en estilo de Día de los Muertos. Que hace tu?
May sell it when complete for $35 via Etsy.
God, a deity, who is supposed to be bigger, badder and better than me, or you. I suppose because I’ve never seen him. Although I have a tome of 73 books that I read at breakfast & dinner that tells me so. Yet (most) of these authors don’t see Him either. I’m hopelessly falling into the David vs. Goliath cliche with this, but I’ve got enough vinegar to not care. Oh, you don’t care for vinegar….some vodka then? Dern not vodka, fine yo-yo, I’ll give you single malt scotch whiskey. So yeah, this quiet social worker with her scotch takes on God. Lemme back up for a minute, I wasn’t always a social worker or a scotch imbiber, those come with time. But a bet with God, the one and only Deity in my life, shot that’s just tomfoolery. Yet, I made it. I was fresh out of life (like that feeling you have when you’re out of tp and you gotta go?). How in tarnation I was standing, breathing or moving…must’ve been God’s Will ‘cuz it sure as heck not mine. Nosiree in 2005, living took too much effort. My mind & craw were jammed full of other thoughts like pills, death, funerals and what color roses would cover a fresh mound of dirt. God would have it that I practically wander into the funeral Mass for someone I once knew, and make a bet – more like a threat:
I’m giving you one last chance. It better be good, because I can’t live like this. If it’s not good, I’m gone. I’ll leave you for good.
Er, what? Some chick blackmailed God. If He wanted/wants me, He’ll have to come and get me. Otherwise I’d crossover to the not-so Catholic side of things. It’s hard to tell who’s winning, but I’ll let Him claim it.
I became cold, breathless, and
and this was the road you had taken me down
down through the rambles, into the tangles
you brought me into the darkness knowing
I would need it, need to use it
knowledge of the conspiracy
causes me to clench inside
nails want to claw a faceless visage
I can’t dream but when I can
pushing me back into the darkness
I want to escape
and others, when told of you and me
laugh and pull us apart
all because you took me through the tangle
and I can’t be on the right path
but you put me on the darkened path
and I became lost
in the tangle.
I heard you say,
far and away,
to stay focused
and to stay with you.
Eyes peeled as grapes
and breath held to burning,
I couldn’t stay with you
and I became lost.
I was taken over.
Over a decade,
I fall backwards into
a maze of conspiratorial lies
collapsing under the knowledge
Lent is a solemn and sober season. It is at once my most favorite, and one that I do not always look forward to with eagerness, but I do look forward to it with a certain spiritual sobriety and longing.
In 2008 I fasted particularly strongly: no noise, music, or auditory stimulation at all. The only music, conversation etc occurred every Sunday at Mass. It took me a good two weeks after Easter to turn the radio on in the car. I cannot fast that way this year, however I am curtailing my music choices. I’m cutting certain practices out, and resuming some spiritual reading. What I mean by cutting certain practices out, is not like giving up chocolate or not watching television to gain more time to read. Rather I’m gouging out unsavory practices: habitual sin. I know that it’s going to flare up before it ceases, but it will end.
As Lent is somber, there’s a pervasive element of despair. It’s the desert season: without water, without seeming refuge; exposed under scrutiny however painful. It’s a time that I give myself permission to spiritually flounder, and I pray for it as well. I know that I need pruning and trimming. It’s a difficult process, but in being aware that I need to go through it, I have to let it occur. I do not like it. I do not willingly seek it out in joy.
Do we enjoy scrubbing the toilet? No, but wouldn’t you rather have a clean toilet to purge into when you’ve got food poisoning? Well, it’s the same spiritually. We need to enter into Lent and it’s sobriety to purge our Souls.
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