Hermetic

My back against the door—bolted shut. Though light still pours from

the space at the bottom.

Yet that radiance too pale.

The hallway in front of me prolonged, doors on each side. Perhaps locked.

I am sixteen, part child, part woman.

I tremble to move from this weak luminescence.

Trauma is what I know, my identity clothed in shame, loathing who I am.

I sweat and pant.

I have no keys.

I have no lantern.

I spot a figure in the distance holding a flickering candle.

Ambivalence screams in my chest.

I step away from the vacuum-sealed door, the feeble light.

I draw near the holy presence.

An old hymn sifts through my mind. All those years in church.

Great is thy faithfulness, O God My Father.

A blue door opens.

Isn’t blue symbolic for grace?

And isn’t this brilliance spilling forth something like mercy?

––––––––

Priscilla enjoys discovering divine inklings contained in life mysteries and uncertainties this side of the Kingdom. She is the author of four books. On A Clear Blue Day, a collection of reflective essays, won an Enduring Light medal in the 2017 Illumination Book Awards. She lives with her Italian husband near a tidal creek on the southeast coast. Find her at priscillakgaratti.com and on Instagram, LinkedIn, and x.