22. Free At Last!

It sometimes feels that way when I’m sent to the village hardware store to buy a part for Bouncer  (Brother Bilhild of Thuringia), our resident handyman.  Bouncer has seldom left the monastery over the years and says he’d feel conspicuous, even though he’s allowed to have on jeans and a jacket in the village, rather than  wear his robe and suffer the people who would accost him.  

When we put on our monk robes, tourists always want us to pose with them and of course their little  Shih Tzu, which I have unkindly referred to as  a drop-kick dog.  “Just one more picture, Father, if you don’t mind!”   Oh, yes, we're often called "Father,"  because I guess people assume we would not be going around in such a get-up unless we had the powers of the priesthood!  I’d be shortening my lifespan if I explained to  everyone who asked for my blessing that I’m a Brother, not a priest.  But I’ve given folks a priest’s blessing for the hell of it, and without explanation, rather than waste my breath confessing I am about to commit  a mortal sin and not so many centuries ago I'd be burned at the stake for my deed.   I’m amazed that people feel so free to just come right up and demand my attention, though of course I freely give it.  One woman shocked me when she dropped down on her knees before me on the sidewalk in front of the bakery on Main Street and pleaded for a blessing.  
 
"Get up, woman," I pleaded.  "You'll be arrested for soliciting!"  She left me quickly.

Half way down the mountain on my last trip into town for a toilet part,  I decided to instead go to Woodstock.  If I wanted to,   I could wear my robe and fit right in with the crowd in that village.  (I often do.)  I might even be asked to run for mayor.  I like Woodstock, but you have to look between the forest of tourists to see the residents, some of whom are not all that loveable or even presentable.  A lady I met in the drop-in center up on Rock City Road told me she lived in town.  “If you sit late at night on the Green,” she said, “you’ll see mostly residents drift by.  It’s like sitting by the sea and watching a shipwreck.  I imagine myself on the shore as the castaways float in,” she continued, “all kinds of people, some haggard, some spiffy, some low,  some pretty high, some even looking the part, all wet for no particular reason.  It’s as though they pull themselves up off the sand and pass by you on their way inland to the Red Cross shelter.”

But yesterday morning I went to the Saugerties hardware store.  I guess I’m just a creature of habit.  Plus, the folks there seem to understand my lack of understanding.  And I need to confess this:  Sara lives in Saugerties.  I'm sorry, but there's no reason why I shouldn't know what she looks like, is there? 

David Ogden - Lighthouse Song