At the museum, I stand before an ancient statue of the Buddha, his hands and nose long ago broken off. Vandals did the same to statues of the church’s saints, breaking off ears, fingers and toes of any unguarded statue of a saint … even a figure of Jesus! Perhaps it’s not vandals but faithful followers who needed a keepsake or remembrance. Who can say? The statues of the Buddha and Jesus and others are safe now in the museum. They look pretty good for having survived all those centuries … maybe a little worse for the wear, but so am I.
Dismissals
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The man worked hard and met his obligations. He did what was expected of him and then some. Worked. Volunteered. Went to church, sang in the choir, served on committees. Always on the go, he looked like a car with two flats and no gas. One day I saw him looking rested and refreshed. I asked, “What changed?” He said, “I was so weary I fell out of love with everything. In the silence that followed, in that still, quiet time, I heard a call to return to some things. Not all things. I’m still tired but I’m waking up.”
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A knot of people worked their way around an old man on hands and knees, patting the sidewalk. “Crazy,” said a man, pushing through. Someone said, “Shouldn’t someone call someone?” A small boy and his mother, holding hands, watched the man pat the pavement. The boy pulled away, squatted in front of the old man. “Look!” The boy pointed. The man felt about where the boy pointed and found the lens that has fallen from his eyeglasses. The man thanked the boy and, together, they fitted the lens back into the frame. They shook hands and each went his way.
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She had been writing to prisoners since prisons were invented. She wrote to prisoners in this country and prisoners in faraway lands. She instructed me, “Use good rag paper, not the cheap ditto stuff. Use a good pen, write big and bold with indelible, waterproof ink, not the smeary, dime-store ink.” What difference did it make, all this archival paper and ink? She said, “You write to one prisoner, but your letter will likely be read by a hundred. Your letter will be passed around for months and years to come, each man holding it, reading it and imagining.”
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My Dad called him “contumacious,” a three dollar word for stubborn. The man felt ill-used by everyone. He quit every filling station and grocer in town and drove to the neighboring county for gas or a bag of groceries. He treated his family the same way and there wasn’t one family member that he hadn’t written off. Some years went by and the man started back shopping on Main Street and spending time with his family. My Dad asked him, “Did everyone hereabouts finally see the light?” The man only said, “No, sir. I did. I saw the light.”
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I watched a kids’ baseball game. The players, umpires and managers all wore uniforms. There was a concession stand, electric scoreboard, pristine grass. Then laughter from a nearby field where a ragtag collection of kids played baseball without uniforms or umpires. Everyone batted until they got a hit. Everyone cheered for the batter, even the other team! They pushed a boy in a wheelchair around the bases. The least able player received the most encouragement. There were no rules I could discern … except that everyone have fun. They were having a blast … and so was I … even in my dreams.
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I asked the prisoner, “Anyone else visit you?” He replied, “Well, there’s some preachers come to talk Bible with me. I hear ‘em out and they might bring me coffee and a donut but I won’t let ‘em save me.” I asked, “You’re just set against being saved?” Billy drank coffee and ate donut. “Oh, I been saved many a time but once you been saved, those preachers figure their work’s done and never come back to just visit. Deacon, you can read me some Bible if you want but these days I need visiting more than I need saving.”
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She showed me an old check made out to her for $12.88. “Can you cash this for me? I need groceries.” I looked at the ragged check and handed her a twenty. “Pay me back when you cash that check.” I was darn sure I’d never see that twenty again, more the fool I, but a few weeks later she saw me. “I have your twenty!” I was surprised. I thanked her and turned to go but something occurred to me that had not before. I handed the twenty back to her. “Keep it for groceries. Peace be with you.”
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“Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance.” Is this saying Confucian, ancient Irish or maybe African? Google doesn’t know for sure but many have offered their own interpretation. Sampling: “If someone is uncoordinated and can’t dance, they have no business handling a weapon.” … “I’m sure you know what an angry person can do with a sword!” … “A person who can dance is probably happy and wouldn’t want to use a sword anyway.” … And this: “Anyone who cannot dance has no real appreciation for the things that the sword could destroy and would use the sword without remorse.”
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I am again reading Moby Dick. Ishmael went to the whaler Pequod to hire on as crew. The Pequod’s owner asked Ishmael why he wanted to go whaling. Ishmael replied, “To see the world.” The owner sent Ishmael forward to peer into the offing and then asked for a report of what he had seen. “Nothing but water [and] considerable horizon.” The owner then posed this vexing question: “Can’t ye see the world where you stand?” Ishmael only knew that “go a-whaling I must.” Ishmael signed the papers, having neither met Captain Ahab nor heard the name Moby Dick.
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Satan says, “Are ye not hungry? Thirsty? Are ye not weary? Would ye not rather lie about in the pleasant lounge?” I had to Google that one. Satan quotes Swiss theologian Ulrich Luz: “In the pleasant lounge, the hope of the Kingdom cannot be understood.” Satan does not want any Kingdom building on his watch. I try to stay focused but some days I fall prey and spend my time loafing about in the pleasant lounge. I am getting better, though, and I am getting wise to Satan’s tricks. It’s never easy. There’s never a moment’s rest in the wilderness.
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An adage I recall from when I was a boy: “If you put a single teaspoon of sewage into a barrel of wine, you have only a barrel of sewage.” Today, a friend shared with me a finer rendering of this ancient principle, spoken by Śāntideva, a Buddhist monk who flourished between 685 and 763 CE: All the good works gathered in a thousand ages, Such as deeds of generosity, And the offerings to the Blissful Ones – A single flash of anger shatters them.
