When you first set out to meet Him, you imagine Him as a grand stag in the clearing at dawn, looking at you with great antlers that stretch like arms to the heavens. You imagine how you will approach him, quietly, like you are a secret to be shared only with Him. You read, you study, you initiate.
And still, when your moment comes, when you stand in that clearing, the early frogs already singing, no matter how long you wait, you’re alone.
“Was He there?” The High Priestess asks.
“No,” you say, confused. “No.”
“Then you are on the right track,” she smiles kindly at you.
When you get older, you see how it is, when you catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye of that same old flannel shirted dirt-dragger who always shares your bed teasing your daughter with an antler he found out in the woods, and you turn, sure that, for a second, it was Him.