August 29, 2009


Crossing ... used to be a simple word for me. Crossing streets, crossing t's, crossing my eyes. Today's funeral reminds me that I cross myself when I say 'amen.' Head, chest, right, left. No, that is not written wrong. It is how I cross myself. Maybe I am dyslexic, maybe I never learned the right way, maybe that was the way I was taught by my Episcopalian minister. Head, chest, right, left. I do it every time I pass a dead animal on the road before calling the animal control number for the folks who clear the car-struck bodies of deer. If the road is no too busy and the animal involved is a crow or a squirrel, I will stop and pick up the body myself, wrap it in a towel I keep handy and take it home to bury. So I feel strange watching so many people do the gesture a different way and yet it is just as valid as mine is. Probably more correct, too. I can accept it. I hope they (that amorphous 'they') can accept my way as well.
May all beings know peace.

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