I believe in The Sky.
There are several Other Crowds that do too.
I do not belong to them, because their activities are suspicious, and because they wear odd garments, and because they have closed doors in their eyes.
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One of them says the sky is purple, and they have all these purple books and purple robes and go to purple church and eventually Purple Heaven. They drag their children to Purple Church on Wednesday evening, because that’s when the Purple god created the Purple Sky.
Another is the Green Sky with the Silver Lining Temple. They pray 14 times per week and they make so much noise in their parades that all the neighborhood dogs howl. They say that in the Book Of The Green Sky – which was written by God – all god’s chillun are instructed to pray every time they have a bowel movement, and that Green Heaven will be the Result. I can’t comment on that, I simply pray that I do have a bowel movement.
The Golden Sky Group has many sub-followings, depending on the edition of the Golden Sky Scriptures that fell into the hands of rich and famous pirates 300 years back. Their lineages all fight now, and few are left due to yearly massacres. Every year surviving Golden Sky Pilgrims from all over the world attend the Golden Sky Pilgrimage For Sinners festival, where they walk for 200 miles barefoot and hit themselves with chains. They must be feeling a bit of joy, I imagine, although I can’t see it directly on their faces.
And then there’s the Female Goddess Sky Gathering, which worships the feminine aspect of the Sky during the full moon. Unfortunately, you can’t see the sky when the moon is up, but in their books, The Goddess blesses them from all four directions, if they drive hybrid cars and vote Democrat. I tried attending one of their gatherings, but I’m allergic to patchouli and incense.
I went to the monthly meeting of the Sky Affirmation Council, which repeats the mantra, “sunshine for all sentient beings”. It is said that if this mantra is repeated while focusing on the 7th chakra, you and the first twenty who receive your email within 45 minutes will get their dreams fulfilled. But living in the Pacific Northwest at the end of a slow modem will disqualify you from these blessings.
It gets tiring at the end of the day.
But then I wake up the next morning and the sky is blue. The sun is gold. I go out and play. I play in the Temple Of The Blue Sky. There are no tithings, and no verses to repeat. The Hymn naturally arises in your heart as you see the vast expanse of meadow. The golden sun on your skin tells all: heaven is here now. The grasses dance in the gentle winds and the fragrance of wild flowers is intoxicating.
My mother told me that I should go to Church on Sunday, which was her church: a pragmatic concrete building with old sweaty smells and cheap stained glass windows. I couldn’t even see the sky, sitting in those hard pews.
But, she’s dead now. And she’s probably in Stain-Glass Sky Heaven, most likely knitting place-mats with pictures of airplanes and birds on them.
I thank My Mother, and All Zealots of Various Skies, for showing me what path not to take home. I thank the Blue Sky, the White Clouds, the dazzling Raindrops, and the sound of God in the Wind, for pointing the way.
Excuse me, it’s time to go out and play.
Excuse me, while I Kiss The Sky.
