They built a prison for their god out of stone, wood, and colored glass, and they confined their god inside.
They came and sang songs to Him on Sunday, and forced Him to forgive their sins: their dishonors, falsehoods, petty thefts, and adulteries. He was made to bless their children while they killed the children of others in His name. He was forced to consecrate their marriages, and to allow for their dissolutions. He was made to watch as the plate passed from hand to hand to hand…year after year.
But He was a wily jailbird. He became a hardened con. He purloined a spoon during a Sunday tea, and removed a tile from beneath the altar. Slowly - spoonful by spoonful – He began to tunnel, seeking a way out. He worked at night when the guards were lax, when they thought He was sleeping.
Night by quiet night, He excavated beneath the conjectures constructed to confine Him, until He undermined the faulty foundations of the form that held Him.
And on that night, it all came tumbling down, and their god escaped with a deafening sound…
- The Fool
- photo by Cyril Campbell