I’d had enough. My sweet boy didn’t seem to be himself any longer and I wanted to (I want to) get him back. So I began to search and sift and distill and came up with a cock-eyed plan to get him better.
But I realized in mass today that without God, it’s all pride, vanity, sloth: those three sins that led me here today, wondering whether the information I found is the right information, knowing my son was compromised by my own hand, paralyzed in analysis. And those three sins will continue to harp me unless I follow the Lord. The Word, after all, is He, and He is the way and the truth and the life. Those I’d rather have than my small sins, even though they are mine and mine alone.
My political libertarianism battles the preachings of my faith. So there, reader, whoever you are, I’ve said it loud for it in silence it shatters me: now you know I am a despiséd radical. Hide yo kids hide yo wife. I do not care. Just leave me free to follow Him. God, being God, is always the path I ought to take.
PrayerOver a dock railing, I watch the minnows, thousands, swirlthemselves, each a minuscule muscle, but also, without theway to create current, making of their unison (turning, re-infolding,entering and exiting their own unison in unison) making of themselves avisual current, one that cannot freight or sway byminutest fractions the water’s downdrafts and upswirls, thedockside cycles of finally-arriving boat-wakes, there wherethey hit deeper resistance, water that seems to burst intoitself (it has those layers), a real current though mostlyinvisible sending into the visible (minnows) arrowingmotion that forces change—this is freedom. This is the force of faith. Nobody getswhat they want. Never again are you the same. The longingis to be pure. What you get is to be changed. More and more byeach glistening minute, through which infinity threads itself,also oblivion, of course, the aftershocks of somethingat sea. Here, hands full of sand, letting it sift throughin the wind, I look in and say take this, this iswhat I have saved, take this, hurry. And if I listennow? Listen, I was not saying anything. It was onlysomething I did. I could not choose words. I am free to go.I cannot of course come back. Not to this. Never.It is a ghost posed on my lips. Here: never.–Jorie Graham