The chill winter air had finally hit the streets of New York City and seeped into my coat and into my skin. I focused on the way it felt - a ripple of electric current and a lasting sense of what menthol tasted like.
Meditation walks are typically something I enjoyed, getting the chance to hyper-focus my brain on something seemingly frivolous, magnifying it into an entire universe in and of itself. Worlds inside of worlds. Today, it felt like a chore.
My let my brain shut off, only motor functions pursued.
I need this, I tried to convince myself.
A few feet away, a set of ancient mahogany wood doors caught my attention. Faded brick outlined an otherwise unassuming building. A small plaque next to the doors read the name of a church.
Before I knew it, my feet turned toward the large mahogany doors. My mind stayed frozen over, dictating my steps without my conscious self.
I stood in the back of the aisle, overcome with the grandeur of the church's interior. Depictions of men and angels delicately painted the 40-foot ceilings. Softened streams of light danced with dust particles. A silence one decibel more silent than silence saturated the room. It filled my ear like cotton.
God is that you?
I shook my head. I’m not even Christian, much less religious at all. However, it was hard to deny the energy that consumed me, standing there. I waited for it to mean something. It had to mean something.
Suddenly, I felt a strong grip on my shoulder. So engrossed in the moment, I gasped. The sound echoed softly, cutting the air. I sharply turned around to see the frazzled face of a woman. Fearful, almost.
“Oh no,” She breathed, retracting her hand from my shoulder.
I stood in disbelief, confused.
“Marcy?” She let out a weak cry.
I shook my head no, still unable to let out a word in my shock.
“Marcy.” She stated with a little more confidence.
“No, sorry.” I whispered.
She stood staring into my eyes, searching, mouth slightly parted. I couldn’t break eye contact.
“Yes,” She whispered, “yes, of course.” She shook her head out of daze.
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t really know what I was apologizing for.
“No, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else. I thought… you look like someone I know.” She trailed off.
“Oh, I don’t get that often. That’s interesting.” I still felt on edge. Something was wrong.
The woman was nicely dressed with a long black wool coat, her black hair tied in a low and loose pony tail. I would guess her to be mid-40s.
I paused. The more I looked at her, the more I saw little snippets of myself. The same eye shape, a version of my nose, a similar build. I felt uneasy.
“Yes, you mustn’t.” What an odd choice of word, I thought. “You look just like my daughter and I’ve never seen anyone that looks like her.”
“Oh!” I found myself trying to end the conversation. I still couldn’t place what was wrong.
“My daughter is the best. Her name is Marcy. She’s such a gem. There hasn’t been a single moment of sadness in her time on Earth.” The woman’s eyes softened towards mine.
I nervously broke my eye contact and glanced to the back corner of the church where a pamphlet stand stood. I subconsciously locked into a pamphlet that said “JESUS SAVED ME!”
Why would she say “in her time on Earth?” The woman’s expression became blissful like she was experiencing a high.
I smiled, nodded, and edged past her toward the exit.
“Wait, Marcy!” She turned sharply to call out to me.
“I am not your daughter ma’am.” I said, exasperated.
“No one is.” Tears started to fall from her face.
The woman pushed past me and walked swiftly out of the church. The doors closed behind her, leaving a gust of air behind.
I stood staring at the door utterly confused. The stillness of the church slowly settled back in, but it didn’t feel the same.
Out of my peripheral, I saw an old man get up from his seat and put his coat on. He passed me slowly on his way out, pausing at the mahogany doors.
“You do look like her.” He turned slightly to peer at me.
I nodded, deep in thought. “I know.”
“She comes here once in a while. Wouldn’t call her devout. Maybe she’s just looking for something to make sense.”
I stood studying the man. A few silver hairs stood on his bald head. His pale, almost translucent skin felt the weight of gravity over time. He held a Bible in his hand.
“When she comes here she prays for life.”
“A happy life?”
“No, just life.”
The man shrugged and pushed the doors open to leave.
I turned back around to face the front of the church. What are the odds I walked in here on the day the woman also walked in here? What are the odds we looked alike? What are the odds that coincidences meant anything in this life?
Maybe she’s just looking for something to make sense.
Just as I waited minutes ago, waiting for it all to mean something, I waited now. I waited for it to mean something. It had to mean something.
I let the cotton fill my ear and the dust particles dance before me. I studied the depictions of angels and men. I glanced at the pamphlet stand full and paused.
I have let many things happen and waited for many moments today, I realized. I let myself be guided into this church, I waited for meaning, I let discomfort and unease dictate my interactions, and I waited for it all to make sense.
I promptly exited the church and briskly walked down the street. I looked down at my feet and consciously directed them, left, right, left, right.
Why do we wait and hope and let? When the unexplained and the uncontrolled become somewhat tangible, no matter how far-fetched or disillusioned, they sneak into our subconscious and nest. They allow us to supersede the concepts of time and meaning with a concentrated essence of will.
My breath turned long and deep. I let myself sit in the discomfort and ambiguity that not everything has to have a meaning. You can subconsciously do things that might not make sense. A place can feel powerful. A woman who looks like you can mistake you for her daughter in a very strangely symbolic way. None of that has to mean anything. And if it does have to mean something, maybe that something is rooted in a different aspect of your life that needs addressing.
I woke my consciousness back up. The electric current of chill in the air returned feeling to my body and mind.
And maybe that’s just it. Maybe it means something, to be able to feel something in this life. Anything. To let yourself feel, through all the waiting and the hoping. And to not know if it does mean something is a part of it all. Just maybe.