A postcard

Dear Father McAlister

Yes that’s a star fish on my head. You know, those five fingered flesh lumps you were so eager to call ‘nonsense’ and ‘propaganda’.

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Meditating with the Buddha

Outside a building, just a little apart from the rest of the temple, I spied two pairs of empty shoes. From within came a throaty singing so familiar to this place, and the harsh beat of a steel drum. My curiosity was peaked, and so, cautiously, I slipped off my own shoes and stepped inside.

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Beneath the Buddha

There’s something in the statues eyes, in the way they aren’t looking down at me but rather down at himself, as though thinking. It tells me this is for the now, for the me, sitting here today, not some historical remanent of when religion was a booming, all powerful business.

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