It had been a good two days. Days of prayer and recollection despite the busyness.
I awoke this morning and looked up at a white mackerel sky. Some streaks of blue~white, but mostly shades of white. It should have brought me happiness to feel the breeze dance of the early morning. I tried to open the windows of my spirit to inhale the breeze blessings.
But something else touched it.
A light sense of foreboding. Very light. Touch and go. Here, then gone.
I shook it off. I had my hand in my Father’s. There was a vineyard to go to. Work to be done.
An unseen cloud followed me.
Some hours later, the winds in a high dance, I saw the headlines from various sources. Tumult. Force. Harshness. Denials. Disdain. Protests. Nothing that hadn’t been there in recent days, but today, they took on a darker edge.
Something began to choke my ribcage. I was overwhelmed, feeling a rush of dark. I felt my breath being crushed, yet, instinctively knew it was not physical. I floundered and struggled for a moment. I could sense screams, unseen hands reaching out in desperation. But they were not the entreaties of Holy Souls that I am familiar with, that I can recognize in a flash. This was different.
I felt like I had touched Panic. Wild fear. But I didn’t know whose it was.
Stumbling backwards, I fell on another headline. It didn’t make sense and I didn’t feel that I was called to understand it. But one word stood out like a lighted beacon:
The clamour I was sensing worsened. I had had enough. I backed away to put some distance between that strange fear and myself. I stumbled to my usual spiritual haunts, places – blogs, forums – that I visit seeking God’s voice. And I came to a psalm I had posted some weeks before to calm a sorrowing soul.
Assurance of God’s Protection
A Song of Ascents.
1 I lift up my eyes to the hills—
from where will my help come?
2 My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
The very moment I saw the word ‘hills’ again, the crushing sense of someone’s terror eased. The desperate grip on my spirit loosened. Lift eyes to the hills. The abode of God. I needed to keep my eyes on God. I wasn’t sure what it meant with regards to the screams I had felt. Were they the screams of the wronged righteous? The disdain from the headlines – were they as wrong as they seemed? Was force justified?
Whose terror had I touched?
As I watched the winds from afar, from the relative safety of the foot-Hills, I looked for the serpent’s tempest. Did I sense cheating, lying? Was there a hidden undercurrent of subterfuge? Was something being whipped up, crafted to undermine a good? I searched and searched.
There was none. No lying. No pretense. The flood of emotions were real. The suffering genuine.
My spirit remained with the memory of the pain I had touched but I asked the Hills, What do You ask of me, Father? What action? What prayer? They are calling for help, Father. Tell me what to do.
From behind me, from the hills, I receive an answer I do not expect:
Flee to the hills.