I wish to remind you of some things, although you should
know them:
They tell me I am dead, twice dead, and uprooted. They call
me a dreamer; they say I am a scofflaw arguing with angel officers, and for this
I am condemned, by them, to gloomy chains and darkness forever. But I don’t
remember dying-physically or spiritually. I eat. I breathe. I laugh. I shit and
piss. I sing. I pray. I live. Today I am sick with a fever of 101.8 and a
relentless, hurricane cough, but I am alive, only half dead. I am stumbling, but
I live and will live.
There have been some intruders, this is true, snarling, barking dogs at the door. But the blue-fire sternodogs don’t recognize me; I am not with them. What is their message? Accuse me of witchcraft if you like but, unlike the famed Padre Pio, I cannot bilocate. There is no spectral evidence against me, only slander, only slur.
There’s no physical evidence, either. No fruit. No feast. They bring rumor and call it gospel; they hear insinuation and think it true. There are very powerful forces at work here. They revile what they refuse to understand. They are disgruntled complainers. They are fearless – but only in looking out for themselves. They are fearless except for mercy. Mercy causes them to shudder.
Again, they accuse me of insidious attack; they call me a charlatan saboteur. They say I practice unnatural vice on the natural plane. I don’t lower my eyes. I am not guilty. Not of sedition. Not of assault. Not of desertion. What other charges? What day of the week is it? A new one every day.
Of course, I realize that I cannot prove any of this. Those who accuse me don’t believe in proof. (Unless they are bullet proofs) They don’t need it. The believer has the witness in him or herself, but the accuser does not care. Bombast is enough. They can convict anyone for godless deeds committed or uncommitted. They are wind through leafless trees in autumn. They are 4 a.m. phone calls. Nevertheless, not even the wild waves of Sodom or the wandering stars of Gomorrah can harm me. I do not waver.
The Lord who once saved a people from Egypt will save me too-though I don’t know how. I do not wish to see them destroyed for all the harsh words they have uttered against me. Not usually. He will snatch me from the fire they have lit for me.
P. L. Tarrec
There have been some intruders, this is true, snarling, barking dogs at the door. But the blue-fire sternodogs don’t recognize me; I am not with them. What is their message? Accuse me of witchcraft if you like but, unlike the famed Padre Pio, I cannot bilocate. There is no spectral evidence against me, only slander, only slur.
There’s no physical evidence, either. No fruit. No feast. They bring rumor and call it gospel; they hear insinuation and think it true. There are very powerful forces at work here. They revile what they refuse to understand. They are disgruntled complainers. They are fearless – but only in looking out for themselves. They are fearless except for mercy. Mercy causes them to shudder.
Again, they accuse me of insidious attack; they call me a charlatan saboteur. They say I practice unnatural vice on the natural plane. I don’t lower my eyes. I am not guilty. Not of sedition. Not of assault. Not of desertion. What other charges? What day of the week is it? A new one every day.
Of course, I realize that I cannot prove any of this. Those who accuse me don’t believe in proof. (Unless they are bullet proofs) They don’t need it. The believer has the witness in him or herself, but the accuser does not care. Bombast is enough. They can convict anyone for godless deeds committed or uncommitted. They are wind through leafless trees in autumn. They are 4 a.m. phone calls. Nevertheless, not even the wild waves of Sodom or the wandering stars of Gomorrah can harm me. I do not waver.
The Lord who once saved a people from Egypt will save me too-though I don’t know how. I do not wish to see them destroyed for all the harsh words they have uttered against me. Not usually. He will snatch me from the fire they have lit for me.
P. L. Tarrec
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