THE MYSTERIOUS CHICKEN FEATHER MAN (or, Try Some Hesychastic Encounters)
So, I’m ambling to the check-out line at the drugstore, when I see an enormous man headed down the aisle my way. Really enormous. Like, why isn’t the floor shuddering, stuff falling off the shelves, crashing on the floor?
He’s dressed oddly too: clashing plaids (shirt, pants), jogging shoes the size of musk melons, pork-pie hat that looks somehow menacing.
So I get in one of those muddles, you know? Who’s going to get there, get in line first? I hate those muddles. They give me more choices to make in five nanoseconds than a space shuttle pilot has to make in five hours.
Do I risk looking rude and speed up? (People who do that make me grind my teeth so hard, they probably are making shrill squeaking sounds audible two aisles over.)
Or do work on looking gracious and slow down ahead of time, let him get there first? (True confession: I’m never completely satisfied that I’m showing true character … maybe I just wimped out and rationalized it. I’m such a trickster to myself.)
Or do I just throw caution to the winds and see what happens next? (A little guy like me, I could get pretty bruised-up if this great big guy can’t see me over the, um, horizon … or sees me and just doesn’t care, little guy like me.)
His immense and obvious contribution to the warping of space-time, and his over-all wardrobe choices that make me think he just dares anyone anywhere to entertain any thoughts whatsoever about fashion tastes … I betcha he won’t care a whole lot.
I slow down, wanting to come out of whatever happens next looking like a tolerable approximation of a decent human being. Not a bad goal, plus, if this guy flattens me? I’m the stubby little innocent victim, poor poor me. Two out of three, ain’t bad.
It turns out, I am misjudging how long it takes him to sumo-wrestle gravity all the way down the rest of the aisle. I get to check-out first. Piece of cake.
So, I’m standing there, and someone I never see calls out to this guy. “Hey!” he says, pretty generically.
But there’s nothing generic about the guy behind me. “Hey,” he says back, his voice diving to the center of the earth and coming back out with enough penetrating crackle to jiggle tectonic plates. Put that voice in my church choir, it’s a whole new dimension to basso profundo in these elegant Slavonic hymns.
“How you been?” says the other guy.
“Oh chicken and feathers,” my guy says. “Chicken and feathers.”
“You know, one day you get the chicken, next day just get the feathers.”
“You lookin’ good though,” says the first guy.
“Can’t complain. The way I figure it, you make somebody’s life a little better? You had you a worthwhile day.”
Now I’m cringing. Why didn’t I let this guy in first? Magna cum laude for real good guy, this guy is, my books at least. I admire people who are shaped like that on the inside.
“Yeah,” says the first guy, “you got it right now.”
“Yeah. I try and call my clients though, I got to use a different phone or they won’t answer.”
“I don’t, they be sayin’, hey it’s
“No, I guess not.”
So now I’m thinking: why didn’t I run to the cash register?! Probably a loan shark!
About five minutes out of the store, however, and I’m thinking:
You know? That guy’s a mystery. What in the world did all of those things mean? I got several clues there, and I don’t have the foggiest how they go together in that man’s life. And I betcha (I say to myself) give me five years around that guy, day-in and day-out, and I still won’t have the mystery worked out. What a mystery! And even if he’s a loan shark, which I betcha he’s not, what kind of loan shark says what he said about making somebody’s life a little better each day ain’t no loan shark!
My grammar, by the way, goes to pot when I talk to myself. Pay it no heed.
Anyhow, this little chat I’m having with myself goes on a little more:
That’s why you don’t judge. That’s why the Master (which is what I call Him when I not only learn something new and especially worthwhile, but also when I figure He’s the one doing the teaching too) … why the Master says not to judge. Because, dumbbell, you don’t know what’s going on. You’ll never know what’s going on. The person you want to judge? Mystery. Pure mystery. Just like you.
So why don’t you learn how to practice hesychastic encounters? Stop the labeling, stop the conceptualizing, stop the words and thoughts and fantasies and imaginary conclusions, and just let be. Just encounter. Resist the first nudge, the first preverbal provocation, same as you try to do in prayer.
All you know is: at his core, he too is in the Image of God, which is
And who that is, Great I Am alone knows.
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EARLIER TOPICS FROM AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL
"JOURNEY TO ORTHODOXY"
[will still write on any of these if asked]
 Role of
 Spiritual Intuition
 Prayer of the Heart
 Iconography, Liturgical Poetry,
 The Theotokos
 The Bible.