Added into the view of you standing next to superman was the sight of a world ignited by holy spirit halos over the heads of parishioners genuflecting. And despite your heroes best attempts to hold your head together, it popped, and all of your untidy digressions moved to different cities and painted graffiti on the faces of tall buildings…
Perhaps a cup of tea, or a conviviality with new philosophers might undo your resonating history of a T.V. playing reruns on an altar, or by answering an ad in a newspaper, or by placing a call to your favorite saint recalling them from their vacations, you might somehow restore a bit of dignity to the hope scenes embedded in your memory.
As a young one, pie eye searching the sky for raindrops because you were thirsty, it was perfectly acceptable to want to splash in the waters of Jesus, to have a heightened desire for his truth, and to gurgle the words of priest as approximations of what god might of meant, by repeating in a group, what was written.
Meanwhile back at the seance what is required is soft wax to mold a better dignity, vestments older than a child’s clothing, and a rustling wind to pull back grandmas gingham curtains, and might I suggest deposing superman, or sending him on an endless errand, or better yet, perhaps you could realize the calm and tranquility of fallibility.