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I capture the white eye of the lowering sun, the branches sticking out like craggy lashes, blinking as I move between the cemetery trees. It’s nearly the perfect light for a photograph, shadows and beams making the material world so clear they are like fairy light on summer solstice. It’s that almost complete moment just before day becomes night, when we are childlike again, and see that imaginary things exist.
Maybe it isn’t really the material world I see more clearly in those moments. Maybe what I’m seeing is the veil between worlds becoming dust or a ray of sunlight to be brushed away by a gentle wave of the hand; the heavenly and earthly interwoven in a fiery embrace of consummation.
Christians - Worship - Service - Foot - Throne
Growing up, I didn’t understand Christians who coveted heaven and the forever-long worship service at the foot of the throne, that vision of paradise that we were taught to expect from the book of Revelation. Dutiful kids everywhere, filling out their sermon bulletin outlines during church in order to stave off boredom, secretly wondered why that sounded like paradise. But they never wanted to ask for fear of seeming ungrateful. Death and forever were mind-boggling scenarios that created spiritual crises, even in the young.
I grew up with an extra dose of terror at the imminent prospect of death. When I honed in on that terror as a young adult, swimming downward to grasp at its very deep source, plucking that dark heart and pulling it out, bloody roots and all—I looked at it and turned it over to discover what was there: the fear of not existing, of my consciousness meeting its end, of being completely over.
Admission - Someone - Home - Kid
Not a stellar admission for someone who grew up in a Christian home. How could a Christian kid be afraid that all of this...
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