01 November 2008

the kuriakon doma

Zero is the confounding number, the meaning and the truth of life. We draw it as an empty circle because we cannot fathom its infinite minuteness. It is the invisible ghoul that devours the universe and the denominator that proves the fallacy of reason. The zero we see is perfect, crisp, clear: it is a mask. Zero is a demon in clothing of shimmering graphite and chalk, the roundness of the Om.

I happened upon a brick building on Tremont Street while walking back downtown from the vegetarian food festival in Roxbury with Kassia. It appeared perfectly circular, windowless, and unremarkable aside from these two features. An old sign in front of it read “Church of All Nations,” white paint on dark hardwood. It reminded me of the terrifying empty zero, and what a perfect house for the God of All Nations.

The wind was cold, but it was an altogether pleasant day.