Micah Doe

They found the baby on the banks of the Rio Grande, laying naked among the reeds like Moses in the basket. He had no name, no identification. The authorities canvassed the city of Albuquerque, and beyond, for weeks, but nobody claimed the boy. Frankly, it was a miracle he had survived. It was April, and he couldn't have been more than a month old. In a colder climate, he might not have made it, but the doctor pronounced him healthy and hale, if a little dehydrated. He had no name, but one of the caregivers in the church-run orphanage that claimed him gave him the name of Micah.

He never did find parents, but that was okay. Some children in the system grow up resentful, bitter things, but bitterness never once touched Micah's mind. He did well enough in his studies, but it was outside the classroom where he would truly shine. From the time he was ten years old, he was almost never found without his sketchbook. Anything that caught his eye, he drew, though his favorite subjects seemed to be things he found in nature. When he wasn't drawing, he was reading, studying philosophy and religion from around the world.

His other talent was...well, it was hard to describe it, but you'd know it if you saw it. When there were playground fights, Micah had a way of stopping them without lifting a finger. A colicky baby that had been passed around from caregiver to caregiver would only stop screaming if Micah held it--and within minutes, at that. There was something about his very presence that radiated calm. And sometimes he would whisper things in a voice that was too old to come from such a young mouth, things that didn't seem to make sense at the moment, things that were discarded by those who heard, until suddenly several months later it made sense in a moment of clarity.

So what do you do when you turn eighteen, have no family and nowhere to go, and have a thirst for universal truth? Micah traveled. He drew, he sold his art, but his true passion was preaching. There was no particular creed or faith that he espoused. Live well. Love well. Remember that we are united in the image of the God that is All and the All that are God. Despite this meager existence, he never seemed to want for anything. Oh, sure, his lodgings were always small and never extravagant, but he had enough money to eat nutritious food and wear clean, acceptable clothing.

He's not sure where he's been, exactly, but everywhere he goes, people listen to his teachings. Some call him a prophet, some call him a messiah, but he'd never go that far. As far is Micah is concerned, he's just a man, a man who hears whispers sometimes that he breathes to those who will listen, whether it's a crowd or his cup of coffee. He goes where life takes him--London, for now--and treats each day like the divine mystery it is.