I don’t know where exactly it all started. I think there has always been a side of me that has been a bit irreverent. It’s not that that I ever scorned reverence. In fact, the obscene reverence of Catholicism always had a particular intrigue to me.
I loved the ivory towers that told the story of our ancient faith. I loved going inside them and gawking at their beauty. The cathedran pillars didn’t seem to hold the same passion I had come to know, but they were undeniably breathtaking.
I have come to know life well enough to know she will tear right through us with remarkable ferocity. She stops at nothing to reveal the beating heart under our well-polished marble. It is her invitation to realms of truth and honesty where we must step outside our archaic beauty.
We build towering castles for what we think should last, but these beautiful boxes can never hold on to us for long. It is quite painful to continually walk out of an identity that so shaped us. It is equally as painful to remain in a place that no longer tells our honest story.
These teeth have clenched shut more often than not to try to hide the inner evolution inside me. My lust for life however propels me nonetheless into our new territory.
I don’t mean to keep nailing these 95 Theses to the door. Partly because I’m aware that the incessant banging of resistance gets to be just plain annoying. I wonder sometimes if it would be easier to just walk out alone. And in many ways I do, but I find myself continually returning to these ancient walls to revisit their lovely.
I stare at this giant cathedral and I remember how it shaped me. How it harbored me and protected me in a world full of treachery. And even how it continues to be a lighthouse to the fading.
I watch the people pass me by through the ancient doors and see how it empties. Part of me doesn’t bother much to keep them as I understand their weary. The demons have worked inside it just as powerfully. They demand their colorless carbon copies.
It's kind of embarrassing telling you about the day I first took to profanity. But I think I might do it anyway since I remember it so vividly.
It was the day after I encountered the Divine tangibly. I was reading the holy book and it was exploding inside me.
My whole body was reverberating with every word at an entirely new frequency. My black and white vocabulary filled with color as I gasped profanely at these pages that were reverberating. My new found freedom startled me.
I had read that book before, but never as a free woman. Only as the woman I was allowed to be. I tore through the pages that day and for the first time, I had an encounter with me. A me that was far more stunning and exquisite than the me I had been taught to be.
She was beautiful and wild and a little crazy. I realized quickly how few would be able to handle her in all her complexities.
But maybe she wasn’t meant to be handled. Or understood.
Not even by me.
Maybe she was meant to be heard and felt.
Maybe she was meant to blaze a trail rather than walk a tightrope.
Maybe she was born to be irreverent and obscene.
Maybe she was created to become the most terrifying thing a woman could be.
A woman fully clothed in her own skin.
A woman seen.
