In Search of Fate
Chapter 6: The Monastery Revisited
The light from the oil lamp lit the path
ahead. The surrounding darkness blanketed Questor as he walked unseeing within
its fold. His only point of reference was the receding feet of the gatekeeper
who led the way. Without Brother Mercurius, Questor
was not sure he could have stayed on the path, even with the oil lamp. The
chapel steps sprung into their circle of light suddenly. Questor followed the brother
up the steps. The door was held open for him as he entered the imposing silence
closeted within the four walls. Brother Mercurius lit
the candle below the Crucifix, left a box of matches beside the candle, and
turned to leave Questor in his solitude.
“Matins is only a few hours away. I’ll not
wake you for morning prayers tomorrow unless you want me to. If you don’t come
for the morning repast after Mass, then I’ll bring you Communion and something
to eat before you begin to look for Brother Aloysius. Does this suit your
purpose?”
“Yes, it does. Thank you, brother. You‘ve
been most kind.”
After Brother Mercurius
left, Questor pulled the air mattress into the center of the little chapel,
placed his duffle bag on it, and laid himself down with his head and upper back
resting on his bag. He was facing the Crucifix on the wall. The candles had
ceased their flickering and cast an almost steady light upwards, encompassing
the crucified savior in their glow. Gazing at the face of the crucified, Questor
was reminded of a Salvador Dali painting. It depicted the crucified Christ
suspended in darkness over a lake just before sunrise and seen from the top of
his head—his face hidden—with his body stretching away from the viewer. The
glow of the sun seemed to rise from the horizon below and illuminate the Christ
so that his shadow was cast upwards upon the cross behind him. What had
intrigued Questor about this painting was not the obvious anticipation of the rising
sun and, metaphorically, the new day brought forth by the crucified Christ. It
was the fishermen preparing nets and boat for their daily routine. One is
facing the light source in a contemplative posture. Another has his back to the
light while spreading out his net for the work ahead. And the third man is
walking aimlessly along the quay towards the light with his head down, apparently
oblivious to its glow. These three men mirrored the life styles in which men
and women may relate to the Divine: the contemplative, the active, and the
alienated. In a sense, Questor had lived his life in all three modes. These
were the stages of his life. Initially, he had experienced the ecstatic arrest
of the Divine light shining upon him. Its enlightenment subsequently inspired him
to illumine every action with its reflection in his everyday life. Then,
finally, he became estranged from this light source and trod through life
bouncing from one mission to another, trying to find his one great purpose.
But, now, as he gazed at the crucifix on the
wall above him, he could see what was missing in the Dali picture. He could see
the human face of Christ. Instead of a metaphor—the transcendent savior worshipped
by Christians of every succeeding generation—Questor saw the man who gave up
his life, his reputation, and his personal dignity for those he loved. For the
proselytizing Peter, it was essential for a Christian to accept the risen
Christ who ascended into Heaven. But before there was this Bodhisattva-like
savior who returns to the world of men transfigured, there was this “son of man,”
as he was wont to call himself. Like any other man he agonized about his fate before
he chose the uncertain path of conscience—for him, the way of the cross. It was
not Herod, but Gethsemane that determined his fate. It was there that he
shielded his followers by surrendering himself. Here was a man who knew who he
was and did what he had to do. He made his decision not from a desire to be
worshipped as a god, obeyed as a king, or admired as a hero. The love he had for
his fellow humans motivated him to be the man he was. For those who knew him
personally, this love must have inspired them to look deeply within themselves
for a similar wellspring of purpose. Love was his truth. The way he embraced
his fate—the fate he freely chose—was the model he created for his followers.
Momentarily caught up in these reflections,
Questor returned to his own situation. He was surprised to find within himself
a new force, more powerful than the heady ideals that he had attributed to his
grand enterprises of the past. He too had found something that touched him at
the very core of his being. He was experiencing love. Evelyn had awakened this
in him. His future might still be unpredictable, but he felt more grounded. He
was not the same man who spent his first night in this lonely chapel, overwhelmed
and lost in a tumult of emotions and anxieties. His whole life seemed to have
passed before him like a theme-less home movie about a central character
without any abiding direction. But now he knew the star by which he must
navigate his life: he had to welcome the unknown and steer his course freely,
wholly present in his decisions and fearless. Whatever storms lie ahead, he was
confident both in his direction and in himself. The calm that now descended
over Questor invested his limbs and wholly embraced him. He descended
peacefully into the bosom of sleep.
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