I’m in the church again. I didn’t know it, but they’re having a mass now. There are about twenty people here, including a man in the confession booth behind me. There’s no altar boy, but an old man is wearing the little white outfit and ringing all the bells. The church is much more well-light; the light is bouncing off the white walls, but it’s still not very bright. I am the only one sitting right now, and I feel a bit conspicuous, but not too much. They sing in unison, but not everyone joins in. Some are standing right behind me — a weird feeling. The priest initiates a song then steps away from the mic, still singing. The priest holds the host, hand under to catch crumbs (?), says a prayer, then a thin, cheap sounding bell is rung. He goes to the gold box, gets out a cup, then passes out the host. About three people go for the host. He puts the cup back, the bell is rung. He wipes the crumbs into the goblet, mixes in some wine, drinks it, wipes the goblet out with a white cloth. He folds the cloth lengthwise, lays it over the goblet, places a lid-like thing over it and the altar man takes it away. Then he sings a prayer — a chant in two tones. Everyone stands to sing. I can’t see what happens. When they sit, the priest is gone. After a few moments, the lights are dimmed. A few remain, but most file out quietly. A man in jeans is now taking the sound system down. It’s like a concert in reverse: The lights go down at the end and the roadies waste no time breaking down everything.

The ritual and hierarchy [are] amazing. I can’t see why people subject themselves to it. Out of love? Fear? K wants her beliefs to be based on love, but I don’t know if it’s possible.

So now a little about the past couple of days. Wednesday night the Volunteers (And then There Were Three . . . ) played at a local bar. I missed most of it. I was looking for a bite to eat. When I got there I began talking to Julie L. She said the following: “I felt like you were completely overshadowed.”