The airports had been swamped so

  the special priest was late.  For months a little group of people willing to learn had been preparing for this.  To learn more about how religions entreat with the supernatural.

  "Would you say The Dragon in their book is really metaphoric of a nation?" The woman held a spiral notebook up in front of herself so she could see her questions.  It looked like a paltry shield.  "Who's she?" A serious Seminary student wondered out loud at a gaggle of people not looking as familiar as they had in the meetings.

  "Please." An aide for the priest tried to create a space around the man.  The priest greeted another woman in the European way of "kissing" both cheeks.  A man in an Irish sweater asked which suitcase he should be looking for on the baggage claim.

  A taller-than-most man explained, "This is not really a political thing.  Not for us." The "us" was as vague as the us at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.  "There's been serious trouble at the Seminary, and

  "There has?" 

  "And this man is here to see about that." 

  "He is?" 

  "We'll be having tea at this hotel's restaurant," the tall man started passing out slips of paper with the hotel's information.  Several of the slips were not taken and flitted onto the ground amidst endless feet on the move.

  At the hotel there wasn't much to do.  An Organist was explaining how notes of sound splayed out across lines on paper could make music.  A very staunch member of the Choir stood nearby telling those within earshot, "The children always know."  Nobody asked, "Know what?"  But, a lady teacher did stumble out a little conversation about how grown ups approach these topics with children.  A Church library man who everyone knew to be very feeling made miming clown expressions about the possibility of talking.  

  "We had to settle on being deemed dirty snow." An Army Dad told the mime.  "This was before First Communion for some of them." The mime cupped his ear: willing to hear, and pulled at the air like it was a rope.

While it was important

  to understand the ideologies of the world the matters of "property" were and are critical.  In America the right to defend property was the saving grace.  Europe didn't have the same "gun rights" and was caught in a flurry of decimation to the property issues.

  For a while it was move your feet, lose your seat, mano y mano wit and arm wrestling.  Violence reported could still lead to an arrest.  And because most "petty crime" was connected to "organized crime" people lived in a constant state of being threatened and fear.  That took a toll on neighborly relations.

  "THIS.  IS.  WAR."  Said a woman who'd been hacked in half.  It wasn't until a couple years later that she would say anything besides.  By then she was quick walking on her arms and had had time to shorten her furniture.  Even almost chuckled at having two file cabinets instead of a tall four drawer.  We were still young and hadn't met too many people with such strong determination.  Some of her humor had a lingering bitterness so our Parish priest had the nuns dig deep to find the right Saint to take on for Confirmation.  For Catholics, taking a Confirmation Name is adding more tool to toolbox.  The Saints are for extra prayers and are example of how other humans have gotten through human condition. 

  She'd survived the night "it" happened by climbing a tree.  In our American area at the time violence was as normal for some people as breathing air.  And the ways of violence were fueled by drugs and sex and poverty and a citizenry falling by the wayside.  It was D.C. making the decisions, not us.  It was the most violent winning the battles, not us.  It was a long way from this is war to let's at least stop hurting each other.

  It seemed like many who were in agreement about this.  It went along with the guiding principle that God gave Jesus the job of righteous judgment, not us.  But then as we moved from being a close-knit group to encountering the world at large it became clear that there were many not in agreement about this.  Differing religions and cultures were just as "faithful".

  The woman's head split apart from the woman's body by virtue of an unbending board.  "Exceptional times," a man remarked and then exited the roller derby.  A sleek car's door was opened for him.  And his dark socks and tassled dress shoes could be seen paused on the concrete before being swooshed away from "the perfect crime".  No accountability necessary.

  "He'll get his.  He's the Devil's Man now." A more modern nun in gym clothes remarked in a thick Scottish accent.  It would take months to locate the board with a sword embedded in one side.  It was still stained with the woman's blood.

The sudden diversity at local

  made for interesting conversation especially in regards to What is this all about.

  It took people who'd been studying to help explain why buying a hamburger at a McDonald's was okay on a Wednesday, but not so good on a Sunday.  People shared what textbooks and crossword puzzles they had with them during longer and longer waits to get back to cities boobytrapped and bloodied by "slaughters".

  "Ideologies as

  "Say, theories of society

  "And government

  "That form the basis of

  "Political

  "Yes, political

  "Programs?

  "It was pogroms," an interviewer of survivor commented in all the talking.

  What we'd witnessed, a bunch of us, was described as "a democratic orgy", "nothing", "happens every season", and "an indescribable hell".  A cross-section of road, train, and airspace had been fencing us all in.  People were robbed, beaten, raped, children taken, and terrorized.  Outside "le pen" seemed like an ordinary day.

"Your problem is

   that this isn't a Communism." One man had asked another man, "Can you tell me what the problem is?"  There'd been narrow margin between groups walked-back from warring against each other and pockets of enclave.  Limited resource flow had caused hostage taking and some peering into what had become death and destruction situation in our American town.

  "Why can't I get anyone?" A woman asked a public service walkie talkie.  "The chore aid is on hold."  Trash was starting to mount up on front lawns without compound-fencing.  A "witch doctor" had performed another "surgery".  And without definitive on the vote counting and a president with health issues, citizens were commenting in lieu of making investments, stuff like this feels like a bazaar, and, here's a quarter call someone who cares.  The quarter saved more than a few lives when someone could get past flesh-eating dogs guarding drugs and sex for sale and contact the authorities. 

  "Captain Wallace, why are those people sitting on shelving?" A person in a Star Trek costume asked a rabbit.  The answer was complicated and unfolded through "channels" over a few days.  It essentially had to do with "troops" and "homeland".

He didn't have his legs yet.

  So we kept stashing him.  A lot of our generation's people were still high school and college age.  And were on the poor side.  Certainly most of us hadn't seen field hospital surgery.  Nor health care that wasn't okay.  Advocates and friends and neighbors were the ones saying, that's NOT okay.

Back then

   we had some serious issues.  For one thing the Korean War had left some armed forces in various states of suspension.  That translated to chain of commands being potentially compromised.  And regular citizens holding piles of potential evidence in crime that had been underreported.

   For people of my parents' generation there was a formidable loss to overcome in losing the "greatest generation".  Whether or not people were actively acknowledging that didn't matter as much as the effects of loss.  Other civilizations and cultures had had similar experience.