post mushroom-tomato-onion omelet and buttermilk biscuits and tea, in the new
sanctuary: the kitchen. I pulled a chair in here, closed the door, and put my quilt-
sheet over the window. and put on Gregorian chant (Hosanna filio David). solitude,
long black dress, cleanness, and Job. I am trying to understand life; where better
to go than Job? like I said before, Job is burning me, burning into me like nothing
has done in a while: I've asked for this, for wisdom, some understanding. under-
standing of pain, or darkness.
and just hear what I found: the entire 23rd chapter. I found this. read it and hear
the desperation, feel a little of it yourself, and then come to the last two bits: ...
I am afraid of Him. for God made my heart weak, and the Almighty terrifies me;
because I was not cut off from the presence of darkness, and He did not hide deep
darkness from my face. unquote.
but we thought! that preserving us from evil or whatever surely meant hiding deep
darkness from our faces. we thought this. isn't it fullest of gravity, that He would
willingly show us the vacuum, the terror? how that is ok I am ... I may understand.
or am coming closer. I feel the understanding of it like I feel the smallest swells
underneath the boat. so I can ask for preservation from evil but not that I'd be hid-
den from darkness, not ultimately, not always. I want to understand everything.
everything talks
of You, but they are mere whispers, mere edges of Your ways, says Job.
who has never demanded
with gut twisting
a hearing with the Great Judge
and received only a dish falling to the floor
in the kitchen or a child knocking on the bathroom door
or the sound of birdsong,
who has not sliced his own brain with a paring knife
into half-inch cubes
or turned off his eyes so he could run
never stopping with all fury,
all these things,
has never lived.
until I hated my own skin
for its capture of me, until I would have gone
to Him and stood before Him and spoke no words
but only sreamed,
until I hated Him, I could never understand
could never hear myself well could never
let those doors be broken
that would never open.
this is exactly what I mean.
