The guru looked at the abbot for a long, long time, and then he said, “One of you is the messiah in disguise. But, you are all ignorant of this.”
Cricket had a gift for reaching others with her music. She could change her tune to suit her listener. She could perk you up with a bouncy melody, liven your step with a reel or jig or calm you with a hymn or ballad. That responsibility had begun to weigh cricket’s heart. Her tone became shrill.
Red roses were her favorites,
Her name was also Rose,
And every year her husband sent them,
tied with pretty bows.
The year he died,
the roses were delivered to her door.
The card said, “Be my Valentine,”
like all the years before.
“Don’t we all?” he said.
I was feeling high and mighty, successful and important, above a bum in the street, until those three words hit me like a twelve gauge shotgun.
was imagining just such a scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. “He won’t mind starting in this small body.”
The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man’s heart flowed into his. They embraced and walked away side by side.