The Crucifix
The first day back after my tense holiday weekend was idyllic. My supervisor ordered me to sit in the church for my shift. There was nothing to do. He told me to get some writing done.
I sat in the pew. I had my legs crossed with my feet resting on the kneeler. My back was strong and straight. I focused my mind on my breathing. I followed it, in and out. I labeled each sensation and moved on.
Smell of incense. In and out. Overcast lighting. In. Out. In. Out. Jesus. In. out. Crucifix. Scarey. In.
It scared me when as a child. I mean, a man nailed to a cross in a posture of pure agony, I was a very imaginative kid. In my mind Jesus was always writhing and contorting on the cross. The blood was pouring from his forehead and down his body. He was howling. He was wailing out with ghoulish Halloween faces. He was looking at me. Why is he always looking at me? Is he screaming or smiling? Stop it!
I started. My eyes were wide open. I was in the church. I had dozed off while meditating. I was covered in sweat. My heart was pounding.
My text message alert was ringing. My supervisor needed me to go to the supermarket.
“need orange juice, asap”
God’s work is never done.
Tags: Atheism, Buddhism, Catholic Church, Literature, Philosophy, Writer, Writing
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