At the bottom of the ladder

We held a memorial service for my husband’s father, a lovely gentle man, in our flat in Rhodes.  We had a room full of friends and the atmosphere was special with memories shared, tales told.  It was emotional and there were a few tears shed.  Suddenly, our next door neighbours in the flat opposite started a typical row.  Screams and shouts filled the neighbourhood and the lovely atmosphere was dispelled with foul words flying through the air.  They grew in intensity and I could stand it no more.  I went out onto our balcony and lifted some potatoes and threw them at their shutters shouting “Shut up!  We are trying to pray in here!” at the top of my voice.  The potatoes hit their shutters with satisfying thuds and rattles as I repeated my cry.  There was a sudden blissful silence in response and I entered our flat again and sat down.  I closed my eyes and tried to recapture the silent contemplative mood but the room felt different.   I opened my eyes to find everyone looking at me in total astonishment and shock.  Yes, at times even I realise just how far down the spiritual ladder I really am!