Tag Archives: merry-go-round

181: Theme Park

181 bigal101 mf Theme Park

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

 

152: Carousel

carousel

Unstoppably spinning till the seats are empty, the whirlwind of our minds merry-go-rounds and swirls, like giant teacups at the fair, clutching at the sides in case the hot drink goes splashing over the edges. Half the time we are screaming in fun, and the rest, desperate to disembark, like sailors with no faith in the prophesied arrival of sealegs.

And suppose we got our wish, and the machinery ground to a stuttering halt, cogs clanking to a surprised standstill? Would we sit, contentedly, waiting for the inevitability of rust, or would we find ourselves restless and stretching, out of sorts with the motionless existence, like a moonless tide? And if the planet followed suit and was released from its perpetual movement, the godchild we imagine in our smallness bored of its toy and forgetful in spinning of our celestial axis, wouldn’t we then find ourselves flung into space, back seat drivers without the seatbelt of gravity or faith, realising for all our grumbling and protesting that we were created to go around and around and around again?

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015