*7*

Hmm. Copley station. A good place to walk around. The subway slowed to a stop, clickety clackety, with bluish sparks reflecting off the inner walls. It made a small jerky deceleration over the last diminished half a car length. Bob stepped from the sliding doors and up the stairs; as he surfaced outside the sheer bright light made him squint. Bob headed north, toward the river. The currents of love and spirit pulled across his soul. Certainly not coordinated, and not enough at odds to rip him apart into billions of sparkly shreds. But, what was the word ... orthogonal. Multi-dimensional orthogonal. He followed the tortuous path along the middle, the least resistance, in the valleys, along the crests, keeping his balance.

Dear Lord, Bob thought. And the Lord spoke back to him. It wasn't words, really. More a spiritual communication - an instantaneous transfer of hundreds of packets, idea potentials, spiritual instructions. Bob turned down a side street, then another, being guided by God. He felt like a good skier on a downhill run, reacting to the terrain, going with the flow, following a higher subconscious command on the cusp of awareness.

He could feel God's guidance. He felt at ease, yet aware and attentive. He wasn't sure what God's plans were for him on this journey. Yet, he would go along with it. Whatever you want, Lord. An older woman, a stranger, passed by him and touched his soul. Memories of parties, in the frat house basement, made him smile. A bike ride through the changing colors of leaves of Back Bay.

Things switched to negative space. Bob left a trail of shadows, propelling himself in the streaming rays of the sun. Cracks in the sidewalk, bricks on the sides of buildings, arches and lintels, small lines of shadow everywhere connecting.