home
from the editor's laptop
welcome readerpoemsessaysshort storiesportrait of an artistbookslinksarchivesindex to issuesOOV readersabout us / submitcurrent issue

 

In Wait for the Assent

For the umpteenth time, I was recalled.

My small part is merely to be present—to extend the Invitation and to stay—in wait for the assent. When the assent is given, my role ends.

Told to return. That once again the time was premature. That what was thought to be signs of readiness turned out to be spasmodic and short-lived. I felt the familiar stream of words, "Let us return." So, I sighed and prepared my will to ascend, to wait it out once more.

If I was adept in expressing the number of times this revocation has happened, I would venture that for this particular charge, I have been recalled more than seven hundred thousand two hundred sixty five . . . occasions. It is an expression of the innumerable moments I have come away feeling inadequate. A slight niggling thought stirs—tentative self-doubt, second guessings: What went wrong? Did I use an inappropriate action? Was there a teaching I missed or failed to learn? But my sense of inadequacy is of no consequence when compared to the Final Outcome.

Let me explain. You see, I know the Outcome. But it is not in my place to make it happen. My small part is merely to be present—to extend the Invitation and to stay—in wait for the assent. When the assent is given, my role ends. It is then when others, mightier than myself, take over. They set in motion the process for the Outcome. With the arrival of the moment of assent, the Waiting Realm advances into place like a mighty wave at the height of its expression, suspended and released gently to be vanquished into shore.

I belong to Gabriel's Tribe. Until my commission is completed, my name is of no consequence and totally irrelevant. It is Enough to state that my Yearning is connected to my Transformation. A Transformation centered in awareness destined for a role: simply To Adore. The sense of completeness experienced in this state of adoration is the consummate reality that suffuses my being. To be intensely aware of one's longing which is continuously and fully appeased, spiraling towards exquisite joy is my reason for Being.

I exist solely for The Presence. The Presence is wondrous affirmation that I am needed to bring my small part to conclusion. Out there is a multitude in readiness, but it is I who am chosen, and for this particular waif. My small part is to carry the Invitation, to convey The Wish for permission to bequeath. Until the moment of assent happens, I stand in readiness and wait in The Presence.

It seems simple. What can go awry? And why the constant return to a sense of "empty-handedness"? You say that an invitation is hardly something to be turned down. And you are right! It is like a dangled offer, a temptation to . . . Wait! It may be easy to succumb to temptation. But there's a difference here. You are equating temptation and invitation as one and the same.

And they are not.

Temptations are almost in-your-face offers, packaged to make sure that they tug at the right strings and push the exact buttons. Temptations, no matter how subtle, have a way of dazzling the beholder. The end result is a mild confusion after a brief surge of euphoria. In succumbing to temptations, what takes over is a feeling of being carried away in spite of oneself; a stroking, more often with words, begins, and a hidden power is awakened.

One Assent alone creates new worlds. One Assent removes barriers so transformations can explode. One Assent brings the universe to fruition. One Assent has the power to call forth all the denizens of Heaven!

An invitation, on the other hand, must be mulled over because it requires a form of undivided attention; a stepping into the vortex of involvement; and more importantly, an invitation requires a willing acquiescence to passionately participate.

But permit me to undo whatever confusion you are left with about my own state of being. Simply put, you are sensing my frustration. And I have to admit that that is precisely why my Transformation has become so tentative. Impatience will be my undoing if I allow myself some slack. But for now, allow me my perennial flaw because it is of no consequence to what is effusively taking place in the universe and will continue to take place regardless of how long it takes me to learn the tools of my trade.

If you've heard it said that Love is the key that unlocks the door to The Unknown, then Assent catapults the Outcome. Executes a great leap and instantaneously touches and transforms lives into smoldering reality. One Assent alone creates new worlds. One Assent removes barriers so transformations can explode. One Assent brings the universe to fruition. One Assent has the power to call forth all the denizens of Heaven!

Humans have great powers. We of Gabriel's Tribe are in awe at what has been given them. Yet they know little of what those powers can accomplish. Our advantage and the edge we possess are ephemeral compared to the gifts held out to each human being.

As for those of us, "presence" and "patience" are what we are imbued with. Add to these a certain knowing, a sense of trust that the Plans in His Heart are unfolding. And will continue to unfold—unimpeded.

I am entrusted with a name. I receive my charge whom I accompany to the Threshold where The Breath of Creation "blows" it towards Earth. I thought I sensed a faint chuckle in The Voice when the name was scrawled on my being but I may have been mistaken. I listened to the protesting squall emitted by a red-faced incarnated flesh and can find no humor in its flailing state. I look at the name and know I have more than enough of eternity before I am called to fulfill my role at the first stirrings from this soul.

How could I reach such a conclusion about having "enough time"? As though with one glance I could determine the length of human hours, no, years that would elapse before my task to bequeath was at hand and the waiting would begin! But it isn't human hours that I speak about. I speak of the human mirror reflecting my own spirit. Knowing the flaws that I have carried, I saw the winding road that this waif would travel before arriving at the crossroads where I wait— face to face, though she would never see mine. We evolve to a point as it were, like a key in search of its rightful lock; of staring at a mirror that harbors the reflection of countenances that are recognizable and owned.

It is a long and tedious road. Even for me. She is no more patient than I am innocent. And until we shed my incredulity and her propensity to sink in untold preoccupation, we will not meet over a square-foot crossroad of choice.

But it came unexpectedly. And to my surprise . . .

The first call to bequeath the Invitation and instructions to wait for the Assent marked my entry into Gabriel's Tribe. But I fail to understand Humans. I have not learned to curb my expressions of dismay at their faltering and fickle choices. I have faced Interims and Tribunals over occasions when I exhibited my recalcitrant frustrations over my charge. At assemblies, I am the center of boisterous laughter, wise counsels and intermittent nudgings. Worse, I re-live moments of my own uncouth behavior and the times when all around me, queries gently float. Others, not of my ilk, were curious: how was it that I could withstand the wait? My ward's storm-filled soul swept aside moments of singing stillness to linger in bouts of undecipherable preoccupation over nothing more than a mote of dust or the careless dribble in a feather.

It was the glance. One moment so anguished and then in what seemed like a shaky millisecond: the gift of self in her eyes—bringing Heaven to its knees and all of creation to a standstill.

The issue pointedly raised by members of my tribe has been my complete lack of trust in what I cannot see beyond my immediate breath. And that "flaw" spills over and results in my fumbling stance of impatience. I answer to Gabriel's Tribe but the arduous task of evolving into the perfect tool of my trade still eludes me. The key to my evolving lies in the folds of this one soul's willingness—long and stilled enough— to sense my presence and to absorb the Invitation that may result in either Delay or Assent. And she is oblivious of the meted-out and ponderous Waiting that I must undergo.

When the fullness of her being spilled like gushing water into my hands, I was beyond my own capacity to withstand the sweeping tide, a burgeoning ocean's single and profound wave—steep and ready to engulf me. I barely heard the whisper because she didn't whisper. It was the glance. One moment so anguished and then in what seemed like a shaky millisecond: the gift of self in her eyes—bringing Heaven to its knees and all of creation to a standstill.

It was out-of-place and totally without guile. Her glance sent me soaring towards my Transformation— agog in disbelief and stunned, robbed of expressing sweet gratitude for my own ascent to heights of reeling ecstasy.

I understood then—and yet could not fathom the depths—why the Everlasting Presence unravels in waves, why The Source of Glory unleashes, in torrents of abundance, the lightning Core of Its Being . . . handing over to this creature—wonder a spark of divinity in exchange for the Willing Assent.

Before I could utter a gasp, the Waiting Realm slid in massive crusts from under me. I had barely a breath in place, awed as I was by this soul's unwieldy abeyance. I witnessed the stars flash—snuff out their ancient fires to charge hidden energies with scintillating flares of brightness, while strings of falling comets spewed in moving spirals, blazing through the hobbled dark.

I was seeing a fraction of what I had seen in the Beginning: a visitation upon the muted glory of creation, a visitation unspeakably tender, unceasingly wild and unrestrained. Spun from the tumultuous caverns of The Original Longing: Immanence and Presence, All in One— Total and Complete.

As never before, I Am silenced into sanctums of song and adoration. I shield my eyes at The Splendor

Before Whom I forever prostrate my being.

© N.G. Ray

back to toptop | about the author



powered by
FreeFind
  poems | essays | short stories | portrait of an artist
from the editor's laptop | welcome reader | frontispiece
books | links | archives | index to issues | readers
about us | current issue