At Night I Would Lie In Bed

It Was The In-between Time, Before Day Leaves And Night Comes, A Time I’ve Never Been Partial To Because Of The Sadness That Lingers In The Space Between Going And Coming.

It Is The Peculiar Nature Of The World To Go On Spinning No Matter What Sort Of Heartbreak Is Happening.

I Found That I Could Not Climb My Way Up To God In A Blaze Of Doing And Performing. Rather, I Had To Descend Into The Depths Of Myself And Find God There In The Darkness Of Troubled Waters.

I Felt Someone Should Personally Thank Every Rock Out There For The Human Misery It Had Absorbed. We Should Kiss Them One By One & Say, We Are Sorry, But Something Strong & Lasting Had To Do This For May, & You Are The Chosen Ones. God Bless Your Rock Hearts.

I Often Went To Catholic Mass Or Eucharist At The Episcopal Church, Nourished By The Symbol And Power Of This Profound Feeding Ritual. It Never Occurred To Me How Odd It Was That Women, Who Have Presided Over The Domain Of Food And Feeding For Thousands Of Years, Were Historically And Routinely Barred From Presiding Over It In A Spiritual Context. And When The Priest Held Out The Host And Said, "this Is My Body, Given For You," Not Once Did I Recognize That It Is Women In The Act Of Breastfeeding Who Most Truly Embody Those Words And Who Are Also Most Excluded From Ritually Saying Them.