The Final Death
Posted on | August 30, 2010 | No Comments
as written July 14, 2008
Heavenly Mother,
Brent told me last night that he wants to quit his Home Depot job. He can’t make enough money there, but mostly it’s because he says he wants to get away from all the girls. How they are so forward and it’s really hard for him because he’s a “flirty guy,” and they make no qualms about pursuing him and chasing after him and going after him without giving a fuck that he’s married. I told him that he can shut them down if he wants to…but he said it’s too hard. I guess some of these girls are ones that he’s been with before. I do not know how many he has slept with in the last couple years…I just know he’s been dating…fucking…pretending I don’t exist at all…I understand that he was trying to be honest with me, but it was like someone stabbed another sword in my already broken heart.
There are already a thousand swords sticking out of my chest, and he just added another one. I couldn’t fall asleep last night and thrashed around crying and hurting so bad I wanted to cut my heart out and throw it out the window. Maybe it would land in a patch of grass that isn’t dead from my dogs pissing all over the place, and maybe it would take root and maybe some big strong tree would grow from my spilled blood. Maybe it would nourish the soil and bring forth new life. Maybe some good would come from my death. On the other hand, maybe there is nothing nourishing left in my heart; maybe it would just lie there and turn black and stink like diseased flesh rotting in the sun.
Either way, I cannot take this. I cannot hear how he still wants and dreams and acts upon fucking other women other than the love of his life. No matter what he does, I have been the love of his life; I have entered into his heart and mind and soul and spirit and body and dreams and hopes and even if it all ends he will always hear the echo of me in everything he does and in every breath he takes. That’s the price we pay for fucking up happiness. Once we’ve let someone in, really let them in – they never leave. We can never root them out or dig down deep enough to tear them from our flesh. We have been one, and even though he might be able to forget me for a moment through drugs and sex and rock and roll – he’ll always have to face me in his dreams.
I wish this truth would bring me some comfort, but the truth is - I’m at a place where I wish I had never known him at all. I hate even uttering those words, but at this point the pain is so great and so strong that I would take back every moment with him. Nearly five years of being with my eternal companion. If I had a choice today, I would choose to forget it all. I cannot bear this, and I am choosing not to numb it out. I’m choosing not to push it down and swallow it – I tried, and I threw it all back up. My stomach won’t keep it down, and I vomit up more pain and swallow it back and then my jaw is pried open and Brent pours in some more poison for me to die from. I hang from this cross and I cannot say, “Thy will be done…” I have said that every day for years, and now I cannot bring myself to utter it.
How is THIS God’s will?!?!? How is this anything but the dredges of the most disgusting sewer…and I am swimming in it. I cannot get the stench off of me no matter how much I scrub at my skin; red and tearing and he has shared himself with so many others…and still he does not see me. Still I look into his blue eyes that have read my soul and loved me so powerfully I could not breathe; and see nothing but blindness. He looks past me as if I do not exist; he speaks of infidelity in passing like it’s some sort of joke; he admits his lust and sexual addiction and I am used. I feel filthy and disgusting…it reminds me of how I used to feel ten years ago when the boy who said he loved me raped me over, and over, and over again. All in the name of “love.”
I am raped all over again….like the day my abuser looked at me and said, “I took your virginity and you can never get it back,” I feel like Brent has taken that virginity all over again and smeared my purity and loyalty all over some other whores bodies – I have been shared and I have been cut open. He takes my blood and grinds me into the dirt beneath his feet. And walks away like I never even existed.
This is not God’s will! I can never believe that. No God would condone treating a daughter of light in a manner not even befitting the lowliest of sinners and devils…
Every time Brent gives himself to another woman, he is raping me. Every time he indulges in porn and strippers and satanic portryals of my most sacred gender I am raped again: shoved down hard, into the dirt – gagged with a soiled cloth to stop my screaming, clothes ripped from my body in front of a leering audience, muscles tearing as my legs are pried open, stones and branches cut deep into my back from their weight…
I did not know I could remember how it felt…until it happened again. I did not know your beautiful, eternal, powerful, pure spirit could be raped. This, is how it is done.
And she writhes inside me, trying in vain to close her legs. Trying desperately to tear at the gag around her perfect mouth. Trying to cover her ears from the shrill nightmare of the screaming…until she realizes that the sound is coming from herself. This is how your spirit can die; this is how you can damage her beyond repair. This is how you kill. “Thou Shalt Not Kill…” is not reserved for just the unjust taking of a physical life. It is also reserved for those who kill the spirit within.
Such great joy I have known…my Spirit leapt within me the first moment I laid my eyes on Brent…she tried to throw herself from my body just to touch him. I could feel every inch of my body tingle and moan with an eternal recognition. And he, too – could not even utter a “Hello…” because his tongue stopped working when he first saw me. No girl has ever caught him in such a way. I saw into his clear blue eyes – eyes so deep and so powerful I could not look away. I saw God staring back at me through him, and knew that I had finally come home.
What kind of death do they call it when you look at those same eyes and see nothing…no recognition, no history, none of the promises he made so sincerely, none of the memories that bound us to each other through thick and thin, sorrow and joy…what kind of death do they call that?
The Final Death.
We all must die, I suppose…and maybe this is my greatest Gethsemane. Maybe this is the hill of my Golgotha. Maybe my Heavenly Mother kneels at the feet of my cross, wailing with her agony but allowing me to hang there…witholding her power to make everything all right because this is my broken heart…my broken life…my crucifiction. And she honors me in that space.
How long must I hang here, my insides tearing from their linings, my blood pooling into drifts and surging down the wood onto the stones and balling up on the parched desert earth? When, oh when, Lord…will you lift me from these nails? I feel your anger and the clouds thunder and shower down your vengeance and tears upon mine enemies…
We all must die, I suppose.
I suppose, though…I hope, though…
Thou wilt raise me from the dead. For we cannot live again, if we have not died.
Are you killing me quickly, Lord?
Come fast, today
My breath comes shallow and labored in this pain.
I want to believe, but I do not. But Lord, I do desire to believe…it is all I can offer you now. Please accept all I have left to give.
Save me.
My most sacred Lily, my chosen daughter, my enlightened and burdened child…
This day I use my power to reach past your cold and numb state and speak to your despairing heart. As a woman, your innate and immeasurable power allows such depth of pain that no man can understand or fathom. And I love your heart, my daughter – it never ceases to amaze me with your power and vision, sweetness, strength, prophecy, and endless ability to succeed and thrive amidst all odds. You do not fail, my dove, you fly. There is an untapped power in the uncertainty of the unknown, and though you flounder here, I have not left you alone. I do not and never condone such abominable treatment of my children, so while I rage against the filth and abuse that is happening to you, I know how powerfully I can turn the tides and transform and create whole worlds out of the deepest anguish and atrocities.
I can create new life with any sin, mistake, disease, person, crime, or darkness. I am a God, I am your Mother. I bless you to know that you can talk to me or write to me and I will always listen, I will always respond. We will carry you in our arms until, once again, you have the strength to stand. I validate this place, your agony, the darkness that demands entrance – we will keep it at bay. I promise you this. Your desire to believe will grow, and I accept whatever you are and what you have to give – you do not know, nor could you, how significant this seemingly small gift is. You will learn. I am near you, my Dove…I love you and I wail with you and I grieve by your side. This too, shall pass – I love you. Your Mother
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