-Perhaps, it is like one of those moments, on a faded Sunday. When the choir sings and you would never know, if not for your friend, calling you immediately after service, to tell you how uplifting it was to be there and have the soul worship. And you can’t help but start to wonder how a soul worships and you play the mute for the remainder of the conversation, which ends with a high pitched note from ‘Hallelujah’, the choir’s gotten into him. You think about religion and it seems this fuzzy notion, even when you were a follower of something or other, and how long ago was that anyway? How is it that people fill their soul by filling their mind with the more than four dozen books from the bible or the hundred and something cantos from the Divine Comedy, or worse yet, the passages of a book about a messiah named Jesus, that fails to mention him even once. There are people who believe in the chi of the tree and that somehow, when you realize the fundamental question it passes through you and you through it, some celestial force, celestial in some nuanced understanding of what is heavenly. And your friend how does he fall to this myth of beings greater and smaller all governed by some unknown edict, perhaps, some jealous essence’s desire to be unruly and govern by emotions, but he says, or so he’s told you many times that what you believe is not of the heart, but that the hearts involved, and that it is not of the mind, yet the mind plays a part. What kind of puzzle is that, to believe, some Zen meditation question, asked for some tangent belief in Christianity? And you sit there, watch the fly buzzing, colliding with the screen on the window, a slight smile perhaps, as you fail to understand why the fly keeps pining at the window, when the door is always open, as it’s always been.
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