If we built a park themed around God, would we make it loud and brash? Would the colours be garish and the neons bulging from their tubes? Would we forget to add the gentleness, and the soft gurgling streams of girlish giggles? Would the rides for the meek and the poor in spirit be left desolate and empty, everyone heading for the thrills and spills of history-making roller-coasters? Would we make everyone queue in order of importance, checking tickets, counting costs?
Shall we, in this life, ever stop, climb down, brush the doughnut crumbs from our priestly robes and look at the rides we have built, seeing the people going round and round, up and down on well-travelled iron rails going nowhere new? Shall we find the thin and dusty ribbon way that winds between the carousels and dodge the dodgems of fatalism and steel ourselves against the desire to buy pink, oh-ever-so-unreal-bright-pink fluffy candyfloss wisdom that melts on the tongue, and free ourselves from the need to win a prize, even if it is only a goldfish, swimming, like us, in precarious plastic?
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from morguefile.com