Red sandstone pillars come together in points at the top of the ceiling, forming a rib-like vault. On the far wall, three stained-glass windows stand tall and filter the midday light into blue and orange, and the dark brown wooden pews stand in rows on the left and right, leaving the central aisle empty. There is no one here. Only two white lamps hang still from high above.
Stand in the middle of that aisle and your head tilts back on its own. Your eyes climb toward the tops of the three windows, and meanwhile the back of your neck lengthens a little as the coolness of the stone floor slowly rises through the soles of your feet. Breath goes in and out slowly, as if it travels up to the ceiling and comes back down.
An empty cathedral feels unfamiliar because no one there is asking for anything. Usually, when we sit in a chair, the body is always waiting for the next thing. It waits for the meeting to start, for the food to arrive, for its turn to come.
Those brown pews, with a pointed pattern carved into each back, hold no such waiting. The mind that cannot easily set waiting down, this time we note that one thing only.
Why not stay for just three minutes in the chair you are sitting in now, with your back against the backrest? Do not decide to rest, and do not decide to clear your mind. Lay both palms face down on your thighs, and rest your eyes on one point on the wall across from you. Even if nothing happens, those three minutes fill up just as they are.
You can do the same thing in the back row of an evening bus. Do not count how many stops are left until yours, and sit while the view outside the window goes by as it will. Just notice how far your shoulders have risen toward your ears. Each time you pass a stop, check how high they are.
The light that has come through the three stained-glass windows touches the aisle floor, then fades without becoming anyone's.
