As I pass the towering douglas fir, hemlock and sitka spruce and cedar trees and the banks of salmonberry bushes still in wild magenta bloom I have suddenly gone silent. There is something stirring, struggling to emerge, and in this place of no place and no time, I open my mouth and again song pours forth but in a strange music and a strange tongue I have never spoken or sung before, and it is so hauntingly beautiful that I have to keep singing and it tears its way out of my throat like a flock of imprisoned white doves finally released to their aerial dance and flight into the heavens and my voice rises, but not my voice but the voice of another proclaiming from my lungs the majesty of the Lord, with the doves, and the man on the bike looks at me astonished and even he cannot stop me, and not even I can prevent this magic, this celestial power from ripping its sonorous beauty out into the surrounding air vibrating with light and mystery...
Years ago, my father and some of his friends, surrounded me in the living room of our house, placed their hands on me and prayed. This can be none other than the baptism of the Holy Spirit...
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