Raceless

I wrote this a while ago, and decided to share it:

 

I’m not a church person. I’m not saying I don't believe in God. I just don't usually go to talk to Him about all the crap happening in my life. He may listen, but I believe that to let some else fix your problem while you sit on a chair, praying, is cowardly.

A church to me is like an art gallery, payed for a price. It’s a beautiful place to walk to on a Sunday morning. The way the trees bend into arches, making a small path towards the stone monuments? It just awakens me like nothing else. I'm not a church person, but something did pull me there today.

Going in through the arches of rock took me into a large hall where two large water basins stood. I looked into one of them, dipped a finger in and sent ripples through out the basin.

As if for a greeting, the bottom of the basin changed - morphed somehow. At first I thought I was imagining it, perhaps the ripples I had once created changed the water I looked at now.

We did what had to be done, to make the cold wars end, we all be and came one.

Not understanding, I moved on.

He greeted me, limp in the shoulders, crown of thorns on his holy head.

But I am not a church person, so I didn't kneel. I did, however, nod. I knew he was up there, watching.

Why did they always show him in the position of being hanged on the cross? Why would they never show how he is being risen from the dead? That’s the happy part – why depress ourselves with the bad parts? I shook my head; clearing it, and moved on.

I sat down at a bench mid-way to the alter and mid-way to the door, hoping that I didn't come at a time of mass. I began surveying the glass.

Time saw us in different shades than you.

and

The brother of skin will be no more different than the imposter’s child.

stared up at me. I didn't understand. But I moved on. My gaze fell on an angel.

St. Cosmas. A healer.

said the inscription below.

I stared at it for a while, examining the wings and the body of the saint.

“Isn’t it just beautiful?” a voice asked after a few minutes.

I looked at her. She was sitting beside me. The lights danced in her hair, illuminating it.

I shrugged. “I'm not really a church person, I don't know what it all means.”

She laughed. It was a musical laugh. “I'm not really a church person either, but I understand.”

I still didn't understand, so I wanted her to talk more.

We sat in silence.

“You know what would make this glass painting even more beautiful?” she asked finally.

“You being in it?” I replied, grinning. She laughed. I was happy.

“No,” she said slowly, her smile vanishing. “color would.”

I screwed up my face. “Color?” What a funny word. “What’s that?”

I hoped this wasn’t something a church person could only understand, for I wanted to know too.

“They took it out.” She gestured to the window panes. “The most beautiful thing in the whole wide world, was taken away from us.”

More beautiful than her? I couldn't imagine it.

“It was all different before. The fur of the dogs wasnt the plain thing we see now... The trees where beautifully colored and swayed with the happiness of the world.” She looked at me. I could only gaze in her eyes with wonder.  “You’d be colorful too.”

My mind tried to race through the passages of memory to find a way to comfort her, to bring back her smile. All in vain.

We sat in silence again.

“Why…why did they take it all away?” It was I who spoke first this time. The silence following after my question rang in my ears loud and clear. We sat so still – that I had to double check if she was still there. I was never a church person; but today, I couldn't help but think that He was watching over me and her. As if this very conversation would change everything.

Something slid down her cheek. Tears. I hated them. She didn’t deserve to cry.

“Because we were all so different. More different than female and male; more different than adult and child…we had different colored skin back then, different colored personalities, different colored water, sand and - almost anything else you could have possibly imagined!”

I was confused again. Why take away such a beautiful trait? I listened on.

“But with the differences..comes problems. Racism, abuse and so many other horrible things. People used these things as excuses to get back at their enemies or just from plain old greed…Remember “money”?”

I may have not been a church person; but money was one thing I remembered. I smiled at her and nodded.

“Well that was what everyone was after; money. Back then…money meant power. And people used “differences” to get more of it.”

“So color was used against ourselves?”

She nodded. “Beauty was shattered and became nothing more than a memory to some.”

We sat again. I understood her words clearly, they rang true with each syllable. I turned to her after a long moment. “How is it that you know so much about color and money and everything…when I have never heard anyone say anything about it?”

She stared up at “The Healer” glass painting again, probably imagining how it would have looked with color, and then, quietly, as if to make sure not even He could hear, she pronounced the next few words with such clarity that I forever remembered them. “Parceque…Je me souviens.”

I may have not been a church person, but I could speak French alright.

“You…remember?” I asked her.

She didn’t respond for the longest time. Her head was bowed down and if I would have not known better, I would have said she was praying. Then her whole body trembled. And then she pushed herself to my chest, her head pressing against my shoulder, crying. Something sweet and fluttering rose in my stomach and warmed up my whole body.

Love.

My hands wrapped around her frame and I hugged her back. We sat like that, clinging to each other as if losing one another would end the world more that color already did. A warm body was all we both had left. And we clung on for our dear lives.

I have never been, and hopefully never will be a church person, not after what they have done to the color, but when I sat there, hugging her…I saw a spark of understanding. These sparks caressed us both; illuminated us, gave us knowledge and made us both stronger. Many minutes passed but we still clung on. Then we finally let go. Wiping off the tears in her eyes, she leaned in…and kissed me…and I remembered everything.

Now I know, that I have none other than God to thank for that.