I walk the dogs; we go down a village road. I go into a house; it has a hut vibe despite it being modern quality. The owner of he house is a straggly white South African. He is a tattoo artist. He has a child, a girl; she isn’t present. I sit at his desk. He comes into the room and asks if I’d like a tattoo. I decline. He says he does Muslim tattoos. He talks about the religion as if it’s just a dogma. I forget the adjective he keeps repeating… something like “orthodoxy” but it ends with “archy”. I silently think to myself that I believe in all religions… or, to say another way, there is truth in all religions even in a spirit and deity sense… or, all religions point to the same true spirit. I don’t say anything and he keeps mentioning its dogma nature to my private chagrin.
I’m in attendance at some presentation. It finishes. A person from one line of chairs passes by me. I know them as an acquaintance. I warmly smile at them. I give such a feeling of friendliness, the person and their family shake my hand. With the precedent set, the families behind them shake my hand and say hello. The woman behind me pokes me to get going. Then an emotionally strong, willed man gets his family that I was blocking to move on past me. I give up the shaking hands and move on.