10/31/2008                                                                                       View Comments

Under His Robes


By David H

Hi Everyone, I'd like to share a narrative I wrote for my writer's group, the objective was to write a piece describing God as if he were sitting in front of you.

Under His Robes

God is sitting across from me, his long, generous robes and silky white hair flowing to every edge, so no part of the chair is visible; he appears to be floating. I squint, scrutinizing his visage. Nearly invisible, are tiny jutting angles at various points all over his body, which is very curious, so I ask,

"May I?" Reaching over to lift one of the folds in his robe.

"If you must." He responds. So I very carefully raise a portion where one of the jutting points is visible. The fibers stick to, but easily lift from, very small wooden braces that look like wooden rollercoaster scaffolding. Curiosities taking hold of me, I keep pulling the fabric away, muttering, "This can't be real," and revealing only more and more latticework. His face and hands now appear to be some sort of fabric as well, pulling off the frame as if they're attached to his robes, almost as if it were one large skin, supported by the wooden frame. There's a hollow sigh as the last of the drapery comes off.

When finally the entire scaffold is revealed, I look down through the hollow cavity and see a large box, that's completely black, with no visible seams. Now, completely forgetting that this was once a being, or seemingly a being, I lift the scaffold up off the box. The wooden planks, of which the scaffold is assembled, collapse and break into pieces, as the framework is dislodged from the box foundation. I let the pieces fall to the floor beside the now plainly visible chair, and focus my attention on the ominous black box.

The box is, or appears to be, a perfect cube. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands, it can't weigh more than what I imagined it's constructed of, some kind of cardboard or heavy paper. Suddenly, I hear something click, and the box unravels, all sides, not only unfolding, but rolling out in all directions, as if constructed of rolled up paper. The box contains nothing, but the inside faces of the box, the top portion of the unraveled box, is the kind of thin rice paper one might find in holy books. Written on it, in very tiny lettering, over and over, running the length of the scrolls, are the words: "There is no magic."

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