Sunday Morning

Sunday morning is a time for stream-of-conciousness stuff, and a favorite quote, so here goes -

Remember other Sundays from the past: cool marble church so quiet, empty, old ladies perfume, jingling bracelets, kindly rouged faces coming at you, fur stoles. Surge of emotion singing a hymn -try not to cry - knowing something but not quite - something on the tip of your tonque - something about God or heaven or Jesus - something you were supposed to remember? The quarter for collection gripped tightly in fist. Grahm crackers and juice.The closing verse, always the same, haven't forgotton "there is no life, truth, substance in matter...all is Mind and its infinate manifestation" then, "sunday school is dismissed!" Everyone happy with the closing remark. Said with gusto from the lecture stand. Sunday schools shining big hall so clean and polished, round tables, small wooden chairs, bright morning sun from windows - many windows! Sometimes one teacher sitting alone in a little chair - no children - reading to herself. Best dresses, new patent shoes, grown-up purse, white gloves. Special dress-up day. People you saw each Sunday. Nice eccentric people - kind, different, fat lady with many chins, lady with scars winding up legs and arms. Not people from school, people who smiled alot. Hair in curls. Big and bright. Where are they now? Where is it? In memory. In a verse, smell, song or sound. The smell of lilies and lilacs. Hymn numbers on a wall. The sound of organs. Whispered voices. A fancy lady singing. Dad staying at home. Babies crying. I want to take off my shoes, but also want to eat blackberries. Can I do that?

Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees takes off his shoes;

The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning