"Why, oh why, my God above, have you abandoned me... In my sobriety?"
In my life, all good things must inevitably come to an end.
My family and I were driving home today from the movie theater. I was sitting in the car, looking out the window in a rather content mood, having just seen a movie that I had enjoyed... And my father decided he needed to stop at the Verizon Store, in order to exchange a headset he had previously bought for a better one. My mother, who has been experiencing some difficulties in her shoulder, begrudgingly agreed, though she was in pain as a result of driving such a long way.
My father entered the store, and we sat in the car, waiting patiently for him to return. As ten minutes passed, my mother grew irritated, and began murmuring curses to herself, and blasting her Pink Floyd albums, which I knew were awful signs. Eventually, she sent me in to "see what was taking so long", and I returned with the news that he was third in line, and would "be another ten minutes."
With Pink Floyd beginning to give me a headache, my father finally entered the car, and my mother was silent, at first. I gripped the handle on the car door, and felt my mouth run dry. I knew what would soon follow.
"Why do you need your glasses?" She asked irritably, "You're not driving."
"I like to be able to see." My father responded simply, which only incited my mother's anger to a further boil.
"Can you see the clock?" She pointed at the small, digital clock on the car stereo, and withdrew her hand with an agitated jerk. My father grumbled something inaudible, which I knew would set her off. I apprehensively turned on my iPod, opting out of a potential argument. Unfortunately, my intuition seldom fails me.
I can't quite recall all that my mother said... Upon these occasions, I tend to lose my sense of comprehension to a thick haze of unknown anxiety, of sorts. Her shouts and angry outbursts became a sickening blend of curses and fists pounding against the steering wheel, as Pink Floyd played on. I struggled to hear my iPod, to tune out her anger, to escape this twisted reality I was now ensnared in... My efforts were of no avail.
She hollered loud enough for the heavens to hear... And yet, they did not. They are bind, deaf, and feeble in the heavens, for they see no evil, and speak no evil. Her shouts and accusations towards my father set my blood to a boil, set my heart racing, my teeth grinding, and my hand gripping the door handle until my knuckles were white with strain... And still, the heavens did not see me, nor hear me. God is blind to that which He doesn't wish to see, and cannot help everyone, in this respect... In that case, he helps no one. everyone suffers, everyone bears pain, and he can do naught but turn the other cheek.
And yet, as my mother let all Hell break loose, and even forced my father out of the car, I remained silent. My sisters screamed and bawled, while I remained within the confines of my sobriety. I thought to curse, I thought to yell, I thought to hate her for this... And yet, I did not. Something inside me paused, and then settled; it seemed as though something had wrapped its arms around my heart, yet it was a cold, soothing embrace, as though it were rain in the midst of these sweltering August months... Something told me not to fear.
My mother turned the car around, and picked up my father, speeding home without a word. We reached the house, and all fled to our respective domains... My sanctuary is within my room, when no other salvation can be found. Eventually, she called us to her room, and apologized to us... And then, I learned what it meant to forgive. I was calm, serene, and at ease... Somehow, no anger had ever perforated the tender casing of my heart.
I realize now, more than ever, that I exist as an agent of humanity. God means nothing to me, religion means nothing to me... All that I believe in lies in my own town, my own country, my own world... I could not ask for more. It's these people who surround me, these people who love and care for me, and even those who barely know me, or despise me... They are my faith. If I ever lose my love for humanity, then I will lose everything... There is nothing, without them. Writing, art, music, and romance... They are bereft of their very essence, without human inspiration. Nothing I love could persist in existence without humanity, and I realize this fully. When Inspector Rouvelier declared The Black Order to be an organization which "serves the Holy Father", I nearly threw my copy of Volume Fourteen across the room, I was so infuriated. If we exist solely to serve God, to worship and obey, then we are a failure of a race. If we can no longer share compassion, care, and love with our fellows, we are a pathetic society. My purpose in existing is to devote myself to helping others, and in this way, helping myself... God could never come between my purpose and I, and I swear, He never shall.
In my life, all good things must inevitably come to an end.
My family and I were driving home today from the movie theater. I was sitting in the car, looking out the window in a rather content mood, having just seen a movie that I had enjoyed... And my father decided he needed to stop at the Verizon Store, in order to exchange a headset he had previously bought for a better one. My mother, who has been experiencing some difficulties in her shoulder, begrudgingly agreed, though she was in pain as a result of driving such a long way.
My father entered the store, and we sat in the car, waiting patiently for him to return. As ten minutes passed, my mother grew irritated, and began murmuring curses to herself, and blasting her Pink Floyd albums, which I knew were awful signs. Eventually, she sent me in to "see what was taking so long", and I returned with the news that he was third in line, and would "be another ten minutes."
With Pink Floyd beginning to give me a headache, my father finally entered the car, and my mother was silent, at first. I gripped the handle on the car door, and felt my mouth run dry. I knew what would soon follow.
"Why do you need your glasses?" She asked irritably, "You're not driving."
"I like to be able to see." My father responded simply, which only incited my mother's anger to a further boil.
"Can you see the clock?" She pointed at the small, digital clock on the car stereo, and withdrew her hand with an agitated jerk. My father grumbled something inaudible, which I knew would set her off. I apprehensively turned on my iPod, opting out of a potential argument. Unfortunately, my intuition seldom fails me.
I can't quite recall all that my mother said... Upon these occasions, I tend to lose my sense of comprehension to a thick haze of unknown anxiety, of sorts. Her shouts and angry outbursts became a sickening blend of curses and fists pounding against the steering wheel, as Pink Floyd played on. I struggled to hear my iPod, to tune out her anger, to escape this twisted reality I was now ensnared in... My efforts were of no avail.
She hollered loud enough for the heavens to hear... And yet, they did not. They are bind, deaf, and feeble in the heavens, for they see no evil, and speak no evil. Her shouts and accusations towards my father set my blood to a boil, set my heart racing, my teeth grinding, and my hand gripping the door handle until my knuckles were white with strain... And still, the heavens did not see me, nor hear me. God is blind to that which He doesn't wish to see, and cannot help everyone, in this respect... In that case, he helps no one. everyone suffers, everyone bears pain, and he can do naught but turn the other cheek.
And yet, as my mother let all Hell break loose, and even forced my father out of the car, I remained silent. My sisters screamed and bawled, while I remained within the confines of my sobriety. I thought to curse, I thought to yell, I thought to hate her for this... And yet, I did not. Something inside me paused, and then settled; it seemed as though something had wrapped its arms around my heart, yet it was a cold, soothing embrace, as though it were rain in the midst of these sweltering August months... Something told me not to fear.
My mother turned the car around, and picked up my father, speeding home without a word. We reached the house, and all fled to our respective domains... My sanctuary is within my room, when no other salvation can be found. Eventually, she called us to her room, and apologized to us... And then, I learned what it meant to forgive. I was calm, serene, and at ease... Somehow, no anger had ever perforated the tender casing of my heart.
I realize now, more than ever, that I exist as an agent of humanity. God means nothing to me, religion means nothing to me... All that I believe in lies in my own town, my own country, my own world... I could not ask for more. It's these people who surround me, these people who love and care for me, and even those who barely know me, or despise me... They are my faith. If I ever lose my love for humanity, then I will lose everything... There is nothing, without them. Writing, art, music, and romance... They are bereft of their very essence, without human inspiration. Nothing I love could persist in existence without humanity, and I realize this fully. When Inspector Rouvelier declared The Black Order to be an organization which "serves the Holy Father", I nearly threw my copy of Volume Fourteen across the room, I was so infuriated. If we exist solely to serve God, to worship and obey, then we are a failure of a race. If we can no longer share compassion, care, and love with our fellows, we are a pathetic society. My purpose in existing is to devote myself to helping others, and in this way, helping myself... God could never come between my purpose and I, and I swear, He never shall.
