Celebrate?

This month I finished my degree.    The assignments carried on beyond my last days at university, and beyond everyone elses deadline.  The deferral used all of me up, when I was already spent,  stealing me of my climax.  Disappointingly, sharing any interior celebration in its fulness with myself alone.  The achievement was made not in the achieving – but in the (at times) bloody wicked and (at times) beautifully beloved journey before hand.

Having swapped morning Mass for study and valuable writing time, whilst the children were still at school, I released myself from a certain juxtaposition of unfair dialogue. Man gets to speak in a homily spiritually, subliminally, freely, directly, wily in an indirect way, and her being open to obedience, open to listening, is to receive without reaction,  no return, no response, one way, no conversation.  Even if a later response is given, un-acknowledgment may reign supreme.   She is eradicated of any pride, ignored, deprived of any inspiration,  broken down, broken in Spirit, soul dragged through the dust which one day she already is.   Thats man.  Then there’s my sisters in faith.  Some women I have encountered are few beautiful souls, and few are a different kinda kettle calling pot altogether,  preaching a pretence of love whilst behaving in a wily un-loving way. Tripping in their dis-loyalty to women, in loyalty to their own need for recognition and affirmation.  Why would anybody want to live in such a way.

Upon my return from the mini sabbatical, another contradictory homiletic breath builds me up, tells me that now I should look forward, follow my ambition – having previously been told that ambition is wrong.   However the sacred acute belonging, that I felt so intensely  before and after my reception, that connected me so deeply to my Mother Church and my fellow Catholics, and made me want to give everything that I had to give, for her future,  appears to have abandoned me in the spiritual processing of rejection.

I wonder if I will ever know that deepest sense of being Loved and belonging ever again, or if as it feels all the while now,  just to be an intense belonging between me and Him alone. Where ever I am.  I have felt so utterly let down and disappointed by the human nature of the very people who I put all my trust and faith in, that any sacredness now appears to lie way beyond church or any space that man inhabits.    Oh how I want to be proved wrong, how I want not to mourn, how I want to trust again where once everything was pure and filled with Love.

Manna is swallowed by man,  sealed, meld and fortified – All dissolving,  like in the empty casket of Newman and his beloved friend whom I have nothing but affection, happiness and smiles for.  Whilst at the cost of my own Love disallowed, I die again and again.  Where now all I see are lovers secretly gay with loving.  Their hypocritical affections guarded in the weight of purple, green, and red, guarded beneath the poetic pretence.   

Purest Gold and White are what you and I are bound for.  The white of Linen we are clothed in, enshrining our skin, binding it Golden in togetherness – just like Jesus’ bronzed skin, through the simple pure white garments opaque Gold.

Love.

In classic ridiculous irony one evening, the parish priests had a beautiful Mass and garden party celebrations.  Many parishioners joined him as he celebrated his ten-year anniversary of ordination to the priesthood, whilst unbeknownst to him in the same month it was my ten-year wedding anniversary.  For his special occasion I made my party piece beautiful heart-shaped berry flan, meanwhile my ten years went by un-celebrated, unnoticed in tears.   Catholic.   T’is a wicked and cruel life at times.

What next.

I keep my mind and my heart turning towards Love – the loving kindness that life still has to offer me, and that life still needs from me.    I Mass anonymously in another Church and  I hear your voice again God, so clearly beyond the prejudice back home. How will I ever trust in anyone other than you ever again Lord.

I thank you God.  I thank you for my honesty.  I thank you God for my wisdom.  I thank you God for my eyes that see, and ears that hear.  I thank you for the humility to be saddened without being unkind to others.  I thank you God for my courage and my voice. I am wearied at you making me see the revolution required like a prophet before the prophesy.  I thank you  for my strength in my failings.  I thank you  for my Love which never fails, and dear Lord I pray that you lift the burden of being a good, honest and faithful person – to allow for me to find physical affectionate Love once again – else I don’t want to be anymore.

For to live in a way which denies us our humanity is nothing to do with your Will God – but is everything to do with man controlling man.

This I know because you teach me so.

I am missing touch.

The touch of imagination is not enough.

But then there is a Godsend – when my desperate physical longing causes a bodily convulsion of ecstasy.  An ecstasy which uncontrollably washes over me when my beloved unexpectedly infiltrates my mind, it is the most intimate encounter.  This is not premeditated, often it happens when I am driving and my concentration is completely elsewhere, and all of a sudden from the tip of the hairs on my head to the follicles on the skin of my inner thigh,  everything sings in an instant –  every single goosebump on my body, in togetherness – singing as if orchestrated.  An exhilarating electric charge neither hot nor cold zinging alive right through me, equipping me with nothing but surrender; and in those eternal seconds stealing me of my every breath.  It is then that I know that everything that I am, and everything that I feel, and everything that I am called to be belongs   in my eternal vow to my beloved.   Loyal.  Faithful.  My life would have been easier to have turned away,  to have walked in the other direction, easier to have stayed upon the other path, to have kept on receiving the level of love that I assigned myself up for.  But this is a Will beyond my own, this is Gods Will,  Gods choice,  Gods Love chosen for me. That I should  Love you in Him.

And then I see once more.

“Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.” (St. Augustine)

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About mags

Beloved apostle of His Soul x
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