Define Divine Voices....

I knew it was going to happen. I knew it.

As soon as I turn off the lights and try to sleep - that's when scary things always show up.

Like a locomotive that comes barreling along the tracks from the unknown, mass and momentum roaring unmatched through history along a well-worn path, it tore through the darkness and set its wild sights on the present. Touching the nerves. Tickling the fear.

They say a tornado sounds like a train, and until I spent time in Texas, I wasn't sure what that meant exactly. A train has a lot of sounds. The grinding along the tracks, with hissing and squeals? The shuffling rattle of its frame, clunking with regular ka-chunks? A long-drawn, honking cry? 

The fear was dripping, collecting into a pool of terror. The behemoth had arrived, and I was a helpless organic mortal.

It sounds like a train, all right. There's a rumble. Like a gang of gods wrestling with each other for dominance, and it doesn't matter what's in their way. And their percussive, monstrous grapples only crescendo.

I knew it was going to happen as soon as I got comfortable within the dark and, cursing the predictability of my own grim luck, I leaped right back out of bed and enacted my plan. Grab the flashlight. Put on boots. Pocket the insurance and credit cards. Then I sat in the hallway and shivered, waiting.

As I sat against the wall, fingers dancing with hellish anticipation, I tried to imagine a happier place. Supposedly if you die with pleasant images in your mind, you won't be condemned to roam the mortal plane in eternal torment, cursed with spiritual homelessness and trapped behind the veil of the void. Flowers? Gardens? A beach? Hard to focus when the phone is ringing and you know the caller and his name is Death.

As the floor began to quake, a small measure of acceptance fell over me. At least I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. It would probably be quick. There would be no time for sorrow, for regret, for paying off bills. My writing career had never taken off, but it's okay now. I had fun.

And then, before I knew it, the earth below me calmed and the train roar dissipated into the distance.

Realizing that the threat had moved on, the tension left my body and I released a sound of my own.

Do they do that on purpose? Whip me into an emotional froth? Make me think it's the end of the world and then change their minds? Now I had to go back to worrying about bills again. I don't know which is worse. But I do know the entire experience of calling it into question was engineered by divine hands.

I went back to bed, wishing I had never moved here.

Harley-Davidsons. The golden gods of Texas.