Sorry Nietzsche

What is Sunday?

            Sunday was always that day worse than Saturday but better than the others. Unlike most kids I woke up earlier and sat through something for the sole reason that it was good. I did not love Sunday, I did not love its vision. The kingdom I saw was an eternal conservative Sunday filled with mostly arbitrary laws. I remember a friend of mine at the time saying “I don't think I want to go to heaven. Hell is where beer and all the good stuff is anyways.” All I could say was, “I don't think it works that way.”

            At that time I was pretty sure beer wasn't a Sunday thing. Sunday stuff was boring, Sunday stuff was about what I couldn't do. Sunday was a God-imposed, self-monitored prison with confusing bars. As I grew up, I realized the bars were never there. I could do what I wanted and there was a world beyond the boring bars of pleasure tainting Sundays. I became a lion and tore down my Sunday world. It was an exciting time where anything was possible and I was free to devour that which I found lovely and delicious. My friend was right, the proverbial beer of hell was better. I drank in my big new world, I drank until my big world spun and my lion legs shook with sick.

            I'd been the camel, doing for the sake of what must be done. And as lion I rose to kill the religion-burden I once carried but my angry paws and roaring mouth could not create or beauty make. I was free but only free to wander the waste of all lost meaning. For the lion there is no meaning and so she must be reborn. Born as the infant I became curious. Curious to discover so that the whole world is becoming as it is. The world remade, upright. Not in one’s own vision but with single vision.

I was the camel.

But the lion killed it.

I was the lion.

But from the heavens there came a rope. It stood me upon my feet and begot me to begin anew and with hope to climb, to see upright with bird's eye view. Finally I am free to begin.