Sunday, November 2, 2008
A very wet Sunday. Watching the church goers isn’t nearly as interesting when the weather is bad because they all huddle into coats and umbrellas and you can’t catch their eye and whisper ‘I know what you did last night’ and watch the squirm with embarrassment and see the unabsolved sin eating away at their soul.
Except for Mrs. Caruthers. I’ve mentioned her before, I think. She used to be a school teacher in the days when they wore pinafore dresses and horn-rimmed glasses and walked around the classroom rapping the girls on their knuckles with a wooden ruler.* Now she lives in a two bedroom bungalow on Cherry Tree Hill, just around the corner from Kali, actually. She seems positively proud of her sin,** possible the worst in the book.
She worships another God.
She doesn’t see it that way. Buddhism is a way of the spirit and she sees herself moving closer to God through it, not further away. Even Maisy, her half-blind elderly cat seems less inclined to chase wild animals because of it.
She can see me, too. She knows what I am and it doesn’t scare her.
I think that scares me, just a little bit.
*and the teachers weren’t much better.
**which is a sin in itself