Dangerous Compassions

so do what you can to anoint my head

Years ago, I was struggling with faith.  I had no faith in God or myself.  What was the bigger problem?  Honestly, they were the same problem.  They looked like two, but they were one.  Or so related, they might as well have been one.

It resolved when I healed myself and got faith in God again and myself.  Wow, feels way better.  How did I even live, without those.

Atheism was so detached, for me.  Rather than risk being poisoned, I wouldn’t eat at all.  I was starving myself to keep myself safe.  But there is no safety.

I was a skeleton walking around, with a big thumping heart pushing out against my ribs, glowing inside my withered see-thru body.  Finally I took some little bites of belief, and I started to heal from the fear.  And now I’m fat and happy, the healed lady you see today.

Lately, I have a new problem.  Not sure it’s as big–time will tell.  I get really angry, and I hate on whoever pissed me off, or people in general.  I lie in bed crying with anger, and I realize–what I really hate is myself.  I get super anti-humanity.  But we’re all one.

I’m like at the end of an episode of Scooby Doo.  I pull the mask off the failed monster villain, asking, “Who really is this monster?”  As the mask comes off, I see the monster is me.  The white cartoon guy pulling off the mask is me, the discouraged chagrined fake monster is me, the overly surprised cartoon spectators are me.  The kid at home sitting on the carpet by herself, watching tv, is me also.

It’s like a dream–I’m the guy who’s going to swim in too-cold water, I’m the water, I’m the bridge he’s going to get stuck under, I’m the lady he tries to kiss before he goes, I’m the kiss that never happened, I’m the one worrying he’ll die in the too-cold water, and the bird watching, perched on the street light.  I’m the middle-aged woman in her bed, sleeping beside Ming, who gives a little sleep-murmur.

So I think I have a huge project–I need to stop hating people.  It’s like learning to eat again, re-finding Mother God and learning to have faith in myself.  It looks impossible from here.  But probably I could do it.

What do you think?  Maybe I should start by forgiving my dad.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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