I always dreamed of the palace but the field will have to do.
Even the King enters the field once a year.
I walk in, chin up, heart open, mouth and tongue prepared for prayer.
Prayer … whatever that means.
And then I hear something odd ⦠laughter.
Actually, I see laughter.
No. I feel laughter.
I sense a hand on my back. Takes me back to moments I cannot remember, the closeness I feel among my sisters.
A touch that feels loud as when Beyonce enters a room.
Thunderous applause for simply existing.
I say, āHave we met before?ā
She says, āNot officially, but I have seen you around.ā
āWhere?ā
āIn your tears. In your love. In your pain.ā
Known and seen in a way too unfamiliar. I panic.
āI am looking for ha-melekh ba-sadeh (the king in the field).ā
āAh, I see.ā
āDo you live in the palace with Him?ā
āOh no, I live here with the people; I always have.ā
āBut why?ā
āI could be there, but then I would not be here.ā
āMay I go to Him then?ā
āMy dear, there are no keys to the palace. One day He too will know this.ā