Follow the Star...

Dear Hearts

I am in The Holy City.

I just got back from Walmart with Mom. We had fun just being together. We were silly—I held a Listerine bottle like a waiter and said, “I have so many fond memories of late night talks with T. over this vintage.” She wants to send a picture of herself and the Listerine to T. with the caption “Thinking of you.”

I think about him and just get mad sometimes. “I do too,” she said. Huh. So that’s okay to feel that way.

We passed the Moose Lodge where G-Pa had his birthday last year. I thought about how hard I worked for that party and what fraudulent hypocrisy and lies T. displayed when he was there shaking hands like the devoted “fiancé.” Liar.

“Fuck you, T.”

I was here in The Holy City last year this time, because yes, I was doing my summer visit to G-Pa, but also because I couldn’t take T. anymore. Things had reached a critical mass. Yet, I took it for another nine months. Any port in the storm. Goddamn you T. Goddamn you and me.

I am waiting for Peter the Catholic Republican farmer to sweep me off my feet. To my sister’s consternation, he will be a wealthy farmer. He will have sold out to corporate and GMOs. He will wear snake-skin cowboys boots. He killed the snake when he went on a hunting trip to the Everglades. He will love me and worship me and let me have my Barbies anywhere I want. He will make so I never have to worry about money again. He will hold me at night and love me. He is gonna put a rock on my finger that will be so fucking big that Putin will see it from his spy satellites and say, “Where is that blinding light emanating from in Middle-America?”

“From my diamond, bitches!”

I can’t imagine being with someone right now. I have naught to give. But if Peter were real I would love him and be devoted to him—even if he only had enough money to put a karat on my finger. (A girl has to have standards!)

As long as he doesn’t call me a ‘fucking bitch…cunt…whore…” As long as he is not deliberately cruel.

T. may have a disease. But he made a CHOICE to be mean. That’s the worst part of it. He made a choice to be mean.

I woke up this morning with Angel’s little paw draped over my hand and her head on my wrist. God, thank you for blessing me with her presence in my life.

I attend my first Eastern Star meeting tonight. I am psyched! I have wanted to be a Star my whole life. I wanted to wear the white dresses like all the plump older women in my Rainbow Lodge. (Masons are for men. Eastern Star is for Masons’ women. Rainbow is for girls. And it’s a lot more complicated than that—but they are fraternal organizations with secrets, not secretive organizations. They are devoted to good works and being better people.)

Now the Catholic Catechism says the Masons are blasphemers. The original beef—was that the Knight’s Templar, the precursor to Masonry had way too much money and power and the Church wanted them discredited and dead. The Pope and French King did just that. In the early 20^th century Catechism, the problem with Masonry and Catholicism is that Masons accept people of all religions and consider all religions equally Grace. In that time period, only Catholics went to Heaven.

Now, the Catholic Church has conceded that good people of other religions (especially Protestants) will probably go to Heaven via God’s Grace and Mercy. Hell, even a Buddhist can make it into heaven if God’s in the right mood. Pope Benedict XVI also changed the wording in the Catechism so as not to be so directly opposed to Masonry.

Whatever.

I am a devout Catholic and proud of it—grateful for it—blessed by it. But, I am also and Eastern Star. In my heart, I know there is no conflict. This organization of women and designated Masons is about being better people and revering the Bible.

I use Tarot cards too. And I have in the past and will in the future use birth control.

Somehow I don’t think I’m going to Hell because of that. Saint Peter—Jesus—would send me to Hell because I am and Eastern Star and use Tarot cards, even though I love Christ and Mother Mary with all my Heart and Soul and I try my best to not be a bad person? Nope. Not the JC I hang with. The Catechism is written by men—not God.

I am not a Cafeteria Catholic! I hate that term. I am a thinking Catholic.

My point? My first Star meeting tonight. But, no white dress. Just nice clothes. I am devastated! The white dress was half the fun! What we know in our Hearts and Souls to be true, may not agree with The Church,  but JC was kinda a dissenter too.

You can be a devout Catholic and disagree with The Church. It’s okay.

You can take my father's Masonic Bible from my cold, dead hands. 

I digressed from my original point entirely. I love spending time with my Mom and I’m gonna miss her like hell when she leaves Thursday. Dear Hearts, I ain’t just “staying” in The Holy City, I am LIVING here. A lot surreal and a lot scary. But, for the first time in my life—I feel like I may be making decisions based on what I want—not what I ought. And, then there are God's plans-they will always trump mine. 

But, God, please, I'm ready for some smoother terrain.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: T., I trusted you because you are a Mason. But, true Masons--they don't act like you do. As a Mason, you're a fraud.