Drinking

I hear people around me, emitting usual crowd, club, bar noises, but I sit silently, eyes fixed on the rings of stained wood, elbows on the counter, arms crossed. Eyes still down, my drinks slide into view and I swallow. I feel bad that I'm in a bar, but more than bad I feel strange to be staring at two drinks I knew, for some reason, I had to order and taste. It's the reason I came here, right? I didn't know. I stare only at the murky liquid and crowded ice, all else becoming shadow, unidentifiable forms I was certain were all watching me.

But, as usual, my standards impregnate my subconscious, and even as I lift the first glass to my lips, allow the fluid to enter freely, I cannot swallow. When, I hope, a shadow is not watching, I put the glass to my lips again, tip it to look like I'm drinking more, and let the warm, uncommitted liquid in my mouth return to its icy conception. Each continued mouthful is an empty threat, an unprofitable hostage, a preferred miscarriage, a disappointment. They are remarkably salty. But I know nothing about drinks, so who knows. I just know I don't want to experience being drunk.

I never swallow, but still in the end, both glasses appear depleted. The ice hasn't melted either. I remain, sitting. I remain seated. I don't know why I stay, I don't remember arriving. I am done with my drinks but my eyes still ignore the shadows and trace the stained counter. I remember Andy. His blog is always talking about people he meets in bars. I wouldn't have known what drinks to even order if not for him. I never come to bars, except in my imagination, every time I read the newest person he meets. I must have come to meet him. Maybe? At any rate, I don't remember arriving and I don't leave.

Tied

Elder Liufau was standing there, reminding me about a missionary companionship 'build togetherness' activity we had (that we never had). It had consisted of a rope and a companionship, being first tied together at the ankle, and after some walking about, being tied back to back like prisoners that would have to escape. Not a bad idea, eh?

Anyway, then the place we were in was a sort of auditorium and chapel mixed and all sorts of people -- strangers, people from my past -- started pouring in, in twos, to partner up for this activity. As someone was at the front explaining, I was sitting next to a couple of young women from my home ward, explaining what they'd missed. I explained the significance, that was for some reason this:

"When Jesus was on the cross, he wasn't tied to it, he was nailed to it. In his agony --how intense we can't even imagine-- it was still as though he was tied to God; he was nearest to Him then than ever. We just do this activity to remind us that in times of trial it is so much better to be tied to God and have Him near than not. In the hard times, have God near to you; He is not far."

And in dreams, things like this make so much sense that the girls nodded in understanding. Then we turned back to listen to whatever whoever was saying. The end.

I like the idea though. It's better to have God near, no matter what sacrifices we need to make, than to feel abandoned by Him in the hard times because we did not exercise faith beforehand. Yeah, that's all. I did have a dream also about a flat tire and other mixed potpourri of the brain, but it just can't be put together again.