Divinity in Words

His eyes scanned the crumpled-up piece of paper in his hand. He scoured each word with maddened determination. He pressed his hands to the form to fix the creases. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to find it. He wiped acidic sweat off of his Neanderthal eyebrows. His cracked and pulsating lips, he licked with an equally dry tongue. He reached for the water bottle to his left, but his hand came just short of grasping it, and he succeeded in only pushing off the desk to the floor. Though the sound rang in his ears and made him jump, it failed to bring him out of his feverish stupor.

        It had to be here, he thought to himself. It is here; I know it! With every word he read, he felt his eyes strain and compress into themselves. It felt as though he was trying to push them out of his skull. But he was sure that they were there! He knew it in his bones! If he just went a little further, it would come to light. He just knew it. The brink was there! He tossed the paper aside and tried again on the one below it. The paper fell amongst a pile of similar pieces on the floor next to the desk he sat at. All around the room, it seemed, there was nothing but papers. They plastered the walls and hung dead on thumbtacks and nails. The various desks and tables were strewn about the place were piled high with them as well, some of them neatly organized and others not. They all had scribblings of pen and pencil in every corner of them, all of them connected in a language that only he could understand.

        It was through trial and tribulation that he created this language. It first came to him in a conversation he had with his old mentor, old Professor Strauss. They met every third Sunday of the third week of every month at the corner store. They sat talking about philosophy and literature and the most essential subject, math. Though he was no master at it and barely passed his mathematics classes in school throughout, he found himself thoroughly intrigued by it. It was a language he wanted to learn and tried to learn but could never master. One day, on this particularly dreary afternoon in October, the man he came to see as a father figure spoke up.

        “I wonder,” he stated, “If one day, we can come to understand God.”

        “We understand God plenty,” the man replied. “Isn’t that what the Bible is all about?”

        Strauss laughed harshly.

        “Those are only the words spoken by Man. They are what he thinks and not what He thinks! I mean, what if one day we can understand God, truly listen to him and not just write it off as a voice in our head.”

        “We were always told that he works in mysterious ways. If we keep ourselves open, He reveals us to him.”

        “But that’s just the thing. When we surrender, He comes to us. But what if we want to talk to Him directly?! What can we do then?!”

        The man-made a mocking sound.

        “Then we pray!”

        Strauss looked at his young pupil with disappointment. He looked back at him with equal fervor. The young man, after a time, turned his gaze to the coffee in front of him. Quietly but with intensity, Saul walked away from him. This was the first time that they had ever disagreed on something so profoundly. Sure, they had had discussions where they didn’t agree in the past, but this was a whole new level. He sipped his coffee in slow meditation. His mind worked at an interval he had not reached in his entire academic career. Between each sip, he chewed his lip softly. Was there a way to contact God on his own terms?

        He found his answer straight away. After paying his tab, he walked away from the café. He counted his steps carefully; ten thousand from there to his apartment exactly. The cold autumn air-kissed his cheeks and balding head with gentle brushes. He tuned out all the chatter and hustle-bustle that the city bestowed upon him. He turned the corner of 5th and Broadway, turning his collar up to protect his neck. As he did so, something struck him in the face. A small piece of paper, in the wind, plastered itself upon his left ear. Tearing it from the spot, he almost threw the paperback in frustration. But something struck his eye; in bold red letters were the words ‘Yes, You Can!’. His eyes stuck forward in amazement. He felt his palms become sweaty, and his forehead became hot. Was this a sign? Was this a sign from God?

        He worked day and night tirelessly. In a few weeks, he trained himself to sleep for only four hours as he threw himself into his research. The rest were spent looking and looking through the Bible, Torah, Quran, philosophy books, how-tos. There had to be something here! There had to be something here to this madness! His work forced him to neglect many things; he failed many times to shower and keep his physical health in good shape. His diet was made up of coffee and small biscuits, and the occasional glass of white wine. He began to stink, and many other apartment dwellers complained about the smell emanating from his room. But he didn’t care. All he had to do was find it. But today was the most grating day of all. This time, he had slept only four hours between two days. This was his third day. He was close to a breakthrough! He could just feel it in the tips of his fingers!

        He turned the page of a book, the Satanic Bible, slowly. As he did so, he read the words on it. For the first time, he felt he could sleep. He thought he could sleep for days and eat for that long as well. The words said.

        You Found It…