The daily ride to the Tummy Temple was as it is every day. As I tied up my pony, I survey the surroundings. It is a place where the sky can be observed without the obstacles of trees and light post. Here I can see if the movement of the clouds match the local weather predictions. I can also look around and see if there are any strange activities on the asphalt before entering and joining the congregation.
I find a zip cart and through the Star Trek door enter the produce nave checking out the melons and the soft, warm buns from the bakers. Wandering up and down the aisles, wondering why people aren’t singing from their hymnals instead of checking for a text on their communication device hoping for deliverance.
The Tummy Temple is just a sample of humanity. The diversity of mankind mingling together in a search of their daily bread. Other than the deacons wearing blue aprons, we all look alike. Some young, many old, groups or confused singles. Some appear to be families while others seem to be cohabitating.
There are no obvious signs of who is protestant or who is Jewish. Who is an accountant? Who is a mechanic? Who is an IT code writer? Who has a contagious disease? Who is having a problem with their personal relationship? Who is packing?
With all the daily news of gatherings being mowed down by
one who doesn’t appear any different than anyone else until… Makes being
observant a survival skill.
Someone raises their voice in aisle 16, turn around and pick up the frosted flakes another day. If someone seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time checking the ingredients, take a left and move on.
Even if you can’t find the toothpicks, they will be there tomorrow or the day after. No reason to cause a fuss.
Putting my pony at rest and hydrating from the ride, take a brief. Today you were not the target. Today you survived humanity. Today the tragedy happened somewhere else.
Tomorrow never knows.
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