Up the road a way is a monastery with a beautiful, peaceful garden inside it's walls that is open to the public. I found it recently - the garden, I always knew about the monastery - and I've been going there lately to meditate and pray because it's so very quiet and serene.
Yesterday evening, I was leaving and Michael comes flying up in that flustery, scattered way of his. He's wearing skinny jeans in a strange rose color, an eye-rapin' bright yellow shirt, and an eggplant (deep purple) hipster jacket (he is SUCH a gay Mexican...). He wants to know where I'm off to.
"The monastery."
"What for? You can't go in there."
I explain about the garden. I stress the words 'quiet' and 'serene'.
"I want to go, too."
"No. You are anything but quiet, and peace of mind doesn't know your address. This is for me, Michael." He pouts. He is a purplish, pouting fool.
"Okay - tell me why you want to go sit in the garden with me. Are you telling me you want to meditate? to pray?"
He hums, he rolls his eyes, he scratches his head (ever so little so as not to spoil the carefully gel'd unstyled-and-wild look), he gives me his best Tallulah Bankhead sigh.
"Maybe I wanna pray. I don't know. I'm a Catholic, you know. I should go there before you do 'cuz you're a Mormon and everyone knows Mormons are evil cult people doing Satans' work on earth."
"Are you trying to persuade me to let you come with me, or to bludgeon you with my cane? I can go either way, it's up to you..."
Well, I let him come with me. I was surprised. He sat a good distance away, and was very quiet and sat calmly - not easy for hyperactive Michael - until I got up about an hour later and motioned I was going home.
"That was nice. I liked that, DuhVeeDuh. I think we need to do this again."
Hmmm - I've either witnessed a small miracle, or the monks pump aerosol tranquilizers into the air there...
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