Mother's at 7:30 after a Ravens Game
And the poor have rights. They have the right to be less and know less. They have the right to pursue that endeavor of ignorance blindly. They should not be cursed with the knowledge of anything.
I stood and watched them swill in their own filth. I stood and watched them drink away their sight. I stood there and wept. All I could think of was how they gambled without knowing the game. They entered into a contest that was rigged with chicken wire and they kept betting over and over again. They were all blind betting into a hole.
All I wanted to do was touch their heads as though I was baptizing them. I just wanted to lay them down and say that I could make them satisfied in everything they do. I could make wishes come alive for them. I cried inside as I watched the poor dance and slop.
I watched the ritual matriculation and imagined they were peasants in the 14th century gathered around a cow or a bull awaiting the slaughter or the uncovering of the rose wreath or the may pole. I watched and saw little difference.
I looked down and saw the slop on my pants. I could not lay oils unto myself. I could not cure anyone until I myself was blessed with the ability to move on and change.
I'll send myself a postcard some day. I'll send it from some place for away where I can see where I am and where I have been. It will be quite a nice paradox. I may still yet be free of all things that I don't understand. I still may be able to go blind and not suffer. I pray for that kind of death. I pray for that kind of weakness. I long for truth in me that can let me go blind and join in the mud and drink down my life without caring and without knowledge.
