“THE HOLY FATHER”

Writing Practice. Inspired by Elaine Mayes’ “The Holy Father”.

In a land amidst war, pleasure was few and far between. We’ve all heard of the junkies and the hippies, polluting their bodies with false ideals and toxins. I sought out a higher pleasure: purity. 

I believed in god my whole life, the Christian kind. My mother took me to church every Sunday and I knew the Rosary like the back of my hand. I feel it sometimes, like a ghost of something, like when you forget to put on a ring or a necklace that you’ve been wearing for a while. It was fine for a while and I obeyed, but I cannot forget what god has done. How can Jesus be so pure when he has let three great wars happen within the century. I believe that their god was a powerful thing, as in he lusted for power. He was who he was because of destruction and chaos. I didn’t need that anymore. I lived in a world of death and wanted salvation from it all. 

It took me three months after I left the church to find them. 

We were part of a new movement, a new religion. Body and mind had become one and we flourished in the recesses of society. Foe became friend in a nonconsensual arrangement and anger fled from my body. In a world full of hate, we found love. I found forgiveness in the lips of a man and a body of a women. Love meant more than a four letter world and I was drunk, drunk, drunk on the ambrosia that it offered. 

The Body of Christ was a different thing for us, a lust, a need. There was no shame here, no residue of Eden. Eve was our mother and Adam was our father, but we dare not utter a mention of their disgrace. For us, the serpent never happened. We were all as clean as the white robes that Father wore. I adored him and I only hoped he would feel the same. He had a smile that could control a room. He was slow to anger--I think I had only seen him angry twice in my time--but it was quite a sight. I can’t help but feel safe and secure when he fights back like that. 

We all loved him, and trusted him. His youth made him seem normal and we never doubted his wisdom. He was about the same age that Jesus was when he started his miracles, so why should we doubt him? Why should we only listen to old men? That gets so outdated, but here, we have youth, vivacity, and love to guide us. 

I would stand by him to the end, I’ve decided. If the war comes to us, and we are rudely thrust into the world we’re escaping, then I’d rather go down with him than alone. What’s the point of dying if it’s not for something you believe in?