Healing hands hover over my crown
And the light of God shines
through my hoodie
and radiates outward.
the energy swirls
slow and deliberate
like a host of ghosts
who remember me
from before I knew myself.
I don’t feel haunted.
I feel accompanied.
The air thickens
with something like
forgiveness
or gravity.
The kind of energy that shows up
when you have stopped looking for it.
I’ve tried to brush it off,
to explain it away
with an academic vocabulary
and nervous laughter.
But this Ordinary time,
I let the light pass through me
untranslated,
unproven,
undeniably present.
Signs are scattered
across Ordinary Time
like loose change.
During the long stretch
between revelations
the calendar shrugs at the days
that don’t announce themselves.
Days meant for showing up
without witnesses.
Where miracles seep in
quietly, patiently
until you finally notice
you’re standing inside one.
Chestnut Cowboy 