It is not the separation of states that divide countrymen; it is the multitude of churches that estrange us. For what need do we have to put a different church or temple on every corner, save to support our capitalistic desires, competition I say. Freedom of religion? but this phrase is rooted in our forefather’s freedom of economy; every man for himself – the richest men can make the laws. Name, if you will, any religion which is truly free, which one will not ask you to attend to it? It is only the naturalist which may claim nature as having such qualities, but it would be a misnomer to call Her a religion, for Nature asks naught of us. Which religion could survive without any human benefactors? Religion is but of Man, while Nature depends not on Man for Her survival, in fact, she implores Him to do nothing at all. One may point to the Native peoples as having a religion of the Earth, however, we must see that they know nothing of religion and everything of a way of living. If they merely believed, as one does in a religion, then we may not know of them at all, for faith in something suggests separation from it, and they lived only to hold no such thoughts. To be separated from such a power, indeed our source, is to die a slow, chilling death. Evidence of such a claim may be found in modern man, captive in his zoos, possibly in your mirror.
So why is it I was told I must go to church every Sunday? Does it matter not which church I choose? Oh, but it does – it must be the church of my fathers, else I will not be saved. Saved from what? Man creates his own poisons, undoubtedly, and I might be well enough to stay away from all that Man has constructed. I must claim it is only the James which can save me from thoughts of separation. It is Sunday and I take to my best Sunday clothes and hop on my bicycle. Riding through Richmond this morning, the churches are not without their custard. People gathering to enter their holy places spy me with a pity in their eyes as to suggest I might be a lost gorilla, but did they see the pity reflected in mine? The children’s energy speaks differently, their eyes ask if they could worship where I’m going today – “no, no child, you’re already here, you might as well go through with it,” the tall ones say. From one church to the next, as the road I take passes at least six of these medieval buildings, they feel the same to me - all of them splitting the city into race and class. Though I have known solace in a church before, it was only when nobody was around to tell me what to think, or how to pray. There is a peace that survives in the echoes of tall halls, but it all gets pushed out when too many bodies are forced in a place they wouldn’t rather be, with their minds in a place they ought not to be. So I take to the River James as both a place I want to be, and a place I ought to be, for gorillas have no life in the city.