Visions

The short story “Visions” was written by Nigerian author Oluwasindara Opaleye and republished with permission.

Wistful, that’s how I will describe today. I tarried the cobbled lanes with a swinging oil lamp by my left side. Nothing but his strength sustained me throughout my journey. Service had been more than an hour long, but in God’s presence, who could falter?
The hymns were like that of angels; they lifted the spirits of a weary soul. A soothing balm, it was indeed. I recited my psalms and kissed my rosary. I thanked him for a good day’s work and his guidance. Oh! Mother Mary, you birthed such a wonderful, perfect, and faithful son. His father kept to his word.

Yesterday’s vision was as mind-boggling as the last, the blinding light, hidden mysteries, and spiritual beings all representing the time yet to come. I used to question why I was chosen to experience such knowledge. Indeed, there was someone more qualified. A mere mortal like me couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it. But God, he didn’t owe me an explanation. I was his vessel, and he would use my gifts as he pleased. Those were the questions that lurked in my mind at daybreak. It reminded me of my weakened flesh, maybe even a weaker spirit. A bitter reminder that I was human.

I walked through the monastery’s garden, perceiving the sweet, blended aromas that filled the air. Each flower petal spread outward in full bloom; the wind also whistled through the thistle bushes.

“Abbess Hildegard!” a novice announced upon entering the cloister. Soon, everyone stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads in reverence.

“Lift up your head, child.” I smiled back at the young woman.

She had to be at least 16. I wouldn’t know whether she chose to serve by will or given up by her guardians, but I insisted I give a soft-spoken warning.

“Sister,” In her eyes, I could sense the confusion. She was innocent.
“Call me Sister Hildegard from now on, child.”
“Yes Abbess Hildegard, I mean Sister Hilde-.”

I walked away before she could finish. I felt a twinge of guilt for the embarrassment she had felt afterward. Although, it didn’t take me more than a minute to hear the mutters of confusion and the intense glares.

The average man’s mind is feeble to comprehend what the wise can, so instead of seeking a minute of understanding, it hastens to make its judgment.

I recited my evening prayers, careful and intent with every word uttered in my heart, and hurried to the dormitory. Young nuns littered the hallways, chatting the night away about anything but the scriptures. I rolled my eyes, taking a hint of their pure ignorance. Soon, they will get used to this lifestyle. The only upside was they acknowledged me in my preferred manner.

My heavy head desperately sought a place to rest; after an intense night routine, it got what it needed best.

My body lay still on the cotton sheets of my bed. My hands tremble as I slowly ease out of my trance, coming to the realization that I have experienced yet another vision.
A stream of smoke like that of a burning furnace. They’d all perished.
I closed my eyes in hopes of remembering a bit more, but it was all a blur. I pushed myself to think harder, concluding it was a human error, and then I heard an authoritative whisper. Write.
No matter the way he spoke or delivered his instructions to me, as simple as they may be, it ran shivers down my spine.

The scriptorium was just across the hall, so I lit my candle and walked towards it. The heavy oak doors were left open due to prior use. Stacks of paper were neatly tucked away in the corners next to desks. I tipped over my flamed candle to the one on the desk. The night stars sparkled in the distance, and the sense of peace washed me over.

Volmar, my great friend, today you rest amongst the clouds in heavenly peace. May the spirit of God that shone through you pour out through me as I write this piece.

As I waxed the tip of my quill pen in ink, my eyes filled with light, blinding every bit of darkness seen as the vision recurred in front of me.

I could see myself walking up a steep hill, panting endlessly as my weary body had been engaged in the task for so long. Crumbling bricks fall over the side of a plastered, stoned, weathered house. Its chimney pipe is long and exhausted. A family of five all gathered around a dining table, toasting wine and eating bread. I could see this through their tiny window. The house was clearly not big enough for them as other relatives started to pour into the same room. The atmosphere was tense, and several arguments ensued. On the outside of the house, a young man dressed in a white tunic appeared. He knocks at their door. His smile slowly fades as the family of the house denies him entrance and tells him to go away. Even though he was shunned, he didn’t take it to heart. He turns towards me, smiles at me, then leaves.

Ulula, with a long face and forward-fronting eyes, had been resting on the top of the thatched roof. Upon the man leaving, it hovers towards the nearest tree branch.
My human mind was filled with curiosity: what had provoked such an independent creature to enact the simplest movement?
I was pressed to know more. I gently thread towards the family’s garden, and in the midst of it grew a strong oak tree.
Upon one of its tall branches, the owl supported itself. It used its small curved beak to ruffle its feathers, poking at anything it deemed unclean. Its coat was adorned with scattered streaks of brown and white, yet his creator made them blend in perfect harmony.

After taming its coat, its head turns slowly to face me. It hesitantly flew towards me as I let out my finger for it to perch upon. Its big brown eyes wander everywhere, failing to meet mine. Suddenly, it stoops still, its piercing gaze now fixed on what I would later notice as ruins of destruction. Its abrupt hooting worried me so much that I sought to find out what had caused the bird to react in such a manner. As I looked back to see what lay behind me, I realized the family’s house was gone.

I jolted out of the vision, a bit more shaken up than the last. A vivid picture of the house ruins flooded my mind. I searched for my quill pen only to find it laying in front of me. My manuscript miraculously filled with ink, depicting the vision in the best way I know how.
The God I serve strong and mighty came through for me.
My eyes glued to the paper in disbelief, then suddenly tears rolled down my cheek. I look up to the ceiling rocking my body back and forth, now conscious of his Holy Spirit that dwelled on the inside of me. My attention is bewitched by the prowling of Otto, the monastery’s cat. I always found it weird that he was most active in the nights he could never be sighted out in the mornings. A mouse darts across the room and his body reacts swiftly with fiery eyes and a focused gaze. His ears perked forwards and his tail high, dancing with every move he made. The warmth of the scriptorium didn’t overshadow his cold aura. The mouse takes a minute to recover from the intense chase, cleaning its tiny ears, cowering in fear. Otto is calm and calculated. At one point, he sits on its hind legs and licks its fur coat, observing its prey. His striking olive green eyes even dare to look at me, giving a pretentious smile and when it’s about to move, he pounces.
He respectfully carries his prey outside, but before doing so he sits in the place the mouse formerly and intently gazes at me. His aura was no longer cold but threatening, his spirit wasn’t pure. I clutched my rosary before shooing him away, praying that whatever lurked in him didn’t approach me. When he left, my spirit urged me to put what I had witnessed to writing. The scripture 1 Peter 5:8 came to mind and I read it saying:

Be sober, be vigilant. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

The symbolic representation of Otto and the mouse was directly intertwined in this scripture. Otto’s actions, depicting that of the devil. Its own way of adapting to life’s harsh conditions was to focus on its prey, vulnerable and unprotected, without God’s light.

Inspired by Revelation 3:20 (ESV):
Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.

Written by: Oluwasindara Opaleye