Now what happened yesterday, is all but gone, my mind return
to the topic at hand, many times I have stated, sometimes nice, some times not
we forget more than we think.
Truly has “God” become persona non grata?
There once was a little boy I shall call him Santo, Santo
was the son of a daughter of the street, a hustler, a prostitute. Santo was a
child who was always dirty as he wondered about the city, people noted about
him how his shaggy hair, dirty face and a small smile upon his lips, made them
laugh as he chased dogs, or played among the stables.
One day Santo noticed a few people he knew were all walking
down the street in his playful whimsical way he followed the ever growing crowd
down the street to the small church. Santo listened through the window to the
music, the sounds, the lessons.
When the service was over so as not to be seen Santo run
down and behind the church to the alley and a cross the way, there at the edge
of town was a temple, where to his amazement he saw all placed in net order,
plates of apples, of bread, and the smell of Mir.
Upon walking back towards the market and stables Santo herd
a commotion of some angered voices, he followed the sounds to the gate of the
stable, where two men he knew were waving hand and yelling at each other. One
was saying My Daughter can not marry the son of a man like yourself, you who
goes and quietly prays, The other my Son my marry has he chooses my he always
find love.
Standing there each behind a father was the Monk all dress
in white and yellow and the Priest dressed in back. To each were they trying to
quite the men, saying slow your mind and lower your voice. The men seemed as if
they did not hear nor did they care.
Santo smiles and runs back to the church where he jumped
through a window and takes a golden plate and three coins, then runs down to
the temple and there takes, two apples, a piece of bread, and the smoking pot
of Mir.
Upon his turn to the gate of the stables Santo boldly walks
between the men and lays at their feet the items he had. The prizes upon the
plate. He steps a back a step and looks at each of the men with a smile on his
face, He states “Did you forget the songs you sang or the quietness as you
prayed.”
The Monk and the Priest in a fit of rage, beat and hung
Santo for what he had to say. He is a thief, they yelled, a beggar of the
street!
Lessons seem to be missed;
Women first least you forget your nurturing.
More can be said from the least among you.
Your tithing and prayers are worthless and without reason if
you forget why you gave.
Judgments are based upon the way you see.
Damnation kills.
Chas
Peace and love what a concept!
I return you now to the wondering flowing topic did someone
kill Religion….
Nightly news….
Police have arrested a thief…..
The President is on vacations in the tropics, where the sun
is fun and the surf thunders….
Tap tap upon the glass of that monitor have you been
reading?
Chas climes of the soapbox and exits stage left……..
