“I would not open windows into men's souls.”
—Queen Elizabeth I
I do not trust what I cannot see—
But I go to church most Sundays,
and wordless prayers swirl endlessly through my mind—
like waterspouts on the sea.
I believe in facts and data—
But how do you quantify Bach’s Chaconne?
Or derive pleasure from knowing the science of gooseflesh?
And what do you say when
you know that the atoms in your body
don’t change every 7 years—
But you feel the tug to belief,
so that you can shed your checkered past(s)
like snakeskins in springtime?
I wish I knew the answers.
And I wish I could—just for once—believe it all.
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“Get out of your head,” my priest once said to me—
“You need to stop thinking so much about God
and just try to….feel…the Mystery.”
If I had only listened…..
But I saw visions of Pentecostals and pagans—
And shuddered at the thought of losing control.
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Meanwhile, I eat the bread and drink the wine.
And—sometimes (but only sometimes)—
when the Host or the wine hits my tongue,
The hair stands up on the back of my neck for no good reason,
and, for a moment,
My body tingles so hard it hurts.
How to explain this frisson of hard-edged joy to my rational self?
I have no answers.
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I am caught between logic and longing for transcendence—
One foot on either side of the chasm between them.
“CHOOSE!” my black-and-white brain barks.
But it suddenly decides to recall that the Via Media is a “thing.”
(Thank you, Gloriana…)
And I realize that I can straddle the crevasse,
and keep walking toward….Whatever…is calling to me.
Even if I have an unsteady gait,
or bowed legs.
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The Virgin Queen kept her throne
by counting the cost of installing divine windows,
and wisely declaring the effort a lost cause.
Instead of portholes and skylights, we got:
Lex orandi, lex credendi.
And so it was…and is.
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I’ve lost count of those who wanted to force open the windows into my soul.
(They knew nothing of Gloriana, and would have despised her if they had…)
I had feared they would jimmy the latches and find….........
Nothing at all.
Or maybe just a sputtering candle and a pile of peanut shells and empty wine bottles....
But I escaped the men with crowbars to arrive at this time and this place,
and to unearth at least one answer:
There is a lot in my soul to be examined,
But only I can open the windows
that will allow you to view
the walking contradiction that is
Me.