“Ah, Saints,” muses Lucy. “what would they be if not for sinners?”
… what makes a human a Saint? Lucy wonders, while she sits, drinking her espresso. The other day she saw an elderly lady drop her groceries to help the young child that fell off his bicycle. And the vagrant who stole that suit’s wallet. He handed out the money to his friends. They smiled for they could then fill their stomach, with food or beer. Is the human in the suit the Saint for carelessly providing opportunity? Or is the thief a Saint for sharing his new found wealth with the ones he cares about? Or are they both sinners? Isn’t good and evil all a matter of perspective, like beauty lies in the eye of the beholder? What about the old lady? Or the humans who visit the females behind the windows under red lights, so scarcely clothed? What about those females who provide moments of bliss in exchange for cold, hard cash? Or the woman left at home, who’s man bought his blissful moment earlier and returns to his unsuspecting wife, to kiss her and make love to her. The edge taken off his need, taken care of by the female for hire. Is she a Saint? Or a sinner? Or the man? Is he a sinner for being unfaithful to his wife? Or a saint for not demanding from his beloved one what most people call a sin? And why do humans feel the need to judge in this way? Is not every human as valuable as the other? Do they not need them all? Sinners and Saint?
What about lies?
Lucy heard a man say, “I have been known to tell a miniscule white-lie for humor’s sake.
Lucy had to think on that one. A smile played around her lips as she gazed out to the flowers in bloom, luring the insects with their promise of riches, of food. True lies, true for the nectar is there for the taking, lies because the colours are a ruse, meant to lure.
“… aren’t all lies white? What colour would you call a lie that isn’t white? What sense does it make to assign colours to lies? How bad is it to tell a lie? Isn’t the white lie equally misleading as the lie with no colour. Isn’t telling the truth sometimes worse? And would we call the truth black then? Would it not be better to be silent at times? The wasp trap lies when it promises things the little animal wants with the flashing of its colours. It is truth, for in the bottle is the finest nectar, only it won’t be able to carry it home. Instead it will perish in this wealth it found.”
Lucy cannot stand the struggle of the living creature and released it. The lies have to end. The bottle is rinsed and put away. Only truth in nature, even when it lies. And only truth in life, even when it hurts.