Quiet Church

Windows open. A lightplane’s lazy snore in the bright blue sky overhead.

A few women come into the meeting room from the kitchen, where they have been talking quietly and making coffee and setting out the donuts and breads on the counter.

It’s time. The silence enters this former home like dawn light. Small at first. Then larger and larger. The several assembling people bring more silence with them as they enter and take their seats.

Soon, there are fourteen of us sitting in a rough rectangle, holding in ourselves the consciousness of an enormous and delicate quiet. A quiet that floats around and among us, roughly spherical, like a bubble the size of this living room.

Outside, children speak to one another quietly. A car door shuts. A screen door slams. A grackle proclaims, its iridescent purple shimmering like shook foil in the rose of Sharon outside the window. A car moves slowly past in the street out front.

The worshippers look elsewhere or close their eyes. I close my eyes.

I see or have the impression I see many people and things moving and morphing and flowing and changing. I can’t even say who and what they are, they move so fast and are so quickly different and are gone.

Then I seem to be moving. Not so much with everything and everyone else as through all of this, collecting everything and everyone into me as I move through the spiritual space. As I rise.

Then I see a celestial city from a great distance. It is below me and some distance away. I see spires and light structures of various shapes.

The city seems to be made of light, as if light could be made into a substance. Starlight. Sunlight. Moonlight. All of it made of these. The spires concentrating this light into thin, upwardly moving brightness. All of this floating in a blue space.

Something like a cloud city. Fantastic. Other worldly. Unknown. With unknown beings inhabiting it. Celestial beings, maybe.

I hover here for awhile. Adoring the city. Curious as to what it will be.