I was walking into a Catholic church with some friends. Everyone in the church had little squares of black material pressed to their faces. A priest reached inside his jacket and handed me a square. I asked my friend what this was; I’d never seen it before. She said they were inhaling the body of Christ.
Then a large screen came down and we all gathered around to watch a reality TV show.
I like that large screen; it’s what I’ve always believed. As P.D. Ouspensky wrote, in In Search of the Miraculous:
I already knew then as an undoubted fact that beyond the thin film of false reality there existed another reality from which, for some reason, something separated us.
Or, equally likely, religion is the reality TV show.
But the black square? I thought those odd, almost cannibalistic Catholic rituals were gone from my consciousness. It’s a handy little thing, though: you could keep it, and carry it around with you. Maybe the Church would like to borrow from my dream – except that if you had God with you all the time, you wouldn’t have to bother going back to church.