Deadly sins

Ever notice how some people get more credit than others? Deserved or undeserved? Me too.

Home today

Working through some

Of the seven deadly sins.

I would rather focus

On other things.

I am stuck in the middle

Of envy, avarice and wrath.

They are embodied

By older women who have accrued

More credit than I perceive they should,

Some well-deserved

In my oh-so-discerning eye,

Some not so deserved

In my bedeviled heart.

They are writers.

Everything they write drips gold

Even when it doesn’t.

Everything they write is quoted,

And quoted,

And quoted again.

If I read one more quotation

I may rant somewhere inappropriate.

I am home trying to figure

Which sin applies.

Envy?

Avarice?

Wrath seems too big.

Pride covers all.

Gluttony, lust and sloth

Will need to wait

For another day.

Misogyny

It does not matter who this pertains to.  I do not have to wear a fake mustache and glasses.  Today I was given the gift of the knowledge that it*s not me.  I would have to change my gender, bind my chest, wear a codpiece (heaven forbid) to be seen in a different way.  No, thank you. Today I give thanks for knowledge particular and non-specific.  I hadn*t realized I was so worried about this.  In an odd way, finding out it is misogyny, pure and simple, is a relief.  Still wrong, of course, but a relief nonetheless.

Today I am alive

On the edges.

The news that a colleague

Pretty much hates

All women

Comes as

Amazing relief.

It is not just me.

It is not that specific kind

Of dislike

But hatred that

Even well-disguised

With a jolly manner

A smile plastered

Fake nose and glasses

Is still hatred of women

In general.

There is nothing I can do

About that.

There is nothing

I care to do

About that.

I am alive

On the edges.

I do not live in the orbit

My colleague

Circles in.

Fake nose and glasses.

There is enough to do

In other places

Outside the orbit.

Lady in purple

I am re-acclimating to Chicago time.  In the process I will post from the last couple weeks.  I met this woman close to the beginning of my journey.  How many women in purple cassocks have you seen recently... in the airport?  I still have her book.  

I have only seen people

In purple cassocks,

Clerical collars,

In precious spaces.

Usually it signifies

The presence of a bishop.

Yesterday

The Newark airport was graced

With a woman in a purple cassock,

A clerical collar,

Ebony cross.

She told me she was

Mother Clare,

Spiritual and Teaching Master,

Co-founder and Priest

Of the mystical Christian Order

Of Christ Sophia.

She was delighted

I was on my way to Iona.

She was on her way

To Stockholm,

All in purple,

Next gate over.

She gave me her book

And brochure.

I didn*t dare leave it

In Newark.

Knitting redux

I chanced upon the women*s sewing/knitting group this morning at church.  Not being on my own driving schedule, I arrived way before any appointments.  So... I had the chance to talk and realize once again how such groups can offer the space where so much more than handcrafts dwell.  It brought me back to the knitting women at my former parish, and the way they knit their way through life and death and everything in between.  It happens here as well.  Who knew?

I had no idea

There was so much more to learn.

There is so much more,

Therefore

There will be

So much more.

It simply

Stands to reason.

It even stands

Beyond anything

That passes

For reason.

I attend the women*s sewing group.

There is so much more

Than sewing

Or knitting

That happens here.

I remember the knitting women

From before.

They knit their way

Through life and death,

And everything

In between.

I had no idea

Or perhaps

I simply forgot

There is so much more to learn

Here

As well.

Brownie points

Part of this week*s theme seems to be the difference between women and men.  This week I*ve had at least three conversations about the differences.  This was one.  

When the women meet,

The men who are not

The topic of conversation

Get brownie points

For good behavior.

I like this.

Everyone gets his turn,

Her turn.

We move in and out of synch

Our whole lives,

We women,

You men,

In and out of synch.

Sometimes it*s minute by minute.

Sometimes we go days or weeks or months,

In

Or out.

I do not have an inkling

What happens

When the men meet.

But the women,

Ah the women.

We give brownie points

For good behavior.

I like this.

Of course…

I would.