When I read the Gospel about Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey and a donkey’s colt, I imagine that Jesus is riding sidesaddle on the donkey with His feet on the colt.
When Abraham has a vision of the smoking brazier and the flaming torch, I always imagine that the brazier has two skewers sticking out of it, upon which marshmallows or cocktail olives are roasting. If I reverently try not to imagine the skewers they appear anyway, more forcefully.
When the AT&T phone-answering robot foleys in little typing noises during pauses, I visualize it as a shiny metal nuts-and-boltsy looking android with fake lips and plastic eyeballs at a computer with a head set, tap-tap-tapping with uncanny jointed robot fingers, talking into the head set with a gnawing robot jaw, and for some reason wearing a green knit sweater vest and a bow tie. And nothing else.
When Nehemiah tells everyone to “Eat the fat and drink sweet wine,” I picture a table laden with pitchers of Hawaiian Punch, the fat cut off of pork chops, and slabs of lard and crackling. I don’t even know what crackling looks like, but I imagine it looks like shiny oily barnacles.
When someone posts a “reaction” to my posts on Facebook, I imagine them freezing in a pose and making an accompanying vocal sound, like Kabuki theater. When they post a heart, I imagine them clutching folded hands to their breastbone and saying “heart” in a sickly sweet voice. When they post a frown, I imagine them furrowing their brows and saying “mmmmm.” When they post a crying face, I imagine that they cry real tears and sob unmanfully through firmly pursed lips. When they post a surprised face, I imagine they widen their eyes and constrict their mouth into a tiny “o” until their face looks like a bowling ball, and say “Ooooooooh.”
When I read the poem “Jack and Jill,” I imagine that Jack is wearing an elaborate gold and jeweled crown. This breaks when he tumbles down the hill at the end.
When I pray “deliver us from evil,” I imagine God the Father picking someone up by the collar, stuffing them into an envelope and slapping on a large postage stamp.
When I read about David’s head being anointed with oil, I imagine him kneeling solemnly while Samuel pours about a gallon of cold salad oil over his head, and his brothers laugh at him.
When I watch Charlie Brown cartoons, I know full well that the adults’ voices are provided by a trombone with a mute, but I never think of it this way. I think that every adult in Charlie Brown’s world has a hideous monster head made of the bell of a trombone, with a mute stuck in it.
I don’t wish to be disillusioned about any of this, mind you, just mentioning.
(image via pixabay)
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