Originally posted by Jody on March 17th, 2020.
That was like last week and now I’m feasting and dancing in Jerusalem. I suppose it was the return to prayer that made all this possible. The birth of real love between sufficiently nuanced psychic nerds. The breakdown. The other breakdown. The Foggy Mountain, yeah that was it. Gonna join the Baptist Church. Again. Again. Lord help.
I worry everyday that everyone around me is faking their affinity for me. That’s nothing new. When I was homeless or before I was medicated, I would spend all day smacking myself on the head and saying (silently or out loud), “I don’t deserve to be here.” I specifically meant on the earth.
The funny thing is, it isn’t even something really beautiful that got me here. It was getting completely broken and screaming and slobbering into a bucket that was on fire with my oldest best friend.
It was knowing that all I had to hold on to was a puppy that smelled like rancid pepperoni. That that air mattress at Nashville had probably passed through hands that I missed terribly, but coded with all the time.
That there was a paper towel birthday banner for me when all I was capable of was crashing. That all this abundance is the honoring of that effort and care.
That the birds come here to eat the peanuts off the balcony railing. That I can run triage on a homeless man so fast it will blow your mind. He’s my brother. August West.
That I’m trusted by some really smart and good people. No, not through the beauty though. This beauty was the product of scrapping. Of never giving up. Of saying, yes, they know you’re weird and they’re pretty sure you’re demon possessed and/or a wizard; but yeah, boy, walk on down that aisle.