At San Giovanni
Apparently it is a tradition at the church of San Giovanni for women to bare their feet across the magical marble floor, to “feel something special.” I have never seen barefooted nuns sliding over the black and white tiled optical illusion of the aisles, but neither have I looked. I can only conclude that the man with the round glasses has a foot fetish particularly pleasurable to satisfy in churches.
The floor does appear magical, the receding boxes of the aisles, the varied and multicolored designs of the nave; if the man wasn’t watching me I may have tried it. Or, I would have liked to pass through the Holy Door, feel it cleanse me, every sin forgiven. Instead I bent my neck towards the gold gilded ceiling and admired the twelve torsos of the twelve apostles. If God did not die with Nietzsche or Darwin, I’m not sure if Stephen Hawkings is going to kill him. But I admire him for the controversy.
Religion seems to me primeval. If the M-theory proves the multiverse then life on Earth is not singular, it is not an accident and it is no longer so unique and spectacular. Though life is always unique and spectacular, humans will no longer own it. It is something we share further than our small small planet.
But the image of God over thousands of years has gotten rooted, as has god the metaphor. As humans we seek purpose, we seek communion; if we’re not hungering physically, we’re hungering spiritually. Where is fulfillment? We look outside. God on the outside looks in. Is it impossible to manage this journey personally?
We’re cripples in need of a crutch: Christianity and the latest fashion are both the same to me. I store hope in the multiverse, that we are able to see the breadth out there equals the breadth in us, to free the thoughts and selves limited by frequent dependence on our favorite pair of crutches.
Imagine if the construct of God one day crumbled. The moral voice with which the leaders try to control us would dissolve, the regulations would be internal. There would be less violence, for violence is created by confines and war is spawned by said leaders. Life would blossom; love blossoms from within. Then San Giovanni would stand as a relic, a lesson in greed and brain washing. Maybe the floor will really be magical and if I rubbed my bare feet on it I would see through to the neighboring universe.
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