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Jun. 24th, 2018 10:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoIt was a nice relaxing Sunday, except for the part where I called my mother and she said that the caregivers "seem to have settled on a protocol where they don't put the pressure stocking over my bandages." I said, "Oh, Mother, you MUST wear your pressure stocking. That's what the doctor said." She said vaguely, "Oh, yes, that's what Queenie said too." I conferred with Queenie and learned that she'd heard the same thing from Mother. GRRR. I told the Duchess, because she is taking Mother to an appointment tomorrow. She's going to tell Mr. Science so he can add this to his admonitory email. I don't know what these people are playing at, but it would be to their benefit to stop it now. So far we're trying to be calm and professional because we want the best outcome for our Mother. They don't want to see what it's like when the tribe united rises up in wrath. It's kind of a "RELEASE THE KRAKEN" situation. They do not want to go there.
I skipped church this morning to go for a walk, because it was supposed to start raining in the early afternoon. Naturally, since I was trying to avoid the rain, it started in as soon as I went out. However, being wise to the ways of Michigan weather, I had an umbrella. Ha. I was thinking more about preachers who come to your door. I usually try to be nice to them if they're black, because I figure it takes a lot of courage to get up on the porch in a mostly-white neighborhood and run the risk of having someone call the police. The last time JWs came around, it was a black couple. Tron and the Lumberjack were still here, and the JWs could see we were all eating dinner, so they politely left us some literature and went away. It's really kind of boring these days. I remember when we used to get interesting proselytizers, like Moonies and Hare Krishnas, and one time a guy from The Process who was quite unsettling. When they were just regular cult people, I always tried to get them to come in and have something to eat. I knew that controlling food and sleep were methods they used to keep people in a state of altered consciousness so they couldn't start thinking it over and leave. I always hoped that if they just had a hamburger and a big drink of water, they might not go back. Usually, though, offering them food was the fastest way to get rid of them, because they weren't allowed to eat with outsiders. The Krishnas, in return, would offer me magic vegan snacks dedicated to Krishna, in hopes I'd be converted by eating them, but it never worked. I worry about those Mormon boys because you see them noodling around in the heat of summer, sweating like mad in their long-sleeved shirts with no hat. I always try to give them a drink of water if I get a chance. So I'm not sure why I was so enraged by that pair yesterday. It was just the sound of their voices that set me off--that faux-friendliness, like salesmen. Ugh. Also, like how dare they even talk to my Sparrowhawk when he is a hundred times their worth.
Back when we were in our own little cult, we ran a guest house one summer. We had a couple who had been in the Children of God, one of the most vile, pernicious cults ever invented. They and their baby daughter stayed with us for a couple of months, trying to decide if they were going back. They had been pretty sick. The mom had a traumatic birth experience in rural Guatemala, and the dad had hepatitis and was quite weak. I always hoped they went home to their families, but I never found out what happened to them after they left us. Nobody is as lonely and sad as someone who is in a cult, however arrogant they may appear on the outside. If one of the leaders showed up, though, I would get out my rocket launcher. Those guys are evil.
And here's my poem. I keep tinkering with it, but I can't get it perfect, so whatever.
Restoration
Restoration is my dangerous philosophy,
A seed of flame that’s passed from heart to heart,
Its fire a secret too big for any heart to keep.
All that it consumes grows whole again.
It burnishes a faded page to clarity
And draws from the burnt seed its sweetest green.
It is a noble flame that leaps from crown to crown,
That springs the dying from their prison beds
And bursts the already dead into brightness
Like stars that implode on their own embers
And expand to light the galaxy, outstripping gravity and time.
My heart is a white hole at the center of eternity
Through which hosts of angels are escaping ceaselessly.
Defeat is a word incomprehensible to angels.
Their very being refutes entropy.
I want to lie down with the ashes of my lost hopes
Like a prize of war laid on a hero’s pyre
And rise to stride across the sky like the rumor of the first dawn
Outpacing the angels who will come to raise me up
And find me already risen.
I skipped church this morning to go for a walk, because it was supposed to start raining in the early afternoon. Naturally, since I was trying to avoid the rain, it started in as soon as I went out. However, being wise to the ways of Michigan weather, I had an umbrella. Ha. I was thinking more about preachers who come to your door. I usually try to be nice to them if they're black, because I figure it takes a lot of courage to get up on the porch in a mostly-white neighborhood and run the risk of having someone call the police. The last time JWs came around, it was a black couple. Tron and the Lumberjack were still here, and the JWs could see we were all eating dinner, so they politely left us some literature and went away. It's really kind of boring these days. I remember when we used to get interesting proselytizers, like Moonies and Hare Krishnas, and one time a guy from The Process who was quite unsettling. When they were just regular cult people, I always tried to get them to come in and have something to eat. I knew that controlling food and sleep were methods they used to keep people in a state of altered consciousness so they couldn't start thinking it over and leave. I always hoped that if they just had a hamburger and a big drink of water, they might not go back. Usually, though, offering them food was the fastest way to get rid of them, because they weren't allowed to eat with outsiders. The Krishnas, in return, would offer me magic vegan snacks dedicated to Krishna, in hopes I'd be converted by eating them, but it never worked. I worry about those Mormon boys because you see them noodling around in the heat of summer, sweating like mad in their long-sleeved shirts with no hat. I always try to give them a drink of water if I get a chance. So I'm not sure why I was so enraged by that pair yesterday. It was just the sound of their voices that set me off--that faux-friendliness, like salesmen. Ugh. Also, like how dare they even talk to my Sparrowhawk when he is a hundred times their worth.
Back when we were in our own little cult, we ran a guest house one summer. We had a couple who had been in the Children of God, one of the most vile, pernicious cults ever invented. They and their baby daughter stayed with us for a couple of months, trying to decide if they were going back. They had been pretty sick. The mom had a traumatic birth experience in rural Guatemala, and the dad had hepatitis and was quite weak. I always hoped they went home to their families, but I never found out what happened to them after they left us. Nobody is as lonely and sad as someone who is in a cult, however arrogant they may appear on the outside. If one of the leaders showed up, though, I would get out my rocket launcher. Those guys are evil.
And here's my poem. I keep tinkering with it, but I can't get it perfect, so whatever.
Restoration
Restoration is my dangerous philosophy,
A seed of flame that’s passed from heart to heart,
Its fire a secret too big for any heart to keep.
All that it consumes grows whole again.
It burnishes a faded page to clarity
And draws from the burnt seed its sweetest green.
It is a noble flame that leaps from crown to crown,
That springs the dying from their prison beds
And bursts the already dead into brightness
Like stars that implode on their own embers
And expand to light the galaxy, outstripping gravity and time.
My heart is a white hole at the center of eternity
Through which hosts of angels are escaping ceaselessly.
Defeat is a word incomprehensible to angels.
Their very being refutes entropy.
I want to lie down with the ashes of my lost hopes
Like a prize of war laid on a hero’s pyre
And rise to stride across the sky like the rumor of the first dawn
Outpacing the angels who will come to raise me up
And find me already risen.
no subject
Date: 2018-06-25 12:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-06-26 02:51 am (UTC)