Choice


Choice

choice

Sometime during my life I passed thru’ the door where no way is.

Whether from choice, I entered in, or crawled my way in, as children do who have no respect for doors.

Sometime during my life I passed thru’ the door to the place where I have become an intrinsically evil act wanting commission. There is no knob on this side of the door. The sand is soft here and I sink deeply. Anger, resentment, and foolish pride drive me into this sinking sand. Depression overwhelms me-

This is the Choice I could not make I could never choose wrong.

The angrier I get, the deeper I sink, Until I choke on sand and drown in blues Yet still there is no knob on this side of the door. What attitude, then, can put solid ground beneath my feet and remove this miasma of blues from my mind?

Whether by chance I entered in or crawled my way in as children do with no respect for doors.

I am blind and tap my precarious way from catechism to banana skin.

And to my grave?

This journey of no seeing, little knowing, leads–?

To damnation if I continue to chart my own course and pine for the time, I am handed ratification on a plate.

Not only anger but also pride thrashes me around until they sink me.

I cannot accept that I am a Lesbian, that my very strong needs and desires are wrong in the eyes of God and more wrong, abominable the actions.

For if, this way is wrong then I deny it.

For IIIIIIIII cannot do wrong!

Deny it! I cannot for it straddles me between banana peel and catechism.

Thus, in my struggle I would control Control and before I slip into the, grave, rewrite catechism with God’s blessing, to favour me.

I hear you, how you love to remind me

  • But ‘dear’ you say ‘the Church does not prohibit being’.’ However’ I say ‘IT does prohibit lust’.
  • But you say ‘All lust is wrong.’ But some lust’ I say’ seems more wrong than others’
  • There is a cool green cloud that moves out from me, beyond the cloud of unknowing of unbecoming becomingly? It has grown with me through precarious doubt, suffocating depression and every dichotomy and it will be my hope for this cool green cloud is the sign of hope and life to me that is for me the knob on this other side of the door. There is a fire, which burns beyond the door where no way is, which consumes the fear, purges the wrong. The fire and cloud are one and they call me and they do not care what choice or not, I have made. They call me into uncertainty – in safety. To disengage my mind from myself and to become Becomingly.
  • To become as like a little child with no respect for doors!

Choices are not, & the rooms have made themselves,

For my fear of shame & desire for Sameness

Gave birth to all my rooms of choice. Yet, they are wall- less,

Guarded by knob less doors, they spiral into my heart.

Within that space apart, I need to make that choice

To choose Choice Himself, to choose her unreservedly.

To open up my heart to Love & Trust & Sacrifice.

To dare to crawl as a child with no respect for doors

Into the place where no wall is.

That Place which transcends the World.

18/10/96

ARat.e.


A. Rat.e is a nickname given to me by my sons when my name was Anne and I was still a wife.

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One thought on “Choice

  1. Thank you so much for placing your words here. When I saw them in the comment box they resonated. Seeing them here as you intended them to be seen … they sound like a full orchestra in full voice – just beautiful!

    There are so many little bits that connect: doors without knobs … sliding in like a child with no respect for doors … catechism to banana skin … to become Becomingly … the list goes on and on.

    I hope all who pass by stay and rest awhile in your heart.

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