No kale smoothie this morning but sweet potato and flax and apple pancakes, being as it's Sunday and all. Last night I said to Mr. Moon, "Let's go somewhere tomorrow," and he agreed that we should but now tomorrow is here and where in hell would we go?
Walking is not comfortable. It just isn't. Every footfall is a bit of a pain and also a reminder that I AM NOT DOING IT RIGHT. Oh Lord. I have always felt as if I could walk across the world, if need be. Just set me going and I could do it. Now a journey from the stove to the sink is a rebuttal to that particular belief.
This is just damn depressing.
Bruises are blooming all around the top of my leg from buttock (one of my favorite words) to the front part and part of me thinks I need to work this shit out and part of me thinks I need to lay down and ice it some more. I have things to do tomorrow that must be done which involve walking. And what doesn't involve walking beyond sleep and couch-vegetation and sex?
I don't know. I honestly do not know.
I sure am saying that a lot, aren't I?
I do know that it's chilly and gray and the chickens want out and the cardinals and the finches are flocking by the dozens at the feeder and there's a whole lot of warbling going on. I know it is Sunday. I haven't done an anti-religion rant in a long time. I don't know why that is either. I did dream the other night that a dear friend had a book she wanted to give me about GOD and I told her that I'd read it but that I doubted it would make me change my mind about stuff. In real life, I don't think this friend is very religious although maybe she has a deeper connection to the power source than I realize consciously. Again- who knows? Not me.
I guess the Catholic Church is Popeless right now. I wonder if the true believers, the Catholic devout (are there any of those left?) might feel a little verklempt about this. I wonder if they're feeling all at loose ends with no one to tell them what God is thinking. Sometimes I read a blog by a Catholic woman I know and it's so strange. She resents it horribly when people don't respond to her good deeds with grace and it makes her feel bad because she is trying so very hard to see the Jesus in everyone like Mother Theresa did. I don't know. Jesus seems like sort of a bad-ass to me sometimes. That Mary and Martha story always amused the hell out of me. There was Martha in the kitchen, working her ass off to prepare food for The Lord and Mary was just sitting there at the feet of The Lord and being worshipful and all and Martha, being the good little passive-aggressive martyr she was finally got fed up with that and not getting any help in the kitchen and started yelling and Jesus said, "Chill out woman! Who cares if we eat? I would rather be worshipped!" and that doesn't sound like a Mother Theresa thing to me but of course, that was a Ms. Moon summary of a Bible story and you know how things do tend to get lost in translation. But I've always been able to picture that story so well, Martha's hair all frizzing up in the kitchen as she boiled the lamb and rolled out the flat bread or whatever it was they were going to be eating, her ears and cheeks growing red with effort, heat, and resentment, and Mary sitting there at the feet of The Lord with her mascara not smudged one bit, her garments unwrinkled and fitting her in a flattering manner, cool as a cucumber and looking up at The Lord beneath those eyelashes, maybe batting them in a flirtatious or at least worshipful way AND, according to the Bible, anointing The Lord with fragrant oils and wiping his feet with her hair and boy, times were different then, I guess.
But I know a few things about men and as much as I know they like a good meal, I am certain that most of them would choose being anointed with fragrant oils and having their feet massaged with a woman's hair over eating some hummus and pita bread.
I've always been a Martha, my first name notwithstanding, and I would have been the one in the kitchen slaving away and then finally blowing up and saying, "God dammit, Jesus, could you tell my sister to give me a little help here?!" totally missing the whole point of the visit which was to sit at the feet of The Lord and receive his words of wisdom, believing that my place was to just do, do, do, and give, give, give and really- who gives a rat's ass? Heat up a frozen pizza and pour a glass of that water. The Lord will change it into wine and everyone will be happy.
Mary and Martha were the sisters of that guy Lazarus whom Jesus raised from the dead and that is another story from the Bible which has always freaked me the fuck out. I don't even care to talk about that. I mean, the dude had been dead for FOUR DAYS!
Talk about your zombies.
Anyway, yeah, religion. Grace. Do unto others. Funny how Jesus said for people to do that- do unto others as we would have them do unto us but as far as I know, he didn't leave instructions to those who had been done to as to how to accept this doing. Maybe he did. I don't care to go research this question. But I do know that a gift given, not out of grace but out of a sense of duty or out of a desire to make some points on the Big Scoreboard Of Life, is not a joy to receive at all and there you go.
I may not have a great deal of belief or respect in religion but I surely do believe in and respect grace. Of course, my definition of grace may not be yours. But I surely do recognize it when I see it and there are some mighty grace-full people on this planet and there are some (me included) who are seriously lacking in it.
Grace and humor. Those might be my two favorite human attributes.
I wonder if Mother Theresa liked a good joke? Well, maybe. Maybe "Stop me if you've heard this one," was one of her most oft-repeated phrases.
I sort of doubt it.
All right. I believe I'll go ice my buttocks.
That painting which I think is quite beautiful, was painted by the 19th Century Polish artist, Henryk Siemiradzki. According to Wikipedia, at least.
Thanks for coming by for Sunday services, y'all. As usual, there will be no passing of the collection plate but I'd love to shake your hand as you leave the building.