There I was told that God was everywhere and saw everything, and I imagined God as a series of transparent shower curtains embedded with multitudinous fish eyes, moving in every wind. At night I’d kneel by my bed and beg for a sign of His reality. But God was silent, at least in the forms that I expected Him to speak. Until Saturday, when I would ride my bike to green fields bordering a stream and lie heart-side down in the mossy grass, letting the green energy rise up into me. There, I had an inkling of a wholeness beyond the logic of my family. I didn’t have to work for it. All I had to do was put myself in a position to receive. Green things continued to feed what I called my soul long after I abandoned any hope of ever seeing the luminous fish eyes of God waving in the transparent wind. I worshiped holy water and holy dirt long before I called it prayer.
There was nothing green in the hospital room.
– excerpted from The Art of Dying by Katy Butler. published in the April 2014 issue of The Sun.