Okay, I’m not going to make things too complicated. It’s all very simple. Nothing to it.
The sunrise here at my place hasn’t been all that beautiful these past days. Been getting bit faded here and there, you know. Not much life in it. That ‘extra-worldly’ shine was out. Less of heaven in it, if you know what I mean. Like, sometimes I just prop myself down on this beach here on the Swiss coast at, what – 5 in the morning, and I’d be waiting for dawn to burst. With my canvas and brush at hand, of course…. And there’d be glimpses of heaven here and there. The moment felt ethereal.
Not now. I look at the sunrises these days and can’t dabble a shine of colour. Sun seems to have gone colour-blind.
And so. I’m off to tell God about it. I’m going to ask Him to do something about it.
I get out of my modest cottage in Downtown Switzerland, and I began walking. All I’ve got is my orange shirt, pants and a knapsack with brushes, colour and one sheet of thick paper. I know I’ll have to go a long way, and I can exchange on-the-spot paintings for the food and rest I’ll need.
I walk and walk and walk and that night I stop before a quaint bakery. I paint a melody of a painting of the old chap in the bakery, on a single paper. I show it to the pleased chap and he agrees amiably to my request of a loaf of bread and a place to rest. Biting into the fresh loaf, I ask him if he knows where God is.
He says no. The next day I continue on.
I walk and walk and walk. When I’m too hungry to go on, I ask a school kid to give me a plain sheet of paper. I tell him to sit down by the side of the street. He sits, bewildered. I paint him in a quiet pasture, with a breath-taking sunrise watching him. I’m done in five minutes, and I hand it to him. He squeals in delight, gives me a pound, and rushes to show it to his Mama. Artistically the sketch would fetch 700 pounds.
I walk and walk and walk. Weeks pass. I’m out of Switzerland. In a month I reach France. I ask them, “Do you know where God is?”
“Quest’que ce?” They ask.
“Dieu.” I repeat.
“Non, non….” They reply.
I go on. Past the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre…. On and on.
I soon reach Italy. I pass the Leaning Tower of Pisa, saunter through St. Francis’ Assisi, and continue.
I reach the Persian lands. The winds blow without restraint, making musical sounds among the sand dunes. The sun is scorching me. I sit down.
In the distance I see a man in white approaching. When he is near, I ask him, “Sir, do you know where God is?” He seems to be a man of God.
He nods. He points to the wide waters by the desert. “Travel onwards. Go on and on and on till you find Him.”
I sketch a picture, nod in thanks, and accept what the man offers. With it I buy a boat and continue on my way, by sea.
On and on and on…. Three days pass. I begin to feel hungry. That evening, I seem to be alone in the whole wide world, with the circling horizon around me showing me nothing but water. After a while I see a speck. The speck becomes bigger. It’s on the east horizon. I paddle towards it. It becomes an island – quite a big one. Soon I reach the coast. I tie the boat to a pillar of limestone and with my knapsack I venture into the island.
The island is about four or five kilometres across. It’s covered with trees and bushes. In the middle of it all is a huge mountain. I head for it.
It takes about an hour to scale up to the top. I reach the top. It’s quite wide, 20 or 30 metres across. The centre is hemmed in by rock walls, so I can’t see the centre. I walk around the perimeter till I find an opening.
“No, that’s not going to happen,” a voice booms amiably. I hear the voice first, then I see God, in a corner of the little ‘room’ of rock. His back is turned to me. He turns to me and smiles. He has got a huge beard, friendly eyes and stands tall, a bit more than me. He is dressed in a white cloak. There is a shine about Him.
“Good evening, Jonathan!” He exclaims with a friendly laugh. His laugh captivates me – it’s infused with raw happiness. I smile back before I know it.
I enter into the mountaintop room. “But how do you know my name?” I ask, seating myself on a stone shelf, tired after the long walk.
God smiles. “Oh, I know.” His eyes sparkle bright with something a thousand times more explosive than what we fancifully label ‘love’. I have a hard time holding his gaze, but I can’t help but look again, like a boy who looks right at the Sun when he’s told not to do so.
I hesitate. Then I ask, “Are you God?”
He laughs. The booming echoes surround me, and caress my very soul. His happy laugh takes some time.
Then He looks right at me. “My boy,” He says, amused. “I’m all there ever is.”
I muster up all the courage I’ve got. “I’m from Switzerland – “
“I know.”
“I came to ask You something.”
“What is it you want, Jonathan?” He asks, sitting beside me.
“You know, the sunrise back there at my place isn’t like it used to be,” I began. I get bolder and everything comes at once. “Like, there isn’t that ‘other-worldly” touch to it, these days. Less of heaven in it, if You can see what I mean. Usually I get lost in sunrises, but the ones that’ve come round these couple of weeks are uninspiring…. They don’t captivate me like they used to.”
He nods. “I see.” He is silent for a while. He seems to be thinking.
“And so”, I continue. “I’d really appreciate it if You could lighten it up a bit.”
He looks at me for some time. Then He repeats. “No, that’s not going to happen.”
“Oh,” I merely say, taken aback. I must look crestfallen, because He pats me on the back and smiles affectionately at me. “But don’t feel sad about that,” He consoles.
He stands up, and ruffles my hair. “I’ll make the sun rise every day in your heart instead.”
I nod, feeling better. I get up too, and pick up my knapsack
“Here, get something to eat. You must be hungry,” He says, pointing at the shelf. I put some loaves and fish in my knapsack.
I give Him my hand. “Well, bye then. And thanks for everything.” I say.
He nods.
“Wait a moment,” He calls after me as I leave.
I come back.
He gives me a sheet of paper.
I sit there and start painting Him.
