- The first chapter of The Priest Whisperer, a novelette by Stefan Emunds -
My name is George Mykal Ferluci and I’m forty-five years old. Grown up as an orphan, I never knew where I was from or who my parents were. At the tender age of six months, I was discovered one rainy night on the doorstep of an orphanage in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. All I had was a brass necklace that hung from my neck. Fixed to it was a white pebble with my name carved into it. I think Ferluci is Italian - at least it sounds like it. I have found other people with that name, but theirs are usually spelled Ferlucci - double c. My middle name, Mykal, is definitely not Italian. Somebody once remarked that it sounds Eastern European, but I couldn’t find out more. I started this diary because something strange happened to me yesterday. I saw something alien and scary, something that forced me to re-evaluate my life … and my calling as pastor. It happened yesterday afternoon as I was sitting on my porch facing the front lawn. My porch serves as a refuge for my mind, which is sensitive and needs to recover from the noise of the day's activities. After completing my morning duties, I usually have a peaceful moment or two there. I own a beautiful bench - simple, of thick fir wood, smoothened over the years by my holy butt. Somehow, the bench and I have grown together; it reminds me of a loyal pet, welcoming me happily when I sit down. Although the sun was already descending, its glow could still warm my bones and lighten my nerves. The afternoon air was clear, and the colors around me brilliant. From time to time, a breeze delighted me with the scent of a magnolia tree that grew beside the porch. For some reason, the mottled tints of the cars parked along the alley allured to me, contrasted by the street’s smooth grey - an impartial background on which the shadows displayed their rigid shapes. Some elderly were enjoying a stroll; smiles and kind words bounced between neighbors amid the laughter of happy children. It was a beautiful day. I felt on top of the world, on my little porch there, content with my life, somewhat curious what was still to come. In fact, I adored my life, because it had been simple, safe, and orderly. Exactly as I like it. But my calling satisfied me the most. My profession has been meaningful and every extra effort I have made was visible and appreciated. My future seemed equally promising - like a smooth path winding gently into a green valley. I didn't worry about what was to come. Maybe I'd have to jump a few more hurdles or dodge an attack or two, but that would be it. Life begins at forty - so the saying goes - and I was right in the middle of it. At least, that's what I believed. God, how wrong I was! I almost felt happy that afternoon, which is difficult for a man like me. My basic temperament is melancholic, and I tend to take things too seriously. On top of that, I have to deal with human issues on a daily basis – the dark side of mankind, as I like to call it, compulsions, paranoia, addictions, psychoses, abuses, and even crimes. You cannot imagine what people have confessed to me over the years. In the early days, my work used to keep me up at night. Since then, I've learned to keep a distance from people, their flaws, and their problems. However, I still struggled to de-stress from my work’s dreary side, and that’s where my porch came in. As relaxing as my porch is, I never manage to unwind completely. My mind is always on the jump. People look at me and say that I think too much, and I have to agree - thinking is my second nature. I contemplate about everything - even about the French fries I eat. If I make an effort I can let go for half an hour or so, but then, my mind inevitably returned to its reminiscences. Sometimes it feels like an addiction. Yesterday, my mind was mulling over a good dozen things at the same time, upsetting my afternoon recreation. At one point it got so bad that - for the first time in my life - I got tired of it. It occurred to me that my mind has never given me a break, as if it has been racing toward an unknown goal. An image grew in my mind and I saw myself sitting on a train that was speeding through my life's rapidly changing landscapes. So far, the train hasn't stopped anywhere, and it seemed like it never would. The lucidity of this image made my porch appear surreal. A strange uncertainty shivered through me: was I daydreaming the train, or was I actually having a nap on the train and dreaming of myself on the porch? As I stumbled into confusion about what was real and what was not, the strangest thing happened. The world disintegrated. Reality collapsed, or my perception of it. It ripped apart like dry skin under pressure, giving way to something I can only describe as ineffable dimensions, depths upon depths. From within this fathomless vastness, I felt something reaching out to me, calling me. As I heeded its invitation, a wave of brilliant light hit me, flooding and charging me with an incredible livingness. My eyes and ears flung open, and I became aware of a thousand things at the same time. I have never felt as alive as in this moment. I was brimming with livingness. And there I hovered, alone, utterly lucid, paralyzed in awe, staring at the splendor of interweaving worlds that circled around me. Although I could see countless things at the same time, I couldn’t make out anything concrete or objects as I was used to. Everywhere I looked I saw rapidly moving energies of various shapes, colors, and velocities - whirling, mingling, and interlacing - spirals within spirals. A painful trembling shivered through my lips and chin and spread to all my body parts. Or was I vibrating? A particular complex of whirling forces caught my attention: within an invisible boundary, various shades of light moved in a slow, beautiful rhythm. As I focused on it, the energy system took on a form, solidified, and I recognized it as one of the trees in my garden. The tree remained visible for a second and disappeared to give way to these rhythmic shades of color that seemed to produce the tree. My vision flipped back and forth a few times between the tree and its energies until I dropped out of this strange experience. Although all this had happened within the blink of an eye, my body reacted vehemently to this glimpse into the unfathomable. I jumped to my feet and stooped over, panting heavily. I had to keep my balance by grabbing onto my thighs as heat waved up my spine and shot out through my eyes. For a moment, I was sure that I would go blind. I must have been standing there for ten minutes or so, gasping for air, until a long, merciful breeze brought me back to my senses. What on earth was that? And what a reaction! As I sat down to recapitulate and understand what had just taken place, my mind intervened, reasoning fervently that nothing had occurred at all. It pulled out all the stops of common sense, trying to persuade me that the afternoon light had played tricks on me. But another, deeper part of me knew better, what I witnessed was real - more real than the everyday world. After my mind had exhausted its denial, it went blank, and I was left with the feeling that life was artificial, constructed - as if someone had made it up. And I don’t mean civilization, I mean the whole thing, nature, and everything visible. The world as I knew it turned out to be an illusion produced by invisible, energetic processes that were endlessly adapting and improvising … offering nothing to hold on to. Yes, there’s no doubt that my common perception of the world is man-made, although I have no idea who set it up. It could have been civilization, education, media, or myself - knowingly or unknowingly. I accepted this perception when I was a child and, while growing up, have been busy learning how to maintain and improve it. It never occurred to me to question it. I think most people are like me, stuck on that fiercely racing train I envisioned, rich and poor, literate and uneducated, strong and weak, famous and unrecognized. All of us are caught in natural and social frameworks, subject to an overwhelming abundance of challenges and enticements that prevent us from questioning reality. My God, what am I saying - questioning reality? Can reality be unreal? What is the meaning of life, then? As these questions flickered through my mind, I suddenly felt fatigued, almost exhausted. I dragged my body into my bedroom and dropped it onto the bed. Instantly, darkness embraced my frenzied mind and I passed out. I slept through the remaining afternoon and night and woke up six a.m. The long sleep somewhat relaxed my mind, but the feeling that something was terribly wrong persists. What to do? How do I get to the bottom of this? I couldn’t think of anyone I could ask for help. I’m worried people call me crazy. I am on my own. And that’s the reason why I started this diary, to record what else will happen to me and my thoughts of it, and write down anything else that will come to mind. I have a hunch that this incident was just a prelude to a far-reaching and sweeping turn of events.
My name is George Mykal Ferluci and I’m forty-five years old. Grown up as an orphan, I never knew where I was from or who my parents were. At the tender age of six months, I was discovered one rainy night on the doorstep of an orphanage in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. All I had was a brass necklace that hung from my neck. Fixed to it was a white pebble with my name carved into it. I think Ferluci is Italian - at least it sounds like it. I have found other people with that name, but theirs are usually spelled Ferlucci - double c. My middle name, Mykal, is definitely not Italian. Somebody once remarked that it sounds Eastern European, but I couldn’t find out more. I started this diary because something strange happened to me yesterday. I saw something alien and scary, something that forced me to re-evaluate my life … and my calling as pastor. It happened yesterday afternoon as I was sitting on my porch facing the front lawn. My porch serves as a refuge for my mind, which is sensitive and needs to recover from the noise of the day's activities. After completing my morning duties, I usually have a peaceful moment or two there. I own a beautiful bench - simple, of thick fir wood, smoothened over the years by my holy butt. Somehow, the bench and I have grown together; it reminds me of a loyal pet, welcoming me happily when I sit down. Although the sun was already descending, its glow could still warm my bones and lighten my nerves. The afternoon air was clear, and the colors around me brilliant. From time to time, a breeze delighted me with the scent of a magnolia tree that grew beside the porch. For some reason, the mottled tints of the cars parked along the alley allured to me, contrasted by the street’s smooth grey - an impartial background on which the shadows displayed their rigid shapes. Some elderly were enjoying a stroll; smiles and kind words bounced between neighbors amid the laughter of happy children. It was a beautiful day. I felt on top of the world, on my little porch there, content with my life, somewhat curious what was still to come. In fact, I adored my life, because it had been simple, safe, and orderly. Exactly as I like it. But my calling satisfied me the most. My profession has been meaningful and every extra effort I have made was visible and appreciated.
My future seemed equally promising - like a smooth path winding gently into a green valley. I didn't worry about what was to come. Maybe I'd have to jump a few more hurdles or dodge an attack or two, but that would be it. Life begins at forty - so the saying goes - and I was right in the middle of it. At least, that's what I believed. God, how wrong I was! I almost felt happy that afternoon, which is difficult for a man like me. My basic temperament is melancholic, and I tend to take things too seriously. On top of that, I have to deal with human issues on a daily basis – the dark side of mankind, as I like to call it, compulsions, paranoia, addictions, psychoses, abuses, and even crimes. You cannot imagine what people have confessed to me over the years. In the early days, my work used to keep me up at night. Since then, I've learned to keep a distance from people, their flaws, and their problems. However, I still struggled to de-stress from my work’s dreary side, and that’s where my porch came in. As relaxing as my porch is, I never manage to unwind completely. My mind is always on the jump. People look at me and say that I think too much, and I have to agree - thinking is my second nature. I contemplate about everything - even about the French fries I eat. If I make an effort I can let go for half an hour or so, but then, my mind inevitably returned to its reminiscences. Sometimes it feels like an addiction. Yesterday, my mind was mulling over a good dozen things at the same time, upsetting my afternoon recreation. At one point it got so bad that - for the first time in my life - I got tired of it. It occurred to me that my mind has never given me a break, as if it has been racing toward an unknown goal. An image grew in my mind and I saw myself sitting on a train that was speeding through my life's rapidly changing landscapes. So far, the train hasn't stopped anywhere, and it seemed like it never would. The lucidity of this image made my porch appear surreal. A strange uncertainty shivered through me: was I daydreaming the train, or was I actually having a nap on the train and dreaming of myself on the porch? As I stumbled into confusion about what was real and what was not, the strangest thing happened. The world disintegrated. Reality collapsed, or my perception of it. It ripped apart like dry skin under pressure, giving way to something I can only describe as ineffable dimensions, depths upon depths. From within this fathomless vastness, I felt something reaching out to me, calling me. As I heeded its invitation, a wave of brilliant light hit me, flooding and charging me with an incredible livingness. My eyes and ears flung open, and I became aware of a thousand things at the same time. I have never felt as alive as in this moment. I was brimming with livingness. And there I hovered, alone, utterly lucid, paralyzed in awe, staring at the splendor of interweaving worlds that circled around me. Although I could see countless things at the same time, I couldn’t make out anything concrete or objects as I was used to. Everywhere I looked I saw rapidly moving energies of various shapes, colors, and velocities - whirling, mingling, and interlacing - spirals within spirals.
A painful trembling shivered through my lips and chin and spread to all my body parts. Or was I vibrating? A particular complex of whirling forces caught my attention: within an invisible boundary, various shades of light moved in a slow, beautiful rhythm. As I focused on it, the energy system took on a form, solidified, and I recognized it as one of the trees in my garden. The tree remained visible for a second and disappeared to give way to these rhythmic shades of color that seemed to produce the tree. My vision flipped back and forth a few times between the tree and its energies until I dropped out of this strange experience. Although all this had happened within the blink of an eye, my body reacted vehemently to this glimpse into the unfathomable. I jumped to my feet and stooped over, panting heavily. I had to keep my balance by grabbing onto my thighs as heat waved up my spine and shot out through my eyes. For a moment, I was sure that I would go blind. I must have been standing there for ten minutes or so, gasping for air, until a long, merciful breeze brought me back to my senses. What on earth was that? And what a reaction! As I sat down to recapitulate and understand what had just taken place, my mind intervened, reasoning fervently that nothing had occurred at all. It pulled out all the stops of common sense, trying to persuade me that the afternoon light had played tricks on me. But another, deeper part of me knew better, what I witnessed was real - more real than the everyday world. After my mind had exhausted its denial, it went blank, and I was left with the feeling that life was artificial, constructed - as if someone had made it up. And I don’t mean civilization, I mean the whole thing, nature, and everything visible. The world as I knew it turned out to be an illusion produced by invisible, energetic processes that were endlessly adapting and improvising … offering nothing to hold on to. Yes, there’s no doubt that my common perception of the world is man-made, although I have no idea who set it up. It could have been civilization, education, media, or myself - knowingly or unknowingly. I accepted this perception when I was a child and, while growing up, have been busy learning how to maintain and improve it. It never occurred to me to question it. I think most people are like me, stuck on that fiercely racing train I envisioned, rich and poor, literate and uneducated, strong and weak, famous and unrecognized. All of us are caught in natural and social frameworks, subject to an overwhelming abundance of challenges and enticements that prevent us from questioning reality. My God, what am I saying - questioning reality? Can reality be unreal? What is the meaning of life, then? As these questions flickered through my mind, I suddenly felt fatigued, almost exhausted. I dragged my body into my bedroom and dropped it onto the bed. Instantly, darkness embraced my frenzied mind and I passed out. I slept through the remaining afternoon and night and woke up six a.m. The long sleep somewhat relaxed my mind, but the feeling that something was terribly wrong persists. What to do? How do I get to the bottom of this? I couldn’t think of anyone I could ask for help. I’m worried people call me crazy. I am on my own. And that’s the reason why I started this diary, to record what else will happen to me and my thoughts of it, and write down anything else that will come to mind. I have a hunch that this incident was just a prelude to a far-reaching and sweeping turn of events.