A Working Man’s Prose: A Sunday Night’s Thought

It rained. And the streets were wet but the afternoon sun came through the clouds to make the roads glisten. I can think of literally a thousand times when I have seen this before. I can think of the emotional background from when the afternoon looked this way.
And Sunday? Well, Sunday is more like a half-day to me. It is a day that’s partly a day off and partly a day of rest. It’s a day that’s partly holy or God-like with the streets filled with people in their Sunday bests and church goers. And, it’s a day that’s partly cut short in preparation for the work week ahead.

I am not a church goer but I can see and feel the specialized regard that is dedicated or declared for a day of observance. I am not one for organized religion. However, I do have a belief system and therefore, I do appreciate the calm reveries of stained glass windows and the offerings of people turning to one another and saying, “Peace be with you.” This used to be responded with, “And also with you,” but my time since my last mass is distant and times have changed. Now, the updated response is, “And also with your spirit.”

There was a Sunday which I remember. This was after a mass and near Palm Sunday. I was invited along to a pancake breakfast at a nearby church. I was not part of the church crowd. However, since I was part of a team who cleaned the church, I was invited to eat.
And I like to eat . . .

I saw people smiling. I watched people share and feed one another. I learned about a story that depicted the difference between heaven and hell in which hell was defined as a room with huge bowl and all of the prisoners were to stir the bowl, which was filled with food but the spoons given to the prisoners were too long for them to feed themselves. They were thin and emaciated, starving and in misery.

I was told that heaven is a similar room. However, the members of heaven used the same spoons and everyone was fed and happy. I was told that they were healthy because they learned how to feed each other. Heaven is giving and hell is selfish.

I take this into consideration now with the world as it is and us as we are. I think about the selfish, self-centeredness that we see around us. I think about the appeals of social media. I think about the cries for equality and the proof of inequality. I think about the so-called long spoons we’ve been given in life and how we have often failed to feed each other.

I can see why people shut down or close themselves off. I can see why stigmas exist or how sexuality is exploited. This is true beyond the typical social media platforms.
This is true in professional platforms as well.
For instance, two people achieve something great. One is commercially beautiful and the other is mid-ranged to average in looks. Both post their equally great accomplishments on a social media platform. Which of the two do you think would be celebrated most?
The pretty? Or the average?

I have seen people achieve huge milestones and post this in their professional forum with little to almost no attention. Yet, I have witnessed people whose achievements are relatively smaller or less-than and due to their physical appeal, everyone seems to notice.

I suppose this is why I’ve always appreciated the rain. I suppose the wet streets and the glistening roads beneath the glowing street lamps are enough to allow my attention to pivot elsewhere.
And I can rest. I can take it easy or listen to the sound of raindrops as they pitter-patter on my rooftop.

I tell you that I don’t mind the rain. I don’t mind the summer storms that pour down to settle the dust of our crazy lives. I don’t mind the quietness of a gray sky because to me, I say that perhaps this is a sign from someone or something that tells us to relax. Maybe this is Mother Earth telling us to hush.

It rained yesterday and the ground soaked up the wetness. Soon enough, the grass will be green. Soon enough, the red-breasted robins will be around.
Soon enough, the days will grow longer and the nights will be warmer. 
Soon enough, the street fairs will reopen and places like downtown, New York City, or the cobblestone streets will see a slight return to life.
The parks will regain their seasonal spirit. Maybe the outdoor festivals can resume and once more, music can take hold of us (so we can dance).

Ah, but Sundays.
There’s something magical and yet, introspective; something peaceful and yet, something changing and altering as we prepare for the upcoming week.

I have friends who have recently retired. Some have decided to move south where the palm trees sway and the beaches are always open. I think I could do that too.
Well, not financially but more so imaginatively. I could see me someplace where the sands are white and the winds are calm. I suppose it rains there too, but in cases like this, Sunday would only be Sunday and nothing else would be pressing.

Come to think of it, I heard a story about a famous writer. He bought an island with his money. He would wake up in the morning, have some fresh fruit and then he would write for a while. Then he would go fishing for a while. Then he would have some lunch, a massage and once again go back to fishing or writing or whatever else inspired him. He would have another massage and some dinner so he could write some more and then retire for the evening.

I think I could do this too.
Perhaps, not financially but imaginatively, I could do this in a heartbeat. 

The sun is on its way which means daybreak is about to happen. I have to go. Not sure if it will rain or not, but either way, Monday awaits, and so does my life.

Before I go though, let me close my eyes and think of turquoise water or blue lagoons, a little boat, a white sun, blue sky and my tanned skin. Let me breathe this in and take in the essence.
Let me smell the air and feel the calm drift of a boat and a life at its leisure.
I might not have this financially, but imaginatively, it’s all mine.

Oh, and peace be with you
and also with you
and also with your spirit.

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