Begging Bowl Time

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There is simply this. Nothing else has ever happened. I knocked back some low-fat eggnog about ten minutes ago, but that was then. This is now.

The tree limbs are scrawling help against the January sky. Some of them so scrawny as to look like still-born kittens.

I drove to the bookstore in order to stave off the insanity of this gray-filled day. Cars were jumbling up at stop lights as if their drivers had not been behind the wheel in years. I crept into the parking lot. Turned off my lights and took my umbrella into the store.

Once inside a group of ghosts were huddled in the Starbucks part of the store. I am quite sure no one knew what was going on. They had been summoned together by a higher plan than their own.

I looked at books in a desultory fashion, selecting 3 and a crossword puzzle book. Found some cookies half-price and left.

It doesn’t seem to matter what happens on January 2 if you have been housebound for the last few weeks as I have been.

God went on vacation or hiatus and left me to my own devices.

I pulled into the credit union and went in to get a 2015 date book. Drove home in a downpour consisting of stale karma and cookie-crumbled clouds.

There is no such thing as the spiritual path or chance or destiny or bookmarks or crowbars. There is just what unfolds like a ribbon of bad road when you survive with your life.

I love writing like this. God is snickering; I am sure He knows more about this than He is letting on.

I love you all but some of you need to sweep the cobwebs, sell the house and go on a long magical mystery tour. Maybe I talk about myself.

Vicki Woodyard

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