• julia marshall

Infilitrating the White Tower – Week 1

Week 1

The small room gave the impression that everything in it was ancient and yet a speck of dust could not be found.  The air itself was light and rather than giving the impression of a recycled current as often happens in such places every breath felt fresher than the last.  Bookshelves were on every wall so that there was never a need for paint, and folder files stuffed to overflowing encompassed every space except for one.  This particular file was open and sitting on a modest desk in front of a more than modestly dressed gentleman.

The man adjusted his spectacles and peering at the blank page in front of him gave a quick and warm smile to no one in particular.  Looking at the metronome that ticked softly to itself just beyond the edge of the folder the man furrowed his brow as he adjusted his tie and squirmed in his brown loafers uncomfortably.  Overall he was accustomed to wearing different attire as the long colorful robes and interesting hats piled neatly in the corner attested, however, he found the protocol of this next appointment quite stifling.  His buttoned shirt, which was pressed, was done up to the point that he dared not move his head too quickly lest his neck find it too strenuous to follow in like manner.  His brown pants were snug and he almost liked them for that terrible device they called a zipper, of which his finger had been a victim just recently. He was yet again clean shaven and to this he had at least grown accustomed as many of his clients preferred the wind on their faces.

The man looked once more at the sheet of paper and tapped his pen thoughtfully against the folder.  “This is quite the opportunity” he whispered to himself.  He knew what was at stake.  Just then there was a practiced knock at the overly large wooden door.  “Come in” bellowed the elderly man with the best English he could muster.  It was quite good, and he congratulated himself on its quality.  Appearing in the doorway, was a clean shaven fellow dressed very much like the one he had come to visit.  Not knowing any better one would have assumed him to be a distinguished thirty five but as it happens his case worker did know better. In reality, the man was barely the age of twenty seven and it was only his demeanor and sheer presentation that had allowed him to convince many people otherwise.

“It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance” the young man said congenially, offering his hand as protocol required.

“Likewise” responded the elderly of the two rising at once to meet the hand.

With initial formalities out of the way both men took their respective seats appropriately, that is, not showing the slightest bit of haste or necessity.

“I presume you know why you are here” the older man said while shuffling his folder with its single white page, as if it contained much that needed sorting out.

“Yes of course, every theologian must be grounded in a ‘spirituality’”, at this the case worker became very attentive.

“A spirituality?” the older man repeated.

“Well of course it can be proper to speak of a singular spirituality among many others as God speaks to every human in his or her own particular way.”

At this the case worker put his pen to the page and scribbled something illegible – “That will be all for today”.

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