Chapter 16 spring evening

We head for the front door.I felt a surge of guilt.I used to keep rituals too, but have ignored them for decades.All this while, I haven't done a single thing that my faith requires me to do.Ah, I have an exciting life, traveling a lot and meeting interesting people.But none of my daily routines of exercising, scanning the news, and checking e-mail are for me, and none of them are bound by tradition.What am I connected to?with my favorite tv show?With the morning paper?My job requires flexibility.Ritual is the exact opposite of elasticity. What's more, I think religious customs, although warm, are old-fashioned things, like typing on carbon paper.To be honest, one of the most religious things in my routine is visiting the Archmage.And I've seen him live in the office and at home, saw him laugh, and answered questions.I've seen him in shorts.

I saw him more this spring than I would normally see him in three years combined.But I still don't get it.I was one of the disappointed congregation, why did he choose me to be a part of his death?I'm afraid I've let him down while he was still alive. We got to the door. One more question, I said. There is also a question︱ㄣ︱ question, he sang: mention it at the door︱ㄣ︱ Why don't you become cynical? He paused. In my line of work, there is no room for cynicism. But the average person has so many flaws.They ignore rituals, they ignore beliefs they even ignore you.Don't you get tired of trying again and again?

He looked at me with sympathetic eyes.Maybe he realizes that what I'm really asking is: Why me? Let me answer you with a story.He said: There is a salesman, understand?He knocked on a door.The door answerer said: I don't need anything today. The next day, the salesman came again. Leave far away.The other party said. On the third day, the salesman came again. The man shouted: It's you again!I warned you!He flew into a rage and spit in the salesman's face. The salesman smiled, took out his handkerchief, wiped his drool, looked at the sky and said: It must be raining. That's what faith is, Mitch.When people spit on your face, you say it must be raining.But you will still come back tomorrow.

he smiles. So, you'll be back too, right?But maybe not Ming︱ㄥ︱ㄥ︱ㄥ︱day He spread his arms as if waiting for the next package.For the first time in my life, instead of running away, I did the exact opposite of running away. I hug him. We loosen each other very quickly.A little clumsy.But I felt the protruding bone in his back and felt his bearded cheek against mine.After a short hug, I felt that this tall man who worked for God seemed to be shrunk down to the size of an ordinary person. In retrospect, I think, at that very moment, the request to write an obituary became something else.