We are all alone at night. Even if there is someone close, as we drift off to our subconscious, we are alone. In the moments in time before you are asleep, 
what are those last thoughts before you drift off? Right now, I’m staring at the ocean. I’m thinking about the first bloody Europeans who saw this tropical paradise, before they set about claiming, colonizing, and ruining. It was a larger world back then and after months of nothing but water, it must have been glorious.
As I experience St. Thomas (US Virgin Islands), I see poverty and luxury. There is little in between. I see no natural enterprises that are not related to the service of tourism. And I feel a subtle resentment just below the surface from the natives. I don’t blame them. Though I believe I live modestly, the contrast between their lives and mine is embarrassing. This foreshadows the mainland US where I think the oligarchy intend a permanent underclass to clean their pools, mow their yards, and work in their restaurants. It is one reason why health care and education are only for the rich. Keep us scraping to survive so we don’t have the energy or courage to object. I guess they have forgotten the French Revolution. Ask Marie Antoinette how that attitude worked out.
I admit I am not a relaxed or enthusiastic traveler. I can’t wait to return home and see my dog. I’m the person who goes to a tropical paradise like St. Thomas and thinks about taxation without representation as a euphemism for colonization – which I consider a heinous sin. I feed the feral cats by the house and I would take them home if I could. But I also look at the vast water views and count myself fortunate to get re-centered. This beats the hell out of the smells that attack me when I head underground for commuter rail from center city to the suburbs.
And then, because I like thinking about religion, I think about God. When I think about the god that was force-fed on indigenous peoples along with brutal imperialism, I am sick and ashamed. This is one of many reasons I have resolutely denied a personal god for so long. But then it comes to the still of the night. The birds are quiet, the music in the house has been silenced, the ocean on the rocks is consistent and quiet from where I sit. It’s full dark with only moonlight. Not even tiny lights on the uninhabited islands dotting the horizon. The closest one is for sale for $30 million. Who owns an island? It seems sacrilegious.
Bill Maher is my favorite atheist. I imagine having robust discussions with him, though I know he just dismisses religion as silly and doesn’t really like these conversations. But he keeps me honest. How would I describe a good religion? You know, one that doesn’t hurt others but still enriches one’s own life?
Usually religion is about dogma and theology. These might be metaphysical and complex
, but I think of little comfort in the still of the night when spirituality matters more. I would say in the still of the night I imagine a life force outside of myself. I must assign it female energy, or I’m just walking away. Then I imagine a great kindness. A kindness that surrounds me and comforts me in the very same way I work to comfort and protect my little dog. I would not mind having this for myself. So, if you’re out there, Mother God, surround me with kindness. Please give me a feeling that I matter. That is enough. Because the looking out for myself, helping others, sorting out right from wrong, well, I think that’s my job. So, if you could spare some kindness, I will be grateful. -J.B.
