He’d never read to me Mother Goose
or Dr. Seuss,
but the Dead Poets,
& the works of a particular student of his–
who fancied herself a poetess.
We’d never seen puppets teaching shapes & colors
but musicals as bright as candy corn.
For our family tree was such that
if there were older generations left,
I could not see them through the leaves at the top—
where cobwebs had netted them together
through the shadows my mother had placed there.
The graven image of Moroni topped
Mormon temples like a wedding cake,
the interior of which were supposed to be like the
Celestial Kingdom of Heaven on Earth,
but my dream heaven was high on a mountaintop
where snowflakes fell in Spirograph-like creations,
or riding an elephant on a beach,
the sun at our backs,
or deep in the bayou under the Spanish moss
where the crawdads sang—
anywhere in nature,
where the words of the poets
were painted on the sky.
They all spoke on the Law of Chastity,
& you would think there was only one law to break
but to them,
breaking this law led to every other sin—
abortion, poverty, & eternal damnation.
The idea that God had once been
as we once were,
that He had been dust imbued
with the breath of life–
an inhabitant of another earth–
I wanted Him to have always been–
Children were like little Christs,
for every spirit child of God the Father
that was brought into the world
brought their parents
one little footstep closer to heaven.
It was one thing to accept the Mormon gospel
that was regular interest–
but to duplicate oneself through procreation–
that was compound interest.
Caitlin would’ve been fascinated by the seance–
she, who’d always wanted to witness an exorcism,
but this, this was religious fanaticism,
or what she would call crucifixation–
an obsession with Jesus & His gruesome death.
David never tended our gardens,
& so everything grew a bit wild—
like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Our careworn home showed signs of neglect,
but there was a regality about it
that said something about the owners—
like those who held onto the Old South
on crumbling plantations.
We had the newest television
but watched movies from 40 or more years ago.
David had the newest computer
but wrote most of his notes with a fountain pen
on an old desk.
We lived in the South
but on our walls were pictures of New England’s
covered bridges in the fall.
We were the essence of existing
beyond the constraints of time & space.
Caitlin was the dove,
& the rest of us were like crows,
feasting on each other.
All through school,
I’d avoided offers of friendship–
counting the hours
like I numbered the stars
till I would be home with David again.
When the learned astronomer went blind,
he hired a foundling—
a lost soul hovering between heaven & hell.
A wealthy intellectual
(which was an oxymoron, for some),
he asked the boy to be his eyes,
to describe everything he saw.
And it was through the eyes of the blind,
that the learned astronomer’s apprentice,
through service to another,
reached his potential.
When the learned astronomer closed his eyes
for the final time in earth-space,
the boy’s eyes had been opened,
for there’d been nothing he’d ever had
that had been of value to anyone,
except to the learned astronomer
whose last sight was feel of the boys’ wet face
in his hands.
She bicycled, upcycled, & recycled,
Her collar had faded from blue to white,
only to deepen into green.
She planted herself where she would grow the most–
an environment where she could be her most creative.
And with every ripening
& every reaping,
there would not be an uprooting,
but a replanting,
for she would leave a seed in her place–
ready to help the next person grow
in that place.
As Angel & Demon walked side by side in a parallel universe,
they came upon an impressionable human being
hitchhiking their way through the galaxy–
now standing before that split in the wishbone.
These 2 otherworldly beings were on a mission:
to gain a soul,
a lost one.
The Demon told this being
that all their senses would be heightened
to anything they had ever experienced on Earth;
the Angel said that what they would experience
beyond the mythical pearly gates
would transcend all senses.
When the human being chose the planet
of the sun rays & the moon beams
over the one of candlelight & firelight,
they realized that they’d been to this place before,
& that the life they’d known had been a scavenger hunt–
where only a minority had figured out
that it was not themselves they were looking for,
but the Ticketmaster with the unlimited tickets
that had already been paid for.
Because Jesus had paid for my sins,
I could not short the Lord–
I had to pay Him back through tithing,
through prayer & scripture study,
through keeping His commandments,
& through good works that surpassed any good
that had ever been done to me.
There was no question that I would pay;
the only question was: Gross or net?
If my answer was different than theirs,
I wasn’t praying in the right spirit,
so I let them believe my conversion was to their Church
& not to their version of the God they claimed to serve.
God’s favor wavered–
the God who wasn’t always fair
as many Christians claimed.
It would take me many years to realize
that I was glad God that wasn’t fair,
for if He was,
then I would’ve had no place with Him
in the afterlife
for all the misdeeds I’d done.
It wasn’t fair that Jesus had to die,
but God had let Him know that it was the only way
so that Jesus had no choice,
for what was autonomy when you could only escape
the sting of death
by letting everyone else burn in hell forever?
The Word of Wisdom
was not the word of the wise.
It was an admonition to abstain from strong drink–
hot drinks & alcohol–
but fried food & all the chocolate cake you could eat
was just dandy.
I lived the law of chastity,
& that seemed the greatest law of all,
but it was through default
& not being devout
that I was still a virgin,
for just being with David
in a non-Biblical way
had always been enough;
he had kept me pure.
The candles in the chapel had burned out,
the smell of sulfur was strong.
I called out to God in the dark,
& He answered in David’s voice.
The Church was the lie that led me to the truth.
Had the Church never happened,
my parents would still be alive—
one living a lie,
the other, just lying.
I had experienced salvation at St. Mary’s—
not through my works,
but through an act of faith
in which a wondrous work
had been wrought in me.
The Church had touched that part of me that was spiritual,
the part that was sensual,
the part that was psychologically fragile,
for I was a doll that had been broken
in many places,
without realizing I had been broken at all.
I did not want to short the Lord,
because for giving His all,
He asked for 10 percent of my income,
a seventh of my time,
& my whole heart.
David was divine—
a father, like God,
a brother, like Jesus,
& a feeling, like the spirit
the missionaries spoke of—
the feeling that converted.
The crucifix served as a focus
for my self-induced hypnosis
as I convinced myself that
this 3-headed entity
called “The Godhead” existed.
I saw in God the Father,
in Heavenly Mother,
a woman of awe & mystery,
& the mother of the One who saw me as His.
I had just now given myself permission
to believe in something I could not see,
simply because I wanted to.
I was free—free to believe in Him.
I was ready to accept Jesus into my heart,
whether He existed or not;
I accepted the idea of Him,
& when I did,
My ancestors had brought me to where I was,
even as my descendants would bring me the rest of the way,
for through temple work & perpetuating the gospel
through my future children,
I would save them all.
God spoke to His people
through dreams & visions,
& every way indirectly,
through countless translations.
Something spoke to David through his paintings,
for every stroke did not conceal,
God was the Judge & Jury,
Jesus, the Defender,
the Holy Spirit, the Witness,
my own soul, the Prosecution.
Spirits lived amongst us—
holy & unholy,
familial & unfamiliar,
confusing & clarifying.
How was I to discern their agenda
when they all sounded the same?