HolyHannah
rosecarmel -- You bring up an interesting point I had not thought on in a long time...
As a child, my 'mom' was all about going to church on Sundays but would complain often about the politics of the church and how 'mean' some of the "pillars of the church" (older families in the community) were to her and how she felt she did so much 'work' for the church no one recognized.
I often thought, "Why do you bother to drag Us there every Sunday then?!?!" because it was just more interacting with bullies and people telling Me how 'wrong'/bad I am, so I sure didn't want to go!
Oddly, after my sis and I left home she stopped attending with the declaration, "Church long longer 'does anything' for Me." I think pretending Christianity was just one more manipulative tool in her cabinet.
Like, "Look at Me! I'm a 'good' mother. I'm Christian and take my kids to church." and mean-while I think she knew what she was doing because it was all very calculated in hind-sight.
My mother was aware of the politics- How much it bothered her I don't know, but it wasn't enough for her to stop going- Her departure came much later on- It kind of tied into the family dinner I described ..
My mother was a misfit- It was the only skin she was ever comfortable in, that of a loner, except when she was with "her people"- She summoned them while she lay dying, days before taking her last breath- Which was graceful-
When I arrived at her bedside, we held hands- She said my name and one last time and attempted to bridge that pernicious gap that she didn't know how to explain- I could only respond with words of love and offer her some physical comfort-
Perhaps what she believed supported the gap between us, prevented her from maturing and learning about accountability, because religion offered her forgiveness, for whatever words that continually eluded her ..
You who never arrived
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me—the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods—
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house—, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,—
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...
-- Rainer Maria Rilke