off on me and I went to sleep happy. I dreamed of a light I could not penetrate with my eyes, which enveloped me in warmth and security. Reaching out from the light were hands welcoming me. As I went to grasp the hands, I woke me. Slowly I came to myself and as I looked around the bedroom it seemed that nothing was the same. I had a feeling of floating, that the world was not real anymore and I was a being of light, observing.

“What is happening?” I asked my friend who came calling early. “I feel as if I am young again and everything is so bright and alive.”

“It is his grace. It is with us. Come, we will go to him now,” said my friend.

That morning I was a little girl again full of the joys of life, giggling as I put on my clothes to go out. My friend hovered in the background impatient, trying to get me to hurry up, offering to help.

“Just come as you are,” he called through, which made me laugh and giggle all the more, because I was only half dressed.

Eventually I was ready and was herded out the door.

We joined in with some other friends and walked to the field. The sun had just risen and birds were singing as its light fell on our backs casting dancing shadows before us.

All was joyful as on a day of festival, which it was.

The closer we got to the field the more people there were until we found we could go no further, for there was an ocean of people. We became waves in that ocean and added our voice to the song. As I stood there I became aware of an expectancy, an almost physical something that I became a part of. Something was going to happen.

We waited. Like a stone thrown on a pond, a ripple moved out from the centre and engulfed us with its energy. He was with us. I could just see him, sitting, talking. All became quiet as he spoke, except here and there a cough. It was hard to hear him but people passed what he was saying to those behind. I was told that soon he would let everyone, one by one, go to him and touch him. I waited for that. As I waited I became confused and wondered what I was doing there. I had been lost. What was all this about? Who was he? What right had I to be there?

Then people began filling past him, touching him.

Slowly, slowly, I moved towards him and I knew there was no other place to be, but there with him. I drew nearer and nearer, looking at the other people, wondering how I should be, what I should do. I was not to know that everyone felt the same. I thought I was alone in my concerns, and I was, coming to him. I felt very small, and he, so big, almost a mountain. As I drew close I could not take my eyes from him. I watched his face; and so many words came to describe him, compassionate, loving and caring. But what I felt was beyond words.

I was almost upon him.

He looked up and I saw in his eyes only love.

I recognised in him the same love that was in me. I loved him then, and I gave him my heart. Too soon, too soon, my turn came and in a rush I planted a kiss upon his feet, and then I was past and walking in a dream. I was his, and he was mine.

Afterwards, my companion and I met up. Without saying anything, yet each sharing the same feeling, we walked home.

Image from Pixabay

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