Worship

Worship Waiting in the Hawaiian Hiking café for my breakfast burrito. 70’s music in the background to a mostly millennial crowd. Clueless to the tunes of my youth, they communicate in the same vacant words and sounds like their fathers and forefathers before them. Each generation oblivious to the previous one. Fearful of the red death that their masters have foretold, they wear little shrouds on their faces in feral obedience. Mostly they are in communion with their modern gods. The ancients worshiped idols of wood or stone. They worship the id and ego, adorned in small handheld devices that require total subservience. Ignoring the flesh and blood that surrounds them, they upload their emptiness into dead machines hoping it will fill the abyss. I look at the souls around me as they worship, heads bowed; praising exalting glorifying isolated solitary alone. 9.14.21