Susan LaffertyStorm. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere. Fierce. Sudden. Unpredictable.
The recent tornado in Tennessee roared through. In the middle of the night. Unexpected. Devastating.
Today COVID19 continues spreading across the globe at a rapid pace. Insidious. Unsettling. Unknown.
And traveling along under the radar, another kind of storm. Often unspoken. Filtering through conversations and across the airwaves.
Fear.
We dodge auto rickshaws and taxis and goats, crossing a main road. Ten years ago in India.
Our guide asks if we can go to the red light district and pray. Saying, “Be ready. The spiritual battle is intense.”
We step around the corner, into a lane. And I see them. Women in front of narrow doorways on a broken street. Some just sitting. Staring.
Others take care of daily tasks—cooking rice, washing clothes, feeding children.
Ordinary things.
The organ shrieks as we enter the sanctuary. Dissonant. Avant garde notes bouncing off ancient stone floors. Filling the arched ceilings.
Discordant.
Disconcerting.
Seemingly out of place with the luminous stained glass and stately wooden pews.
