The Wind Blows Where it Wills

I wanna know
Have you ever seen the rain...
For the loser now will be later to win...
Knocking on heaven's door...

I wrote so much yesterday, but I'm thinking, maybe not yet...
as good as it is to write..
the attention is always drawn to a possible scandal...
Seems the ordinary crowds like their
Bread and circuses
And very few want meat and vegetables.

I could write of desserts that you would never be able to get out of your head
of lovers and passions and betrayals and adventures
all entertaining
but that is not why I write
yet
when I need money, I'll share the "good stuff."

I wonder if people in the past read Augustine for his treatise on God
Or just for the juicy details leading up to his conversion...

Some people really are that shallow.

I've heard stories that would make your stomach turn
and you would have to throw up...or wash yourself...
if I told them

If that is all you seek, scandal and betrayal and humiliation
Then go into your closet and look in the mirror.
You'll find what you seek
Because it was there first, before you sought it outside.

The wind is blowing so hard
It frightens me...
wind and no rain.
I need the water.
I am a fire sign...
Water brings me balance
Wind lets me burn much too brightly

I laid in bed, head on my pillow
and I wondered...
Why this Job-ian activity? 
My head is spinning from the events in my own life
And I'll be damned if everyone else's life is in chaos as well

The mentor said "yeah" instead of "yes."  That means he's angry with me. One letter. Yeah, I know. You do, too.  You know the "look" and you know what it means. We all communicate on so many different levels...and we all know that we do, but who wants to own it.
That furry little demon ego is having a field day in all of us. Especially when the wind is blowing. 

Oh, the tales I could tell...and you would live vicariously inside them...gleefully enjoying and judging at the same time. I could remind you of your own sins...and that would tick you off. Then we would carry each other into hell.

This is a picture of despair. I have suddenly realized that priests are not what I thought they were: people who really want to help.  They want their pretty clothes and their rituals given only to them, their secret handshakes and cloistered decision makings...and all just for the boys...I began reading a book yesterday...and I saw how the game is played out. Rules on top of rules on top of rules...all designed to fail...so that more rules can be made.
I believed that I might find some kind of solace in this place that some people call sacred.  But bit by bit, all the sacredness is being whittled away. I am in chaos. I am in despair. I hurt because I cannot fix the broken things in front of me. I cannot take away my daughter's suffering. I cannot help my son inside his pain. I can't fix them and I cannot seem to fix me.

This is truly the desert...
And now the wind is blowing.
My path behind me
The wind has blown away
And I don't know where I've been
Who I was
I don't remember where I was going
Or where I wanted to go.

There is only this wind
And this desert
If I walk into the wind,
I must walk blindly
The sand stings my eyes and burns my face
I don't know where I am going
I can turn my back to the wind
which feels better
But I don't want to go back there
And relive that pain
Knowing there is no answer to the why.
Going forward hurts too

If the wind stops
And I can see the stars again
It is soo cold
My body freezes
Must protect the heart, it says
And all the blood goes there
Be still
Maybe you won't die tonight
In the day,
The heat is relentless
It blisters my body
Makes me tired
Longing for shade
And so thirsty
And weak

The desert beats us
Not even locusts for food

The priests hold no answers in the desert
The ministers can sing to me
But when their song is done
I'm still in the desert

The hands of women reach out
Not understanding
But they reach out anyway
They know suffering
They know what it's like
To not be heard
To be ignored
To be used and then discarded
They reach out
And take me as I am

They stayed in the midst of suffering
When all others ran away
The Levite crossed the road
Didn't want to look at me
Or smell me
The priest didn't want to stain his pretty clothes
He wouldn't be able to stand in front of the people
Talk to God for them...
How important...
To talk to God
This one suffering by the road is of little consequence
To the many who must witness the ritual
And be inspired

The women stayed
in the now
they looked upon
my ugliness
my shame
and held me anyway
let me cry
and shake
held me
and let the walls crumble
getting them dirty too

Yes.
It is in the desert
Where we find our true friends
And our true enemies
And all the ones who just want to be nice
But uninvolved
In the desert
Where the wind blows where it will
We will find real comfort
From those
who walked in the desert
before us.

Love,
Cindy