"Bad news for you, fish," he said and shifted the line over the sacks that covered his shoulders.
He was comfortable but suffering, although he did not admit the suffering at all.
"I am not religious," he said. "But I will say ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys that I should catch this fish, and I promise to make a pilgrimage to the Virgen de Cobre if I catch him. That is a promise."
He commenced to say his prayers mechanically. Sometimes he would be so tired that he could not remember the prayer and then he would say them fast so that they would come automatically. Hail Marys are easier to say than Our Fathers, he thought.
I pray all the time. Sometimes, my prayer is formal. A Hail Mary or Our Father, like Santiago. Other times/most times, it's quick and dirty: God, help me. Or even quicker and dirtier: Helphelphelphelp.
This habit of prayer has been with me for a while. I think I learned it as a kid by watching my mother, who was a prayer warrior. She always had a rosary in her hand. Often, when she was sitting in her chair with her eyes closed and I thought she was asleep, I would look more closely and see her lips moving. Prayer was like breath to her.
The last time I found myself really drawn to pray was about two weeks ago, when I got into a car accident. The instant my car started sliding into the path of an oncoming van, I found myself (as most people in similar circumstances do) uttering the most common prayer spoken by human beings. It goes something like this: "Shitshitshit, help!" Or a similar iteration.
As the old saying goes, there are no atheists in foxholes. In the face of great distress or peril, humans call out to the universe for help. We rarely feel compelled to say "thank you" for anything. For example, I've lived through another day. All of the people I love and care about are still alive and healthy. I did a fair bit of driving today and managed to avoid getting killed. I went grocery shopping and have food to eat for the week. This evening, I got together with friends for Book Club to discuss Amor Towles' The Lincoln Highway. These are some of the blessings that I experienced today.
And, until this moment, typing this post, l haven't even given a thought to gratitude. I say this without pride. Expressing thankfulness is a healthy exercise. Not only does it force you to focus on what's good, but it also keeps you humble. Saying "thanks" acknowledges the assistance of some outside force of goodness in your life, whether it be God, a friend, or the sun rising in the morning.
So, tonight, in this hour, at this minute, within the confines of this very second, I say thanks for all the blessings that I've received today. (See above list.) And for all the blessings I had no idea I received today, and they are plentiful, right down to each breath I took and each convulse of my heart.
Yes, the world can be a terrible place, full of terrible people doing terrible things. (I'm looking at you, Mr. Putin.) Fire bombings of cities happen. Car wrecks. Cancer diagnoses. Pandemics. Death. to quote Kurt Vonnegut, "So it goes."
But, the world is also full of beautiful people doing beautiful things. Artists making art. Poets making poetry. Shelters and food pantries keeping homeless people warm and fed. Musicians filling the universe with song.
If all you look for is the terrible, that's all you're going to find. If you go out of your way to find beauty, you'll see it everywhere.
Saint Marty was blessed with beauty today.
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