Breech

The latest installment of m soap opera? Same as all the others. Heavy breathing and lots of motion without getting anywhere. Like sex, or a hurricane. But it's being made apparent to me, via God's passive sotto voce, about what a really unpleasant and impatient man I am. I knew it already, but I thought I had more control over it. I am, dear reader, less than I seem. Feeling guilty later, or even at the time, is not sufficient to undo the damage that impatience causes. It is selfish and hypocritical. I have no excuse.

So there's that. On the other hand, the nature of my depression seems to have changed. That darkest spirit, like black hatred, that I could feel approaching and settling like the closing of some torture device door, well, it hasn't been around for a while. Go figure. Y'think my theory might have been right? That it was an actual entity? I think it was. A little scary. How many years has it been sucking at my spirit? We have to protect our own minds though, as valiantly as we would protect any of our loved ones. When we're called little children and told to love one another, it is presumed that we already love ourselves. So maybe we should.

Psalm 27. Whom shall I fear? Of whom shall I be afraid? Indeed. Yet so much fear. It's unbecoming. Lead me in a smooth path, because of my enemies. Do not deliver me to the will of my adversaries; for false witnesses have risen against me. The question is this: What enemies? What false witnesses? I thought about that -- if there are no actual false witnesses, the psalm has only theoretical application. Then I got it. I have enemies and adversaries and false witnesses. Internally. There's at least one voice, and probably many, inside my head that repeats, the way waves keep rolling, that I can't be happy or successful or normal or any good thing. I can't be loved. I can't be happy. I have that voice. Not as a voice -- more of a script. But it's so thoroughly memorized that it has a body like a solid black fog, and maybe talons and fangs.

Yes, psychology. And no angels can stand with their fiery swords against this sort of demon. The other kind, now held perhaps at bay, are external, albeit trying to get in. But this one is called into existence as a sort of mutation. Evolution, it seems, is real after all. Something out of nothing. Alas, it spawns only parasitic twins, stunted, absorbed, entirely internal, unthinking save for a craving for vindictiveness. Ah well -- I always wanted a little brother.

How to silence the chorus? I could make something up, but I don't know yet. I'm just lucky I got an answer about the other. The other thing. I'm sure it will be back. I'm sure it comes round. I sense it, in fact. But it's not here. God did that. It seems to be an important function of angels, to stand guard for those who ask. Important to me, now, at least. But as I say, how do we rewrite the script of failure and self-hatred? Huh. I don't have to make it up. I know the answer, in outline. Something to do with the Holy Spirit.

Which is beyond my capacity to understand. Maybe that's a clue. God is such an ingrained idea that we get it even if we don't. Jesus is every true thing that's beautiful. If I didn't get that, nothing that I did get would have any value. But the Holy Spirit -- not my thing.

So that's another project. I think I'm right. How else can I be freed from this body, this mind of death? Ah well. Something to think about. Stay tuned. It's getting interesting. No promises as to a happy ending. Tragedy makes up in intensity what it lacks in frequency. Like sex. Like hurricanes. But maybe I'll find grace, more grace, more unmerited favor. Stranger things have happened. Like the lifelong assault against me by one or more demons. How strange. I don't know the enemy's name, but I'm learning its nature.

So. Remember me in your prayers, if you pray. Please do. See? I'm trying to learn to ask for help. I've started with God, and now I'm spreading out. I called my father yesterday. No answer, but I tried. I let it ring and ring. Usually I'd hope no one would answer so I could say I at least tried. But I wanted an answer. And for the first time in my life I'm supposing something like Thanksgiving may have a purpose. Spreading out, as I say. But I've said enough.


J