While Sitting at the Bus Station

Cindy was not going anywhere physically at the moment so she put her Jane Austin book down and smoothed her skirt (as one of the eighteenth century ladies would have done)sat up straight, cast her eyes out inward and went to Rome. She pulled hard to open the door of this particular Catholic Church. Once in, all peacefulness surrounded her. It was a Tuesday so only a few women were kneeling off to the side dropping coins in metal boxes and lighting candles for aid in their journey through time. Cindy admired their faith in the unseen powers they aligned themselves with. She thought, as a daily routine I need to give thanks, light a candle, feel at peace. That would be good. Cindy had physically been in this small cathedral before many years ago and felt a need to move her mind there now. She was waiting for a bus that would take her only to known places with only corporeal concerns. Reading the slow, breathing pace of Jane Austin moved her spirit into a certain quietude that allowed her to go to this place and in her mind and now she was there.
The sculpture of Saint Teresa in ecstasy was in its wooden sarcophagus to the left in the front of the church. Cindy first genuflected and sat in the ninth pew to absorb this amazing place. Carved roses were all over the ceiling as if petals might fall on and around you at any second. It rained roses the day Saint Teresa died. Roses were everywhere. Roses were lying in vases in various states of life and decay. They were next to the candles, in the paintings, by the pews, on the columns. Of all the roses in the church none surpassed the roses carved in the sky. With her eyes shut Cindy could feel their velvet petals skimming her face as they fell to the ground. CindySleigh opened her eyes and brushed the soft pink and pure white roses off of her gray muslin dress on to the floor and decided to walk to the altar to visit with Saint Teresa.
As CindySleigh made her way down the aisle in her bare feet she felt the rose petals pressing down with each step releasing the cold, strong aroma roses are known for. At the altar Cindy turned left and knelt down on the low cushion and consumed Saint Teresa with her eyes. She lay in marble, stark white and static, but somehow so alive with her head tilted back and her mouth slightly open. She truly was in ecstasy. Fingers spread, surrounded with soft undulating folds of fabric exquisitely carved soft.
Cindy then watched her with her heart. Her marble eyes did not open. Saint Teresa did not move her arm and place it over CindySleigh to comfort her. However, Cindy could most decidedly feel and hear and see the beat of her heart pulsing ever so slightly from under the surface of her marble chest. She let herself melt into this moment, cherishing how alive this sculpture was and in comparison how dead the living can be. Cindy had no idea how much time she passed there. She quietly touched her arm, said farewell and walked away. CindySleigh calmly stood up and smoothed her eighteenth century muslin, walked forward with grace and climbed onto the waiting bus.