Lately I’ve been trying to loosen up and make a mess: fast collages, illegible notes in the middle of the night, and the inky smudges of a left-hander. There is no logic yet, but the scenery tilts toward the religious.

I want to believe in God but don’t know how. Some say it’s just a matter of making a decision, even inventing your own higher power if needed. But I require proof. A burning bush. A voice that shakes the heavens. Imagine that: demanding God prove itself to me rather than the other way around.

Meanwhile, the nation is preparing for an eclipse tomorrow. They’re playing countdown clocks on the news, and astronomers and astrologers are getting equal attention. Words like gamma, perigee, and orbital plane blur with talk about realigning our spiritual nodes and dramatic upheavals in our karmic journeys. Arkansas and Maine have declared states of emergency because of the traffic, and in rural Illinois, a Super 8 motel is charging $949 for the night. So many energies are colliding around this grand and rare event, possibly the last event, to pull everyone into a moment of shared reality before we go our separate ways.

Then again, if I look carefully and squint a little, maybe the bush is always burning.