I remember asking
a tall,
thin male nurse—
or perhaps a technician—
for water.

He didn’t respond.
He simply stood there,
gazing over my head,
as if listening to something
that I couldn’t hear.

I felt no malice,
only stillness.

Later,
a lovely female nurse appeared.
She held out a glass of clear,
cold water.

It shimmered in the light,
and I reached for it
with gratitude.
But my fingers passed through the glass.

When I told my wife,
she gently reminded me
of the drugs I’d been given.
Hallucinations,
she said.
And perhaps she was right.

But I’ve pondered it since.
Not with insistence,
but with wonder.
Could these apparitions
have been messengers?
Angels?

Not to deliver doctrine or revelation—
but simply to comfort me
in my hour of need.
To remind me,
in the language of mystery,
that I was not alone.

I think of Elijah under the broom tree,
weary and ready to die.
And how the angel came—
not with thunder,
but with bread and water.
“Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.” (1 Kings 19:7)

I don’t need to prove it.
I only need to receive it.
And offer it,
quietly,
to others who’ve been visited in ways
they cannot explain.

The Ordinary Path
is lit
for those who seek mercy,
memory,
and meaning.

You may subscribe below
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Your presence is never demanded,
but always honored.

If this offering stirred something in you—
a memory,
a question,
a flicker of light—
you are welcome to share
your reflection below.
No need for eloquence.
No need for certainty.
Just a lantern,
gently placed.