Worship
Worship is a very difficult thing to write about, because it’s not really writing about worship. Worship is a very personal experience, one that depends entirely on the worshipper. And even if two people were both worshipping the same thing, with the same words and gestures, they might not be worshiping the same thing at all.I have found that I like to write about the things I am thinking about when I'm not writing. I don't know why.
In this place, at the edge of a forest that seems to have been abandoned. There are no windows in the house. The only light comes from a single bulb above the dining room table, which is set with some chipped plates and bowls. A few candles are set on the table as well, and there is a small stove which I have started to use. The house is cold. It is late March and I arrived here on the first of February, after a very long trip. I have found no one to tell me anything. There are no stores, and the roads to them were washed out a long time ago. I have come to this place by a very long route, which took me 6 days. The forest is very tall, and the road was not easy to find. I have not seen another person since leaving the last house that was inhabited. The house is very old and rickety. There is no heat, and it gets quite cold at night. The floors are bare planks and very slippery when it is wet. There are no animals there. The trees are very tall, and very straight, and go on forever. There is nothing to see. There are no trails.
The man was sitting on the bed. His hands hung between his knees. He looked at me. I could hardly see him. I said: Are you the one who lives here?
He didn’t answer. He was very quiet, and seemed very tired.
What do you want?
I said I wanted to live here.
You can’t live here.
I waited. He was sitting very patiently.