Dear Nick,
I appreciate you so much for several reasons.
But I fear you should know I am straight laced and totally main stream. I fear you speak of people and a kind of worship that would
be foreign to me - well - like voodoo almost.
I really wish you would not make any of these other buttheads look right or mainstream. I did try to pound them and now I just want to spat at them occasionally though really my heart is not in it so please do not scare me with names like Simone Weil. :shocked:
I'm sorry to say that but I felt I had to.
You seem like a nice polite person and I have no intention of offending you. I am the one that is weird. My great great grand uncle for example was an archbishop and also friendly with the occultist Helena Blavatsky. I'll be the first to admit that when I am honest I am unfit for polite company.
I just finished a performance at a senior center and had the people up dancing and singing. It would be wrong for me to be my sincere weird self around them since they are there to have a good time and I help them to do it by extending my energies.
But what is the sense of being Mr. Wonderful on a website when I get paid to be Mr. Wonderful IRL? I'd rather meet people within whom the depth of Christianity resonates and it cannot be done by becoming Mr. Wonderful. It requires rocking the boat.
I know Simone is scary. She even had the police after her when she was a young social activist and the darling of the Marxists:
The Police Commissioner of Le Puy to the Prefect in a 1932 report to the Prefect:
In the interest of public security it would be advisable that this person be distanced from Le Puy, where she has never ceased to preach revolt.
Yet she was reading this poem when Christ took posession of her. Do you really find it so offensive?
"I hereby include the English poem that I recited to you, Love; it played a big role in my life, for I was busy reciting it to myself at the moment when, for the first time, Christ came to take me. I believed I was merely resaying a beautiful poem, and unbeknownst to myself, it was a prayer."
"Love" by George Herbert:
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guiltie of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here.
Love said, You shall be he.
I, the unkinde, ungrateful? Ah, my deare,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand and smiling did reply:
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love; who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat.
So I did sit and eat.