Thursday, 14 May 2009

Letter Home to Father

"In this painting there are but vulgarity, sacrilege, impiousness and disgust...One would say it is a work made by a painter that can paint well, but of a dark spirit, and who has been for a lot of time far from God, from His adoration, and from any good thought..."

A cardinal’s secretary, in reference to Caravaggio’s painting, ‘Grooms Madonna’.  Source – Wikipedia

Dear Lord,

I know we haven’t spoken for a long time and I’m not sure if I ever even looked you truly in the eye when I did, through fear, maybe the fear that I don’t believe you are really there, in the configuration I was led to understand that you exist in.  Nevertheless, I do believe in you.  I believe you to be the soul of this universe, just as I am the soul of my body, if that makes any sense, but I know that whatever I might say, you know my heart.

I believe that you contain all the vital information in the universe, such that you see, know and are, everything.  I would like to thank you for changing the direction of my life and making me believe again.  You have seen me, dear Father, arrogantly defending my knowledge in the street to those without conviction, just as I am unconvinced.  I have wanted to escape from everything my brain has been consumed in for practically my entire life.  I have wanted to die.  I have wanted to remove from the world the body that you gave me.  I have wanted to trample myself underfoot as if I myself were the serpent.

I hope, dear Father, that my behaviour hasn’t hurt or distressed you too much.  I did at all times what I felt I had to, to become myself, whatever that is.  I did nothing with the primary aim of offending you, only myself, and the way of thinking I was forced to assimilate by those who claim in their obsequious falseness to represent you.  How could they treat me as they did, when all I needed was counsel, and understanding?

Without going into specifics – you know my heart – it is enough for now to once again acknowledge your existence after a long time with my back turned from you as I crouched hidden within the Great Crowd, and to talk to you again as if you were in my midst.  I know that it is not for my eager but rudimentary brain to attempt to calculate your form or comprehend your nature, but that is the language we understand in this secular, eminently visual world.  All I can see is Michelangelo’s vision of you with big muscles, a long white beard, and blue eyes, yes, that great Silver Daddy in the clouds.  I have always been in love with you.

I have taken in so much, all of what is good and bad; I have lived a life in your service, or so I was told; I have also conspired pathetically against you.  Perhaps you thus feel I have tarnished the life you gave me, and so no longer want me near you.  I hereby, humbly, seek your forgiveness, but you know my heart.

Furthermore, I don’t think I’ve ever committed any act simply out of evil, in my heart.  All the way through, even when I was doing the worst things, I only wanted to hurt myself.  When I afflicted myself, I only sought to protect others from myself.  I have always tried to be a good person and do the right thing, and stand up for those of a similar mindset.  I retain the hope of living in a better world.  I don’t know if or when I will die; all I know is that, wherever I am, I wish to be happy, and that if I am to suffer, to do so willingly, and only you can ensure that.  I am your son; punish me according to the magnitude of my foolishness.

By the way, did you make me gay?  In order to put me to the test?  Well, I failed miserably!  If I masturbate in bed later on, will you turn your back on me as if this conversation had never occurred?

I know that you know what is going to happen; I shan’t ask you, but will wait upon your whispers in a dream.  I finally feel that I can say whatever I like to you, and express my true nature in a way that doesn’t assume that you are an inanimate object.

Today, a stupid girl tried to get on the bus via the rear doors so as not to have to pay, and the driver saw her; nevertheless she hid behind the staircase, assuming everyone else to be as stupid as she.  Perhaps you have thought me to have behaved just as naively; perhaps you have thought me to believe you to be stupid, which, even as I write it, I realise is a stupid thing to say, because you know my heart.

You know what I am going to do.  And now you have set me on the right track, and I am not afraid to talk to you because I know you are most truly there for me.  I wish I could talk to you in spirit; words are not enough; they are inherited and can only approximate what I really mean.  But you know my heart.

Thank you for my life.  Thank you for using me as an example.  From here on I shall use every drop of my blood to praise you; I would like to think of myself as a ward of yours on Earth, as you come to a time of incisiveness.  I believe in you again Father, Jehovah.  I know you are real.  Forgive me for the things I do to destroy myself.  I know that in time you will help me to stop defiling my mind and body and remake myself in your image.  First of all, slowly, I must offload onto you all my worries, sorrows, regrets, fears and ideas, such that there will be nothing else left in my mind.  Is that the state of perfection?

In the name of your son, Jesus Christ, who died for us.  Too much too soon – I have to learn to praise him again, too.


1 comment:

  1. can you explain a little bit?
    Is this from you, to ...?
    If so, it seems as though something immense broke through the "veil of life", and you are feeling a little michelangel-esque, rather outside of yourself.
    I hope it is from you, and in earnest. Would be very, very interesting and id love to talk to you about it...