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Eyes Cast Downward- Memoir Excerpt

Originally hand written in July 2015 Late Spring of 2014.  Just Months before liver failure Our eyes are nearly always cast dow...

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

A Subtle Atmospheric Difference - Journal entries

Outside on the balcony in the cold. 

Holding my thin coat together with one arm,  the other is balanced on top. 
A cigarette between my fingers. 
Eyes follow the runnel of smoke upward.

I see snowfall for the first time this winter. 

 That is so,
My eyes swell slightly with tears.

I shake my head in the discomfort of this new self that is forming. How different I am will occur to me every now. 
 Moments such as this.

Several winters on the concrete, squat, floors rooftops cells hospital beds;
Equal in cold indifference. 

Freezing, shivering and buried in my winter mind.
Where choice was just another luxury not afforded me. 

Perhaps I will die in my sleep. 
A blessing and the most I could hope for.

Cursing a god I wasn't even sure existed. 
What it looked like or felt like, for having abandoning me to this. 

Denying the existence of all that I couldn't put to my lips or into a vein. 
The comort of purpose and simplicity.

My predicament, my existential dilemma, the great drama of my insignificant, wasted life. 

Now, I think of the one's I care for that are out there right now. 

Friends are dead and gone forever, killing themselves or caged in some other way.
Yet I can't be around them.
My life in jeopardy, the sliver of hope I cling to so tightly, could disappear in an instant.
 No, I can only be an example at best; I can be there if they ever want help.

Just the thought of them my heart breaks a little each time.
I know that pain so well.
Yet, I never thought I could know compassion so strongly. 
I can not show them. They must find it, I know how it would be received.
For I had thought the exact same way.
Nothing can be done if it is not done of one's own accord.

Even if my body could take the booze,  I want nothing to do with it. 
Nietzsche Approves.
But how welcome a warm and fleeting shot of Lethe can become. 
That terrifies me and it should
Here I am with a rational fear, and snowfall.

 I will end up among the best of the lot. 
The seekers that listen to what is said and notice what isn't. 
The seekers that are earnest and humble. 
Those that live out what that revolution speaks of in action.

Perception and understanding shifts:

 Age six:
"Mary Catherine you believe in God don't you?"
"You mean the one at church? They said that Jesus is his son and he died for our sins."
Age fifteen:
"Mary Don't you believe in God?!"
"Oh Fuck off Bitch!"
Age eighteen:
"Mary you believe in god or what? What's your H.P?
"I don't 'not' believe in God, if that answers your Question."
Age twenty three:
"You don't believe in any kind of a god Mary?"
"I don't know. I used to, I wanted to. But whatever I thought might be there is gone. If there is one, it has left me. I am responsible for my life and finding a purpose. I think that's all there may be."
Age twenty eight:
"You believe in God now Mary?"
"Yes. I don't know how to describe it. I know there is something."
Age twenty nine:
So, what is your higher power? Do you believe there is a God?"
"Yes. I do. It is a word for an all loving, peaceful, comforting powerful presence that is within me and around me. This god of mine has nothing to do with the misunderstanding's I heard about in a dogmatic 'place of god' when I was a child. This God is is within me and always has been. It never left me, I had shut it out. Shot it down. I pray now. Words like 'Thy will, not mine be done.' means to me the removal of all my walls, brick by brick and allowing my god out. She and I are bound in a golden loose knot. Threads that can become very delicate if I do not keep vigilant. She is wild this secret god of mine and now she is free. A word- God. A word- Rose. Call it what you like. It will speak to you in a way you will understand, just stop blockading your truth. This is what I have come to believe and now understand."

Vivre Sa Vie?


Carpe mother fucking Diem!

Use your gift.

Come to.

I have a secret god. 

I have dug for so long. I found it! 

Secret is....

She was there the whole time.

This god is running now my show.

Where's yours? Start looking, couldn't have gone far. 

In times time. 


Came to....

Dear Ayn Rand, Papa Nietzsche my and beloved Sartre, 

I thought to tell you first, since you were my teachers. I know you had some cerebral disputes regarding a man idea of a god, this word god, this golden incomprehensible force of love is within you and worked through you. Those many fits of intellectual madness that you claimed sole responsibility for. The seeking of truths, that inevitably lead to more truths was you letting god out. Thank you conduits. 
I love you and so does my secret god. I just read you with a different understanding now. 

I truly thought I was lost, damned and forgotten. 
How wrong I had been. 
My golden thread. 
I do not know why it took me so long to retrieve this knowledge. 
That I am a part of something that is whole and complete. 
I  had never ever thought I would say that. To say I have a God and mean exactly that. 
To understand what that is to me. 
To authentically believe it and keep believing now matter what.

Here's to Never, we golden infinite snowflakes. To the unfathomable becoming tangible. 

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

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