What’s your favorite Bible verse? The Still Small Voices asked.
Are you crazy? I answered. Leave me alone. May we suggest Father forgive them for they know not what they do? No, you may not, I said. No. How about Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord? Depends, I said. What do you have in mind?
This is a fetus, not a child, sayeth the Lord. And this is a child, not a weapon. This planet is not a mercantile, and the least among you are starving. You have access to clean water and compassion, but you’re choosing hate. Vastly greedy fools are lifting glasses to their own demise. The lights are on, but soon, and very soon, no one will be home.
Do you think I am unaware of these things? I asked, the dog in my lap, warm.
You’ve gotten too big for your britches, They said. You make us laugh. And you’ve gotten too small to matter, I answered. So go ahead. Laugh. They began to sing. Let us laugh with the wren and walrus, the willow, the whale. I had a sudden change of heart. Laugh with me, I begged. Nah, They said. You’re not that funny.
But you said I made you laugh. You contradict yourselves. That we do, the jovial Voices admitted. That we do. And you’re obviously pleased with yourselves, I added. That we are. The Voices agreed. That we are. What about me? I whined. Can’t you be pleased with me?
Are you pleased with yourself? The Voices asked, sly as devils. Are you a forgiver?
But how do I forgive when no one is sorry? I asked, sullen. They shrugged. The sky slipped from their shoulders, pooling blue at their feet. All the world’s a stage, They said. And everyone stands naked at the end. Forgiveness will flow like lava, burn like cheap bourbon, and the party will end in ashes.
The airstrikes began again. The Voices gathered their belongings and joined the surging throng of refugees and overburdened donkeys. Don’t go, I whispered. Come with us, They said. I shook my head, but I knew eventually, I would. We are all fleeing something. Some of us linger. Some look back. Some don’t.
My favorite is Jesus wept, I shouted at their vanishing outlines. Jesus wept.
oh dearest Rita..this is one for the brokenhearted. Jesus and Buddha and Krishna and Janis…..xoxoxoxoxoxo
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Yes, I think the whole moral/spiritual realm is in tears. They will drip into the soil and perhaps….someday…dare we hope for better times??? Big hugs.
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“Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.”
― Arundhati Roy
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Perfect!
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I continue to be amazed at the extent of your talent!
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Ah, thanks Mary. It’s mostly tenacity, spurred on by kind comments like yours. Much appreciated!!
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