By Jesse Greist
September 24, 2023

Some unspecified amount of time ago, in an undisclosed location there was a town called Wimachimaligned. The people of Wimachimaligned went about their business every day, with the farmers farming, the smiths smithing, the builders building, the lawyers lawyering and the musicians working 2nd day jobs. Now Wimachimaligned was muchi like any other town but it had one feature that made it different. In the center of town where some other towns might have a green or municipal building, Wimachimaligned had a line. Yes that’s right, it had a line, a deep straight impression drawn right into the concrete. The line was there to show everyone where it was. What I mean by that is that everyone in Wimachimaligned knew where the line was and knew not to cross it. If you crossed the line, you were considered out of line and would have to be brought back into line through a certain covenantal process that involved everyone in Wimachimaligned circling around the line crosser and gently guiding them back across. It was a bit like collectively guiding a lost boat safely back into the harbor.
This was all well and good until the day a new mayor was elected and all gathered to hear this new mayor’s inaugural speech. The people came from wide and far, some out of curiosity, some out of a profound sense of skepticism, and some because they were “between gigs right now” but when they gathered in the center of town, the people (and let’s see if you can help me out with this one) let out a collective gasp *
There in the center of town, the new mayor had set up a lectern ready to deliver an inaugural speech, but the mayor had set up on the other side of the line. “Oh mayor”, the people cried, “you’ve crossed the line! On your first day in office! Let us gently, lovingly bring you back!” The people reached out, ready to help the poor mayor, but they froze when the next words came out of the mayor’s mouth. “I’m right where I need to be” the mayor said. The line is not. So, in my first official act as mayor of Wimachimaligned, I am moving the line over here. And with that, several members of the public works staff came forward, covered over the old line, and drew a new one. It seemed the mayor was back on the right side of the line.
“A ha!” Said one of the farmers. “I always knew the line was in the wrong place. The mayor’s right! In fact, I’m declaring that the line should be moved to just the other side of the last thing I posted on social media!”
Well I’m moving the line just beyond that thing I said to my distant relative last Thanksgiving, said another Wimachimalignedian.
Yeah, well I always thought the line was too far in the first place, so I’m moving it back to the doorway of the local schoolhouse, said a “concerned parent”.
Well, the mayor began to shout. The farmers began to disagree. The teachers began to create rubrics, but one thing was for sure: No one knew where the line was anymore!
This went on for some time. The line moved so many times that everyone started to have very clear opinions about where it was. Some say that the line has been lost forever. But those who take time out to sit with their thoughts before speaking, those who believe in the power of community to tow lost boats into harbor, might just notice that the public workers who covered up the original Wimachimaligned line did so with sand and now every time it rains, every time the wind blows, every time a bell rings at the start of a UU service, you just might notice all those other lines washing away while the line co-created through years of practice, of compromise, of love, slowly reveals itself anew.