Turning the corner on Crosby this morning, off in the distance there was a sound. From afar it sounded like the unified chanting of some group of religious zealots, akin perhaps to the Buddhist throat chanting I have heard an old neighbor practicing across the hall. There were high registers and low registers all harmonizing in one magnificent drone. As I came nearer it became louder and less beautiful and I realized it was from some construction tool, grinding away on the high top of a building on the corner. But for a moment it sounded like a massive devotional.
I used to be some sort of believer. I am proud in some way of my old believing. To have gone through that and come out the other side is for me a kind of feat. I know some who say this means I never really believed and others who say I have never really stopped. Neither statement is correct nor incorrect, just assumptions made by someone else.
2 comments:
i think you have your good days and your bad, spiritually speaking of course. i do too, but that's just me assuming for the both of us.
I have a peice of plywood sitting in my office I found down on Suffolk. It has a little squarins bit painted roughly white and the word "life" painted even rougher over the rest.
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