It has become a habit of mine not to go outside while Mr. Rent Free is in proximity.

“Janie, has Mr. Rent Free arrived yet?”, I asked, trying not to sound like I was waiting for a husband.

“Not yet, I already miss him.”, Jane replied, wistfully—like she was waiting for her husband.

“Right.”, I replied wry.

Since the coast is clear, I took my dog for a walk and stuck around at the beach area to watch the sunset—channeling my inner mystic.

I was having a soul-level whisper with God.

Not out loud. Just…feeling His presence.

The sun was setting.
Not just any sunset — one of those sunsets that makes you want to forgive your enemies, but also question—Jesus, when can I see you?

So there I was. Calm. Collected. 

Just me, God, and the waves.

I stared into the sun—not long enough to go blind, but long enough to see something else.
Then I covered my eyes, and the afterglow burned behind my lids: orange, violet, shifting shapes.

Sometimes it’s just light.
Sometimes it’s a face.

But this time it’s the sun, dipping into the ocean like a secret being kept.

Then I removed my palm.

Big mistake — because there he was, Mr. Rent Free, eight meters away, 10 o’clock.

Apparently, my “meditation” looked like either a full spiritual awakening or a complete emotional meltdown.

I died. Quietly. Spiritually.

So now, I pray with one eye open.

And I always scan my eight-meter radius for hot distractions with strong jawlines and confusing energy.