I went to my family to ask for help, I knew the Golden Calf was more important than me or my children so I made sure I had an offering to the glittering object of covetous worship. I researched investments, interest rates, pay offs and found something I thought could help us while still appeasing the jewel covered eyes of those I love unconditionally. At first it seemed my offering had been accepted, it was viewed, held up to the higher power of the Banker and agreed upon. I walked away feeling I had not sold my soul, but found a way to feed the glutenous beast of investment that aided all involved. It seems I was mistaken, I had only spoken with those that love me in return and not yet been viewed by the icy cold heart of gold. The heart disapproved of my offering, but was unable to undo its acceptance...so the heart moved through the world of people who could still love and cast doubt as to the sincerity or worth of my offering. New incantations of legality were cast upon it, all to be born into stone on Wednesday.
I turned to the community that has held me often as I have felt weak over circumstance only to be rebuked by A lot of People. I do not know A lot of People, bit it seems it knows me, and finds me unworthy of the warmth of the community I have fought so hard to preserve. A lot of People lashed out, and I struck a blow to its head only to find I had left my back unguarded and the soft places of my being open to a vicious attack. I reeled back, wounded, called out to those few I thought would hear me they came, quickly at first. They put a simple bandage over the worst of the wounds and assured me there would be retribution. The bandage left the wound open to the air, leaving it raw and tender, and I retreated further...to wait...to watch. From the depth of my makeshift shelter I saw retribution become cumbersome and my wound festered filling me with doubts.
I remain there, unsure of who to trust, unsure of my value, unsure of what to do.
I turned to the man on in the great reclining chair and asked for aid, only to find the shadow of a woman block my way to him. All I ask is to forgo a single vice for a single day, that the coin and clatter that would have gone to sooth him for that one evening instead go to feed my children for several days. The shadow moved and poured his wine and kept her back to me as she whispered to him....and my voice was lost, my presence forgotten, and I took my leave feeling foolish for thinking I might have found help with a man I love as only a daughter could.
With in my makeshift shelter I listen to my children play and argue and hold desperately to each sound. So long as I can hear them I can heal, I can continue to fight, I can take another breath without finding the air tainted by the darkness that seems to slowly be consuming me.
I find myself wondering at my long held faiths, at the ideas I have found solace in time and again over my life. So I turn my face away from the pain and look to God and ask for guidance as my body fails me, my support system crumbles, as family politics become more important than the truth of the one thing I still find to be true...that I still hold faith in unshakingly the simple purity of loving all of them. They are safe in turning their backs to me, in leaving their soft places unguarded. Not because I am unable to drive a dagger between vertebra, but because I will not.
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