I’m up and I ask myself why

My eyes are filled with tears that will not flow.

There is love that I long for

There is love, visible, tangible, solid yet I yearn still.

Who will entwine with me, naked and warm, through the night, defying dawn?

The poem I wrote this morning, The Question In My Head, was on my mind today, as was its question “Do you love me?”

I shared the question at AA at noon. And as I left the meeting, people I did not know told me they loved me. Quite an experience.

I guess I let people know I was vulnerable. And in need.

The question repeats itself, over and over,

arises, apparently, at random.

Who asks it? Am I the inquirer?

If so to whom do I ask it?

Or does someone, who has no face, ask it of me?

Do you love me?

The Sunday Obligation weighed heavily  upon me today. Deciding that Saturday’s 5:30 Vigil Mass was too much for us after our day of motoring, we limited our choices to Sunday’s offering. I slept through the 8:30 Mass. I wanted to go to the 1100 AA meeting at the clubhouse. I was glad I went. I learned a new meaning for the word Salvation. The translators of the King James Bible used salvation to convey the meaning of the Hebrew word “to come home”.

The Advent Season is about awakening. Bach’s prelude “Sleepers Awake“, heard during this season, makes the point. Suddenly the Messiah appears to show us the way home. The Advent Season, is the run up to the Season of The Nativity, The Incarnation.

The last thing human beings want to admit is that they are lost. The husband who won’t ask for directions is one of the classic jokes of the rivalry between the sexes. Within the context of recovery “coming home” involves a second chance at life. For many of us in recovery, this is the literal truth. We were physically dying. The obituaries are daily filled with the names of our friends who don’t make it back to health.

We finally made it to the 5:00 PM Mass. The music at this Mass is mostly sappy and annoying. But I go to Mass for time with Our Lord, present in the consecrated Bread and Wine.

Our modern time is an escape from truth and beauty, that truth and beauty are unknowable and relativistic value judgements. The simple truths are that alcohol and drugs kill. There’s not much relativism to a corpse.

During this Thanksgiving Season, there are questions that after all these years still puzzle me.

1) What did the Pilgrims make their balloons from for their Thanksgiving Day Parade?

2) Where did the Pilgrims go shopping on Black Friday?

3) Did the Pilgrims or the Indigenous Tribal Population make the Green Bean Casserole?