In big cities there is barely room for spontaneous salvation by nature. What I mean by that is it is a rare night that the moon is so full and so low that you are struck still mid-sidewalk, your mouth open wide as a little moon.
What I mean is there is no room to let in the roundness of the sky, or a rippled sheet of cloud, the silent things of the world that know how to override your program with much more grace than a beer or a smoke.
The window in my living room allows for a sliver of sky to slip through, and when the sun sets I watch it change, soaking up the golden light that fills my living room. It would be a perfect view if it weren’t for one thing…this massive Citgo sign, notorious to Boston, right in the middle of the window frame. As the sky does it’s darkening dance, the sign turns on, gearing up for night and begins to do it’s own jig scrolling down the triangle in rows of red, then flashing CITGO in blue when the red reaches the bottom. Blue, black, blue, black, citgo, citgo, citgo. It goes on flickering at my window until morning.
But every night the sky does its thing behind it, nothing more and nothing less; everyday the sky goes unbothered. And the sign becomes hilarious after a while; how silly it looks exhausting energy just to be seen while behind it, the sky effortlessly shades from one true color into the next.
When I take the time to be silent in my living room for a few minutes, turning inward, I find the soul, easy and colorful as the sky. If I can get past the structures that I’ve put up for others to see, then I can get at what’s been there all along: a striking beauty beyond me, wordless bridge to salvation.