T.Notes#49: Maria

I once lived with an eccentric old friend
who kept an archive of private diaries for over seventy years.
A reckless collection of trysts, musings and quiet uneventful mondays.

We would often reminisce about skinny dipping in caribbean nude beaches,
Relaxing massages overlooking an indian summer,
And accidentally finding Jesus whilst searching for our own delights.

The last time we spoke, we discussed her financial asssets and private emotions.
She said to me,
When they tell you my time is up,
Don't leave these words unattended.

If you must, then burn the whole thing to the ground
every single word!
I'd rather no audience into my mind
When i am no longer able to defend my best intentions,
lest these pages accurse me into the grave.

I agreed, albeit under the influence of late night prosecco,
and wandering thoughts about
if heaven is only for the simple minded.
Those who believe and persist without question.
Or if there is room for those of us tossed back and forth with storming doubts,

Those who wage daily wars to uphold their own redemption
Living in anxious fear to find out in one eternal moment,
If their unrighteous miniscule faith was enough to bring them home to rest.
Or if their many loose ends shipwrecked faith.

There were days when we tired of waiting for God
So we turned to soulful ballards to attend our discontents
Nights like Lauryn hill, Sade Adu and Jorja Smith.
This too, is fine.

Sometimes the best we can do is sit and repeat the words of a simple song,
Or an easy prayer over and over and over again
Until a random unintended interlude, when it all finally rings true.

By the way my dear friend Maria is well and symptom free,
holed away from covid-19 in a fine retirement home.
Guzzling the occasional jagers,
chatting shit on soulcast
And still checking her blog stats
For that one audience reading from heaven.

These are our T.Notes.