Reborn and shivering
Spat out on new terrain
Unsure unconvincing
This faint and shaky hour
Spat out on new terrain
Unsure unconvincing
This faint and shaky hour
Day one day one start over again
Step one step one
I’m barely making sense for now
I’m faking it ’til I’m pseudo making it
From scratch begin again but this time I as i
And not as we
Gun shy and quivering
Timid without a hand
Feign brave with steel intent
little and hardly here
It’s been two years since my last Eastercamp. Gosh, that went quickly. Didn’t feel like it at Year One, but at Year Two it seems like a flash in the pan. By Year Three, there’ll be barely a trace left… I won’t recognize the faces or the names. That’s how quickly it can all turnaround.
Year One, I mostly just stayed home, cried, cooked and drank a little. Or a lot. But it was mostly red wine and I had a very communion-y mindset about it. It was a very sad and angry communion, so it was especially important.
Year Two.. I mostly just stayed home but participated in some Easter celebrations, even some leading of the procession in my local community. Helped with the re-telling of the story to some 10 – 13 year olds. Told a story about being less of a priest and more of a person, singing the songs of ascent up to the Temple steps.
I still miss the anticipation of telling the story. I miss the community of friends. My inner self trembles with anxiety that I won’t be that good again, that others will be better. Until I realize that is what I want, despite myself. I still want what has come after me to be better than I was. Doesn’t make me feel very righteous though. And maybe that’s better, the nothingness and then the desire.
Year One, I mostly just stayed home, cried, cooked and drank a little. Or a lot. But it was mostly red wine and I had a very communion-y mindset about it. It was a very sad and angry communion, so it was especially important.
Year Two.. I mostly just stayed home but participated in some Easter celebrations, even some leading of the procession in my local community. Helped with the re-telling of the story to some 10 – 13 year olds. Told a story about being less of a priest and more of a person, singing the songs of ascent up to the Temple steps.
I still miss the anticipation of telling the story. I miss the community of friends. My inner self trembles with anxiety that I won’t be that good again, that others will be better. Until I realize that is what I want, despite myself. I still want what has come after me to be better than I was. Doesn’t make me feel very righteous though. And maybe that’s better, the nothingness and then the desire.
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