The Sunday Existentialist

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Eyes wired shut. Repeated rapid pupil movements. Face up. Head toward the ceiling. Nostrils sucking in air. Chest at ease. Arms relaxed. Legs straight. My flesh rests easy in the hammock that is my bones. I am one with the night. The night is one with me.


Do I know that I’m asleep?


Color collides with color. Even with me in it, there is nothing wrong with my reality. Planets pass by. Stars shine their greetings. I am in the darkness. The darkness is in me. The darkness is everything. Visions are everywhere. Time is no more. There is no want. There is only tomorrow. Troubles were destroyed in the reclamation of dreams. I cannot go back. I’m too deep in prayer.


Do I know that I’m awake?


Noise flows. Voices interrupt. Pulled further from what is, I desperately grab hold of everything. I can’t grab. I can only drag. The light gets closer and closer. The brilliance is extinguished. There is only a morbid glow. The artificialness of it all offers nothing. There is only the risk of opening the eyes. Divinity creeps in. Be near.


Do I know that I’m home?


Hands jostle me back to reality. Noise pulls my consciousness further from the dream. The sun is just coming up. I thought I was in reality. Every step draws me deeper into another dream. Each foot grows heavier as a new child climbs on. I go to work on the food. Every step opens up a new future. We are still asleep. Smells push us toward the table. Forks are our tools to partake of the sacrament.


Do I know that I’m at worship?


Clothes hide. Shoes disappear. Food falls to the ground. Screaming is the only chorus. Seats are dirty. Buckles won’t snap. Each outfit looks like a robe. We are ready. Something has found us. We are one. I don’t understand why we’re going. We’ve already experienced everything out here. There is nothing to experience there. I can’t imagine a reason to trade a more real reality for a less real reality. Divinity is bludgeoned to death verse by verse. Worship is the dying gasps of an irrelevant church. Community is an excuse to discuss divorce, disease and death. I’m just not interested. The kids moan. I drive. Beautiful words are exchanged. We keep pushing toward the service. I still can’t figure out why we’re going.


Do I know that I’m not a Christian?


Notes drop like sledgehammers. Words speak of days long played out. Dictionaries are a required part of the service. Even the hymnals are antiques. Worship was not important. Preservation was the order of the hour. Crayons filled the pew. Blue. Red. Green. Brown. Orange. Each hue reminded me of the morning. I colored. I didn’t stop. I felt it in my bones. Salvation was in the crayons. The beauty of stacking colors on top of each other became apparent. I stacked until it was time to go. Looking at me after the service, the woman made a declaration, “If you didn’t enjoy that music, you’re not a Christian.”


Do I know that I’m in the colors?


Find your seats. Beans spray. Rice flies. Payment declined. Forks land. Hurry and eat. Diapers changed. Time to go. Seats buckled. Air on. Drive again. Reality dances. Screaming. Shouting. Screaming.


Do I know that God is speaking?


Back to the dreams. Holding on. Something is out there. Pulling back. Eyes open. Colors jump out. Eyes closed. Deeper and deeper. Eyes open. Learning to breathe. Divinity is found in description of something other. Divinity is what was. God is what can be.


Do I know that I can be?


Group gathering. Judas is the topic. People talking. Community being shared. Jesus picked Judas. Surprise bubbles. Wrestling with God. Conversation is salvation. We are doing it.


Do I know salvation?


Eyes closed. Salvation is in the dreams. We experienced it all day today with our eyes open. Reality isn’t real. Only the colors of the future can save us. See them.



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