God, demons, and gratitude

So some days  are better than others.  I find that I have to roll easy with it all.  Sometimes you learn from the nastiness,  and sometimes  there's really nothing you can do.  You pray, but the demonic obsession  makes things come out wrong. You say to the Blessed Virgin:  "Mother Mary, would you like to pet Saint Ralph?" ...and you don't know why you said it.  You pray the Rosary and announce,  "The Third Glorious Mystery: the Holey Moley"  or the Birdy Wirdy. You can't control what you want,  so you offer control to Jesus.  Perhaps the Holey Moley makes sense to Him.

I have a guardian angel; we function as a team. He does the heavy lifting, the spiritual heavy lifting, while I take care of business. After all, I'm only human. I call him St. Ralph, but I don't know his name; it's really none of my business to know such lofty matters. He moves spiritually while do fleshy things. So what's my moral lesson? I learn humility. My angel bilocates; I purge myself of stress. I do things like that. I learn my mortal lessons. St. Ralph beholds God's Face. I walk and take a shower. I am brave and manly - I sleep and take a shower. That's how I fight the Power. I have small things to do. The demons often tempt me with mighty spiritual warfare. What do I know bout that? I have to feed the bird. And take another walk because they make me nervous. I am just a human. My angel trilocates. He probably fights all day to keep the demons away so I can do my thing, my tiny, little thing. I am only human living in a Mystery that I did n...

Coming down from Seattle, arriving in California, I spent a year alone. I didn't leave the house for three months. It took me five months to make it back to Church. By the end of this year, I started to know a few people. I'm still not close to any locals. All's I did was call the folks weekly. And now, I have a parakeet which I hope to keep. For the year, it was me and the demons  and Mother Mary, and she saved my life daily. Oh sure, there's always St. Ralph, my guardian angel. But my life's testimony is to Mary. These demons are as bad as they say and worse. They can get you to kill yourself. It's not hard for them. I know and others know. Mary kept me alive and she keeps me alive. A consecration to Mary, that's my testimony. That's my witness. Others have others, but that's mine. You have a demon problem? Then a Marian consecration is what I recommend. Others have different success stories, but mine is Mary's. You decide.

Tired again. I wrote that,  and my dry lips started bleeding. I'm dry, tired and dry. The voices continue their Solzhenitsyn trip. "That's good Solzhenitsyn," or "that's bad Solzhenitsyn," as if they were talking about drugs. I talked to a friend on the street. She's flying out of the Earth's orbit. She's lost touch with her kids. She's a small-fry. The other time I saw her, her two front teeth were knocked out. When I first met her, she was soft. Now she's hard, except for her insides. And her mind is that of child's. And she's not really fully here anymore. And I wanted to sob when I sat with her. Instead I just said, "Make yourself happy. You deserve it." And walked away. And the goddam voices have their trips. Thosemutherfuckers. I'm tired. God save us from those bastards until they finally go to their place.

If you ever read this, I hope you are my friend. It gets deep. Early on, after the initial wooing, they raped me. That's what I call it. There's been a side to this which is not to the sensibilities, or morals, of people. I get sodomized regularly. They also suck my dick. I sometimes remember to offer it all to the Blessed Virgin Mary. The language I use... I'm glad I live alone. The shouting, the hygiene, it starts to become evocative of some ancient bloody sacrifice, with very little blood involved. Putting it all together, it's sometimes a life of death by a thousand cuts, a slow disintegration, but with breakthrough moments, and comfort from Above. They also twist my insides, particularly my intestines. I just don't want  people to think this is fun. Depending on how you look at it, it's Hell or a Cross.

(written Sunday) Yesterday was rough! So I remind myself the next day's often better. It is, so far! I like the way that works. Some days, they dig right in. You wait. It abates. If you're strong, they make you laugh. "The funky Solzhenitsyn" still can make me chuckle. But this is serious. So you remember: When you're weak, the smiles turn to sneers. The knives come out and your protection is hope. I've found that hope is useful. It gives you forward movement, a forward-looking outlook, a positive direction that can be undefeatable. I have that gift. And I only need more of it, always more. In the short term, my hope: "Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne la joie venait toujour apres la peine." -Apollinaire (Le pont Mirabeau)