The seventh day. Sabbath day, the day of reposing according to the Old Testament. The Ten Commandments.
A baptismal font, large as a bathtub, behind a stage. Worn out curtains in front. The smell of stale smoke. Bags of cement where water once stood in the old bathtub. Windows only contacting sky, too high to see anything of the streets below. The church organ taken away, leaving an emptiness behind the stage balcony above.

Ik stond in de verlaten kerk. Stof, planken en vuilniszakken. Somber en kaal. Het armoedig licht van twee kanten aan weerszijden van het podium. Te weinig om op de grond nog schaduwen te werpen. 
De jazzclub had me uitgenodigd 'iets' te doen met het tijdelijk ongebruikte podium in de grote zaal. Opruimen leek een goed begin. Daarna zouden mijn dieren volgen, met hun diverse fysieke hulpmiddelen. Stokken, rollators en looprekken. Ik was de verzameling al enige tijd daarvoor begonnen en had een 'ziekenhuis-eiland' in gedachten gehad. 
Maar een 'sanatorium-podium' moest ook wel gaan.
Ik was net afgestudeerd en blij met elk podium dat zich aandiende.

Invalid. A bit poor as an artwork. That would be my sanatorium. In the appearance of the residents, but also in the end result. I didn't really succeed with the island that was supposed to become a podium. A finger exercise on scale, that's what it became. I dragged and cleared and thought of the church that was no longer a church. Where had the church gone with its fellowship? I looked them up, and read about beliefs and prophecies and how the bathtub had actually been used. The baptism symbolic for the union with Christ. And Advent was about his arrival. Then, and in the future. He would return to earth and live among us. That was the core of the church, from which the community had moved. Not even that long ago.
I moved my animals, added a few more, and hung new curtains alongside the bathtub. A large red H to denote the current destination. Something about a hospital, a sanatorium, a place to be sick and recover from things. That was what the furry residents did there, who had arrived by then, and at the same time they were kind of on vacation. Suitcases, an umbrella, a lounger. Since I initially headed for an island, I already collected this stuff, for a temporary permanent residence. A temporary permanent state of being.
A ceaseless recovery from our pains and misfortunes. Constant change, constant recovery. Merged with their tools for moving through life, keeping straight, or just hang on. A liquor bottle, a blindfold, a piece of wood that keeps you peddling or afloat, depending the circumstances.

Komt er een wederopstanding? Dat weet ik niet. 
Wel weet ik dat ik ze dagelijks om me heen zie.
"Alles, bezield en onbezield, zal verklaren dat God liefde is."
Misschien. Maar liefde, die zie ik ook.