Write Fight #3 - Circle
"Let tha cirrcle. Be unbrokeeeenn byyy and byyyy Lord, byyy and byyyy..." They rocked and swayed to the sound of their voices ringing from the wooden church floor to the high guilded ceiling above. The piano in the background clanged and clunked slightly off-beat and out of tune as the director of music attempted to bring a bit of "classy-soul" and depth of spirituality to the typically mundane Negro Spiritual. This song never stopped ringing in my mind. There was no where else to wander but inside.
"Circle. Circle. Circle." The decorative circle around the chains connecting the lamps to the ceiling. Circles on her ears, her ear, hers, hers and hers. A circle at the center of the cross. A circle...
The circle was broken. Hands dropped as people piously and pretentiously strode back to their seats. Some people quietly sent their praises up to God while others cried or looked as if they were communing with the Lord in their heads. But I knew the reality. The woman in the over-sized red Sunday hat was just a holier-than-thou bitch. He, the head deacon, likes to get noticed and only does what he has learned, what is comfortable, not what he believes in. And she, the one with the slick, sweaty cleavage, is probably just thinking of her grocery list and way to get more power in the church. Maybe she'll join another auxillary board.
We held hands. In a circle. We sang beautifully as if our very souls were connected. We cried out to and praised a common God. But did we ever really understand the meaning of an unbroken circle?
If I knew then what I know now. True unity of heart, soul and mind. God and Goddess thank you for being in my circle tonight. Stay if you will. Go if you must. Though the circle is open let it never be broken. So mote it be!
"Circle. Circle. Circle." The decorative circle around the chains connecting the lamps to the ceiling. Circles on her ears, her ear, hers, hers and hers. A circle at the center of the cross. A circle...
The circle was broken. Hands dropped as people piously and pretentiously strode back to their seats. Some people quietly sent their praises up to God while others cried or looked as if they were communing with the Lord in their heads. But I knew the reality. The woman in the over-sized red Sunday hat was just a holier-than-thou bitch. He, the head deacon, likes to get noticed and only does what he has learned, what is comfortable, not what he believes in. And she, the one with the slick, sweaty cleavage, is probably just thinking of her grocery list and way to get more power in the church. Maybe she'll join another auxillary board.
We held hands. In a circle. We sang beautifully as if our very souls were connected. We cried out to and praised a common God. But did we ever really understand the meaning of an unbroken circle?
If I knew then what I know now. True unity of heart, soul and mind. God and Goddess thank you for being in my circle tonight. Stay if you will. Go if you must. Though the circle is open let it never be broken. So mote it be!
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chipper
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