It’s been a damp, wet morning — the kind of weather which puts me out of sorts if I have to go out, when I would rather curl up with a book. Yet it was bracing walking to the bus stop in a light breeze chilled by a drizzle. The trees were gently shaking their heads in the breeze and the drizzle as I got off the bus and walked across the open field and past the shops and the eateries to the temple.
The breeze had died by the time I came out of the temple. The trees were still, as if holding their breath, as I retraced my steps across the field under a vast, grey sky. I walked into the train station and rode the escalator to the underground platform. Within five minutes, a train pulled in. The seats were fully occupied, young parents with babies on their laps or strollers enjoying a weekend outing.
Three stations later, I was out on the street again, walking to another temple. This was more crowded. I still had some time to kill before going to the church. So I stopped at a little Indian restaurant. As I sipped my coffee at a kerbside table, there was the rumble of thunder. But the rain came down only in a drizzle, so I walked to the bus stop and went to the church. Though no service was on at the time, there was the usual Saturday crowd.
When I came out of the church, the drizzle had stopped, but the road was slick with rain, disproportionately wet, as if the sky had been crying buckets. Raindrops still dripped from the trees as I got on the bus and came home.
The weather has cleared now. The sky is no longer grey. And, like James Brown, "I am feeling good"! A trip to the temple or the church can be so soothing. I feel at peace. There was a time when I lived near a temple and could walk there every day. That’s no longer possible. So I cherish every visit. One can pray to God anywhere but a house of worship offers a special solace.