No one knows when he rode into town. We just know he appeared, and was so vastly present. There was no escaping him as he came down the street. His wide unnerving eyes, desperate to connect. You could feel him from a half a mile off—honing in on you like a drone fighter pilot. It became a game to evade him.
He wanted something. He attempted to entice us and we all denied him.
There was simply too much energy emanating from him. His desire to engage made us quiet Minnesotans long for the cover of winter when we can make a fast retreat into the warm and private fire. But alas it was summer and we had no good reason to retreat other than fear and rudeness. Neither of which makes a Minnesotan stand tall. So we steel ourselves and play the game of Minnesota nice until we just can’t take it any more.
He is other. He is too invasive an intruder wanting in but going about it in all the ‘wrong’ ways.
Is he the angel that we turn away? Does he need our love and care or is he the devil we sense him to be—too much energy radiating off of him for any of us to digest. We deflect.
What becomes of the rolling stone, the young man looking for a home, seeking a place of solace, a haven? One moment he is there the next he is not. Boyfriends and husbands hold their wives and girlfriends that much closer. There is a sense that we must be protected, but from what and who?
We wrestle with this angel who came town, and wondered once he’s left, did we lose the opportunity to meet God in the flesh, or was he really the Devil we sensed him to be?
Our hearts beat on and the river keeps rolling. The stranger and his looming presence ebbing in and out of our sedentary lives.
letters to the world 