futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The pulpit was empty:
After the fire nothing was left of the church but the foundation. There was no money to have the chard timbers and trash hauled away. No one remembered who owned the land, anyway.
Since it was summer, and since it was western Pennsylvania it only took weeks for the kudsu vines to appear. They ate up the fresh charcoal and dug their roots into the sand and slate foundation. As soon as someone had looted the glass from the windows they crawled out between the panes. Under no circumstances was I to enter it. It could collapse at any moment! It was full of rats! The floor might go out! That�s what the grownups said. For once in my life I found that I actually wanted to go to church. But, it seemed I�d never have the chance. There were chores and no one wanted to let me walk into town, let alone go and see a burned out church. But, at last, one day, they were adsorbed in fixing the cold frame (it leaked). Unseen at last, I wandered down the one-car-wide, dusty street. All the birds were doing arias, showing off, trying to find a mate to huddle up with before summer got too far on. I felt a sudden surge of freedom and threw pebbles in the creek on my way. I always wondered if I was special. Everyone must. There are so many movies about how an ordinary person turns out to be the one who can save the world. It�s a good thing there are pletny of difernt ways to save the world and plenty of people needed to save it. Otherwise, we�d be overwhelmed by disgruntled egotistical bastards. At any rate. When I came to that church I felt very special. I felt like it was my church. I knew the people. I was related to these people. So, it seemed very significant. After all it was in my blood. The foundation was as high as my head. A tearless flight of concrete steps lead to what was left of the double doors. I walked up and stepped though the opening where the doors had burned away. In the church there was a rustle of leaves. A bird took off and went right through the roof. The celling was gone. Inside nature had taken over. A valley of green vines pilled across the floor and up and over the remains of the walls. The pulpit was empty: no podium, no table to hold the wine for communion, no chairs for the choir, just warped timber and black dust. The sun seemed to reach every corner of the space. I was not sad. Here was a rigid institution of my inglorious past at last overrun by the force that pushes seeds out of their pods and trees out of the earth. It demanded no homage, no services it would go on without us. Forever as much as forever can mean to people who can only think about the concept but never, ever, know it. I was not obligated to follow the path of my peers or my family or my parents. I owe nothing and have nothing to prove. I�m part of all this random matter. This wild growth. Culture is our enemy. Nature, never nurture. 08:38:42 - 2001-01-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
|||||||