John stopped going to church after his mother died. He’d only gone to please her anyway. He remembers sitting on her lap as a child, and saying
“Just in case, when I die
look everywhere for me. If you die
look everywhere for me while I look
forever everywhere for you.”
Now he sees a storm on every horizon. Inside, he’s a rumbling kettledrum, a choir of wind chimes. He no longer seeks — but rather craves that certainty the faithful have that there is something that lives beyond this body, like amputees scratching at limbs that are not there.