fate

Things do not carry on as they are supposed to. Plans are derailed and lives are lost and regained at alarming rates. I was to be a devout the rest of my life. To music; to God. I sit on the brink of paganism and complete burnout with one quavering thread holding me to any sense of reality. My poor love. My only love. Monogamy is not supposed to mean the only relationship of any kind. It means you don't sleep with other people. But such is the lot dealt to us in this meagre period of our lives. Old friends are changing their faces so quickly I find myself casting about for what was just there. For the old comforts and reassurances. It is all empty though, and we can only pray that it will be filled again. Only to be lost? There is no faith left in me, although there is grand reverence being born continually. I meet God in the animals thronging this place and the grasses for miles and miles. This is supposed to be idolatry, but who can care when it is breath to starved lungs? God has left the halls of churches and the minds of his son's followers. And these bastard children of such a thoughtless legacy are confused and bitter. We want the old rhythms and the comfortable liturgies. We want to know that our deaths are sealed with the stamp of His Blood. We want to despise this earth and our bodies with the rest of the believers who know that this is passing like the grass of the fields. But then, we look around and realize that this is all we have. And that it is beautiful. And that God has been waiting for so long to look us in the face with grandeur beyond imagination.

The longer lenten season

The cycles of my life continue to refuse the specificities of strict calendar time and wander into more of a timeless frenzy. I can see at last the conclusion of this rather nasty and painful cycle of my life, and, as with all others, it brings to mind where I have been and where in god's name I might be going. The ever provocative idea of "community" remains aloof as I find myself once again either estranged or out of touch with past friends and not imagining much long term contact with the aquaintances I've made in the past few years. Dan is so much gone that I don't get responses to e-mails, and Mary is my last hopeful beacon...although I talk to her less than some of the people I despise at work. I guess I always was a beast of convenience. As far as plans go, I feel about the same now as I did when I was sixteen: clueless, anxious for the stage of today to be done and over with, and ready to do the most extreme and probably foolish things possible. I seem hell bent on throwing my life into one demanding institution after another and then chafing under the promises I more than willingly made. So what's up next? Well, I am looking towards possibly being homeless and jobless and penniless just to make sure that I don't make the same mistake again. To hell with accolades and accomplishment. Give me freedom and ambiguity. And I am mostly serious. Except for the nagging tick in my brain that keeps pulling me back to the ideas of making something useful out of myself. Maybe I don't believe in benefiting humanity any longer, but that doesn't change the nature of being part of humanity and not knowing what else to do really. True freedom does not after all exist. It could be that this realization is quite simply all that can be found in the essence of community. We're all in this mess together, and maybe some among us can find a few candles to light up the muck.