reflection

Reflection:

  A steady rain beat on the tan Taurus as it cruised along a two-lane route on
the outskirts of Union, New Jersey. The heavy drops echoed inside, where
Matt flicked his eyes from mirror to mirror, checking for other vehicles. He rounded
a bend and saw the entrance to J.J. Waste and Carting up ahead. To the right, a dirt
road cut into the construction site he and Frankie had visited yesterday. He turned
onto it and parked behind a tall bank of thick brush that ran parallel to the two-lane.
Just fifty yards away, with a clear view of the entrance, Matt judged it to be a good
location and shut off the engine.
  He slid his hand under the seat and assured himself the .357 remained wedged
in the opening he had sliced in the carpet. Matt considered putting the weapon in the
inside pocket of his leather jacket, but decided to leave it where it was.
  Because of the rain, no construction work was being done. The assemblage of
giant machines lay idle and the huge tract of land deserted. This wasn’t the case
with Jimmy’s operation. Tank-trailers and refuse hauling trucks regularly entered
and exited the waste facility. Some roared right past him. None noticed his hiding
place. He checked his watch. It was 3:20, ten minutes until Jimmy’s expected
departure. Matt settled back in his seat and thought about Carol.
  He wondered why he had mentioned to her that he had killed a man. What
purpose did it serve? What did she represent? Some sort of confessor, some sort of
salvation from his predicament? Was he speaking to Robert through her. . . to the
dead man. . . or even to God? Maybe he was searching for an alternate way to
pray? If so, why couldn’t he just overcome his pride and speak directly to God?
  His chest throbbed and tears misted his vision. He looked up at the weeping sky.
“Please help me get through this. Forgive me for taking another man’s life. But
Jimmy is a horrible person who deserves to die. If he wasn’t so evil, no amount of
intimidation could get me to kill him. He’s a fiend who’s destroying the beautiful
home You gave us. Earth is most precious. It should be cherished by all who believe
in You. Please understand I trust my actions to be justified. Please forgive me.”
  Matt felt lighter, consoled that he had addressed the Supreme Being, Creator of
all things. This soothing state reminded him of when he was a grade school boy upon
receiving Holy Communion. With the wafer host slowly melting on his tongue, he
would return from the altar rail to his pew and bury his face in his hands to commune
silently with the Holy Trinity. His foremost plea at the time was that his parents live
until he was old enough to withstand the great pain of losing them. God kept His part
of the bargain, but Matt didn’t. His mother died when he was thirty years old, long
after Matt had forgotten to keep in touch.
  Would God accept this renewed contact born out of desperation? Matt hoped
He would listen and forgive, for God is merciful and understands the weakness of
man. What Matt needed to do from now on was to be virtuous in all aspects of his
life. He could no longer simply turn morality on and off whenever he needed God’s
help. He would have to evaluate the purity of all future actions. Suddenly, a vivid
picture of him sucking Laura’s breast gripped him body and soul. Was physical
arousal an element of wanton immoral behavior? Would he have to give up the
pleasure of soft skin in order to please God?
  This same conflict had destroyed his piety to God and religion the first time
around. Labeled impure thoughts and ranked as mortal sins by the Church, these
prurient images and desires had flooded his adolescent brain, gradually swamping all
doctrinal taboos. The sheer number of impure fantasies had overwhelmed him. With
his defenses weakened, Matt surrendered without a grand and final theological
battle. Like a used-up general, his religious devotion merely faded away.
  But now that he was older and wiser and understood that Catholicism with its
rigid rules wasn’t the only avenue to holiness, perhaps there was a way he could
have his lust and heaven too. Matt sensed such a self-centered compromise was a
form of hubris, and worried it might turn God against him. His moment of peace had
ended.
  Matt lowered the window, and the car filled with the clay scent of wet earth and
the freshness of hard rain. These physical elements offered some relief from his
ethical skirmishes, but more was needed for a return to tranquility. He closed his
eyes and concentrated on the sound of rain splashing the roof and nearby puddles.
Inhaling and exhaling, slowly and rhythmically, Matt began to empty his mind of
thought and induce a meditative state. This technique, which he had learned from
Buddhist Yoga, many years before, nudged the conflicting ideas of spiritual morality
and supple breasts from his mind.
  But another contentious thought asserted itself and posited that the modern
world, with its free market of religions, provided easier access to a personalized
deity, and Matt, like most people, sought God in a non-sacrificial manner easily
suited to his lifestyle. Matt was drawn to defend himself. Instead, he focused more
on his expanding and contracting diaphragm. As he struggled to get his meditative
pursuit back on track, another pestering thought broke through and mocked his
efforts by asking - Can a Buddhist reach a higher level of consciousness while
sitting atop a semi-automatic handgun?

h ome