Yesterday’s morning mass, two strangers: One in gray/military outfit, shaven hair, ready for battle; the other in plaid pajama pants, holding a notebook filled with scribbles. It’s cover, sunflowers.
The day will come when one has already switched places – to make peace on the fields of wars or in one’s mind of insanity. Either way, both have said their prayers to the Son of god nailed upon the cross.
In his glory, praises were sung as he hung as blood atonement for the sins of the world. Of body and of mind, he suffered death, was buried, and rose again. A never-ending theme of life and death.
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