I told a story to a monk in Greece - offer?

A wonderful story I told a monk in Greece whom a friend was always putting above a person not in spiritual clothing (even arguably for the monk). Now in Armenia, a person may buy an acre of land from an oil company to be untouched and keep the oil in the ground, helping to secure that that acre of land never gets used. If they negotiate it that way for the right price. Both the buyer gets something and the seller. Peace of mind and something they both need. Another person can buy a dog that is about to be killed at a shelter, then give the dog its freedom, and that would be a pious act. Accordingly, this monk, who had been filling me with hope about what prevails on earth, said that every day we should perform a pious act. He suggested a few.

I added that with no disrespect to his authority, piety isn't often what leads people to condemn one and to secure the life of another. What if piety were toward a rabid animal that was diseased that caused more harm by someone who didn't intend to bring the animal to health but let it have its freedom? I added it is in how we see the animal. If a leader of a land doesn't like an agenda of a people, then even if the leader takes steps forward toward reconciliation with those who they have wronged, if it comes from fear, the fear soon will fade and the leader will once again press ahead.

The leader who is used to fear isn't seeing an offer they can't refuse. The leader and the people are not making offers to each other that CAN'T Be refused. The leader with the undesirable rabid animal that they feels piety toward will bring that rabid animal forward and laugh at the social distortion potentially. What is good for one person doling out one form of piety is bad for the other doling out their form of piety. Often people are not in the middle place. A leader bringing their baggage of tricks may find pleasure in the reaction of bringing a rabid dog and laugh at the overtures made by the piety toward a dog that is about to be killed. The monk was pious toward me that day.

Preview - new short story in the works...(not titled yet..)

            We weren't meant to interact so intimately, through the tackiness of deception and riddles or everything feeling like we were walking uphill, were we? Alternatively, there resided in me a deep disturbance that it was possible that the interaction was supposed to secondarily reveal that Friday was only a calendar day bereft of the importance placed upon it by fools who assume that Friday isn't a day of reckoning, but of celebration. It happened anyway and it was Friday, even given the rhetorical question it boiled up and even though others were dealing with matters of the heart. It tapped into a part of me that undid years of missteps, and reset my course, poisoned like I had been moonstruck to fall prey to my wound. Were the cards loaded from the start?

The day was now phrased too coarsely for a pacifist, even a pacifist who ironically embraces the tones of Dylan and Neil Young. The day shape-shifted into more of a biting my tongue calm at the moment when the world felt like someone was telling Grace Jones to act more like a lady and to mind her manners and not play the part of Zula with such potency. It was at that moment of unsolicited Dear Abby miss mannerism falling out of the clouds like rum might snake charm a crowd long enough to mask the harms like an inoculation orchestrated by perpetrators of mass iniquitousness, at that very moment, I felt unsuitable wild abandonment. I now know this was what surrender felt like in absurd circumstances when my body buckled and I circled to the ground shaking my hand like an overturned bottle.

The air felt like it had of its own volition made a glaring error of judgment and stepped on the torque that reconciled the opposites that attract. The mortally summoned opposites in this circumstance flying at each other at break neck speed were a passive generation and the ambivalent angry generation inheriting the problems determined by the earlier passive attitude. The sound between the two generations was like a constant misunderstanding where form trumped substance in a repetitive parroted excuse to delay that came in the form of badgering blended with the product of maddening emotional disconnection. It was a torque that assembled cruel neglect and allocated to the air a surprising feel of gnashing teeth.