Letter To My Sister. Installment 12

https://hellanim.deviantart.com/art/Guarding-angel-5-167472099

. . . continued . . .

Dear Sister,

“What if [God] doesn’t exist? . . . that it’s a fiction. . . then man is the master of the earth. Splendid! But how can he be virtuous withou God? That’s the question, I’m always harpng on that. . . . how can[Man] be good without God? . . . For what is goodness? . . . it’s one thing to me and another thing to a Chinaman - it’s a relative thing.Or isn’t it? . . . “ Part 3, Book 11, Chapter 4, “A Hymn And a Secret”, from “The Brothers Karamazov” by Dostoyevsky.

One can become so consolidated that one gets stuck in all the stuff that is. The only way forward is to keep skipping from stepping tone to tapping stone. When it snows, you discover how little grounded you are. Your march slips and slides into a balancing act.

Little Sister, You may appear hollow or vacant, but the numbness is a fullness that won’t let anything new trickle in. You are a blackhole. Nothing is, everything goes. I can’t feel sorry for you. How can I be desolate: left alone; or regretful: "pain or distress in the mind at something done or left undone". Me disculpa but I am not culpable. I am very sorry therefore, I wouldn’t know how to cruxify myself for you. I am not the messaiah.

How can we all be responsible for eachother? I cannot even care for my sister.
But there has to be a way! A SPIRITUAL way! It is time to come into my own.

Arthur Rackham, The Gifts of the Little People.

There are blackholes everywhere, now, in our universe. We are surrounded by plugholes leading into drains of void. You can say it’s down to better detection if you like, but we only see what we know, and what we know is what we were, and there was nothing before that.

A lot of the nice people who say nice things, but you know, is actually, only, about “judge not, lest you be judged”. Punctured, vapid, idle. The cracks between which to slip out have been filled in with sillicone kit, to keep the thieves out and the riches in.

What great gulf exists objectively between us? The distance you never covered from the illusion.

You came to hold me back from high flight, a Pooh bear balloon waiting to go “bang”.You counterbalanced me without frills to raise me from the ground up, to grow firm like a tree. This tree is flexible in the wind (or there can be no growth). But it is at it’s root that the individual organism lives.

http://www.rachelsussman.com/oltw/

Your eagle eyes trust noone, for they only descry lies, that are our facial features, our dress, our broken teacups. Only in trust does another world become visible. You were my anchor, all I can hope to become now is yours.

I felt supported by you when I was an insecure child. I relied on you to get me through the grey and dank days that gave me SAD. A little poke, a tiny prod, a novelty, a moan: I barged into your room always looking for you. How I loved my little sister as my solace and confidant and ever reliable soul. What happened to you? Autism bullied you into submission, and then subsequently, of course, we all are to blame! I think I did hang from the cross for you, by staying on the spiritual path in the face of prety fierce opposition (even from yourself). This is not to praise God and wish you would come to church with me (I'd have none to take you to!). But to rejoice for two in what I know to be true for me. It doesn't have to be true for you. I cannot take you by force into this truth of mine. But I can sweep the path free of snow and have fresh strawberries and pears in this bowl of life.

Did you know the finest recorders are made of pearwood? The partridge in the peartree symbolises the battle of good v evil (the tree = the rood/cross). Legend has it if you walk around a pear tree backwards three times, on Christmas Eve, you can see your future husband's face in it. The peartree in our backgarden was sawn down the year my lover had to leave, 15 years ago.

. . . to be continued . . .