There is a voice I sometimes hear that brushes by the ear of my soul like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing and breathes, “There’s more.”
At least that’s what I think it whispers, what I think I sense. The sound is so faint, like the words a person speaks as they turn away and your ear can’t quite reach out to grasp them before they fade away just in front of you, just out of reach. Then the person is gone before you can ask what it was they said.
Sometimes I lean into that empty space and I do ask, “What was that?”
But I’m only met with silence and an internal restlessness.
Who is it I expect to answer? Myself? The ceramic owl that looks at me from my bookshelf? God?
Instead of an answer, I hear the second hand of the oversized clock on my wall counting out time. It asks its own questions. Thirty minutes have passed, what have you done? Why did you spend two hours watching a movie you’ve seen so many times you can recite all the lines? What’s next?
But I have no answers for that old clock, or for myself. I only have a feeling that there’s something coming, something else, something more---something I want to be ready for, but it's not quite here yet. Like I’m feeling the vibration of the ground before a train arrives.
(Photo Credit: Deb Turnow)
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Nicole Mills is an oncology nurse, cancer survivor, nerd, and contemplative. She has a secret desire to be a nun or a double-dutch jump rope champion. Not being Catholic or able to jump 2 ropes poses significant hurdles, but she remains hopeful.