Conflict

Comfortably drifting back into the past, he tells me his stories and a large smile brightens his face.

He reminisces emotionally about what was once power and influence, royalty and awe.

A time when miracles and inspiration were frequent and revealed.
When blessings and advice gushed without restraint.

Moments when the tears shook the world and caused thousands to cry along.
When the songs elevated man to a different plane, carrying him above the mundane.

An era of teachings and insights which clarified all queries.
Of talks and proclamations, demands and promises.

A generation that stood by the threshold anxiously awaiting the cross over.
That understood; too much is not enough.

I interject.
“What about today”?
“Does the study, the dancing, the blind faith, do they all not impress you”?

“The cynical laughs. The depressed whispers. The hateful commentary, is it there where you place your hopes”?

“True, ambiance is lacking and fanaticism is a turn off.
But I have found my spot and at times, when I search deep enough, the message emanates clearly. Even friends tell me they too get caught in the fervor.”

He tightens his lips and shakes his head. I am not privileged to a reply.
But within his disapproval he is not too disappointed. He knows how quickly I can change my mind.