Things Just Happen

We went to the beach, going real early so as to get in. The hotel, Mauna Kea, only allows so many at a time. We were real early, and could have been much later it turns out. The sand was at winter temps, not hot, the water was good, but there were heavy waves so you could never just drift and rest but had to keep an eye. I rode my bike (Superglide Harley) to the beach, wife and friend took the car. Later on I left early to just ride on Sunday roads. Very nice. It is a joy actually to ride. Didn't meditate this morning but at the beach, sort of, sitting soundly in the moment, knowing that silence, and see life as I think it is, up close, like leaning over to someones face and seeing their pores, blemishs, etc.. I'm not a Christian but my wife is, and her friend, so I go to church. It isn't a total shitfest to me, I can move places in myself that other sites don't offer. But not today. One guy, older, middle aged, him and his wife adopted two crack black babies. He's white. The guy looks so fucking miserable everytime I see him. I often want to ask him, 'what the fuck were you thinking? It's killing you.'  His daughters..one has hair lower than her ass, which is near clown like, absurd, goofy, for this culture. She's 18 and undoubtedly a virgin, and I can't imagine much heat building up in her even with an 18 year old cunt, like it's functional maybe, her cunt, like a thumb or big toe, but not endowed with heat, wrecklessness, groans, wet spitting, and so forth. In my grossness, my empty hands to offer anything, in my lost state, with hairs in my nose, if I were to come to her and ask with the face of pure inquiry, not threatening, not desiring even, but near innocent in asking "you fuck?" What would happen? Screams, slaps, a pulling out of the dictionary to check out that odd word 'fuck'...who knows. But let her be, let the hair grow, let her stalk the floors, or drift like a pixie. Her sister is 20 with a real stand out ass that she puts on a pedestal and walks the aisles with. If someone, like the CIA was to waterboard the bitch and ask her, 'what's with the ass action? You ain't planning to put out are you? So why you doing it???' ' Even with torture she would lack self awareness or basic self honesty and admit to yes, I know I got killer buns and I like to show them just because everyone likes to be admired for something. That's how it rolls. Everyone knows I don't believe, and by now they have given up on saving me, but still some are very nice. In church the thought of my wife filled with the cancer and the treatments not working drills on me. If I were to break down and cry someone might drag me up front to be prayed for. If I were to tell them, once my ass was dragged over the waxy floor to the front, that I had no intentions of converting the elders might feel the last straw has been tossed on the camels back and do me some real harm. My wife being sick to death with this, it hurts like nothing else has hurt me, and it stays with me, stays with us both, in its slow working, mysterious ways as if cancer had been watching how God does his business and decided to copy the style and pattern, only with the full on intentions of burning your ass to ashes. I am filled with this joyful belief, I feel it, live it, yet I have no words like they, the saved-and there are a lot of good people in this group-do, but still I have what I have.