My ashen heart

Photo by Lina Kivaka from Pexels

Boiling, toiling
the world spins with want,

Carnal fire within consumes
all rational thought
becoming need.

Where is the soul that quenches,
the burning flesh transformed
to the pure spiritual?

My marrow smolders black,
blood scalding hope,
desire drenched by desertion.

Absence darkens love,
obscures the craving,
of my ashen heart.

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (25. Me, Myself, I)

Jem phoned me today. She said that she was happy to have me back to my old self.

But am I?

I’ve never been the happy-go-lucky sort, and I’ll probably hit bottom tomorrow, after Christa leaves, but I’m not myself. The are black spots … no, bite-marks on my soul where Ms Ball tried to smite me. Should I go to church and make a confession? I can just hear it now:

Me: Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been 35 years since my last conversation … um confession.

Fr Daniel: I’m glad to see you back. What may I do for you?

Me: I was possessed by an evil spirit and did lewd and lascivious things. I’ve been cured of that by my witch friends, but there is still a mark on my soul. Am I doomed? Oh, and while I was possessed I fornicated with loads of men and ate their souls … I think … I couldn’t remember any of it when it was all over. I would guess that I dreamt it, except for … well … I lost several days, and my friends refuse to tell me what happened. I was naked a lot. I’m sure of that.

At that point, I could imagine the bell … book … candle … err, cloth screen fluttering as he made a big sign-of-the-cross … err, sigh … well maybe both. Why the screen? I’m a little old-fashioned, and couldn’t stomach the pasta … um, prospect of seeing the look on his face. You should be impressed that I knew his game … name. (I didn’t just make it up.)

What would he say next? Would he send me away for consorting with witches? Should I have told him about my use of tarot?

Too many questions. If he didn’t send me away, I’m sure I would still be saying Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers until I dropped. Little good it would do. I’m lost.

Is that my hair … despair? Your faith will save you my dear.

Maybe that’s my problem. What is my faith? I believe in a God (Goddess, actually) that watches over us … well neither a God or Goddess, but a profound presence that may or may not judge us by our works … certainly not by our faith. Would a last second conversion save me? Depends on which passages of the bible you refer to. It isn’t really clear, by my interpretation. Yes, I’ve read it all (not just heard it read at Mass), and studied enough of it to know that it is contradictory. (I was a nun in a past life, too!) Okay, I do believe in reincarnation. (It’s has to do with the preservation of energy.)

Sorry, I didn’t mean to go all escapist … estrogen … err, eschatological on you there. I do that when I’m down and self-absorbed.

Yes, today was all about my “self.” I drew the PRINCESS of WANDS, the card (if you remember) Jem uses to refer to me. She can be superficial, false, shallow, cruel, or faithless, if ill-dignified. (I’m not very dignified.)

The best thing about today was that the Strauss was awesome!

More Late Nights with Ezzie Dryar (24. Done with)

It’s over. I should have guessed it when I drew my card this morning, the Knight of Swords – Allen – again. This time it was inverted.

At least, this time he phoned. It wasn’t a long conversation. I’m too loose … too much of a loose cannon, and I can’t control myself. (Well, maybe if he was here!) I get out of control when I’m lonely, and I still don’t have any regular friends here. I think Evangeline could be a friend … and Marcel. I’m a better slut … err, fit with people that have unconventional spiritual views.

Marcel invited us to dinner tonight, essentially to meet his wife. Unfortunately, both Christa and I had to play tonight’s concert. I think she, Marla, wanted to gauge how much of a threat I was to her.

I’m not. I’m imploding … um, impulsive, and I let the torturers … err, moment carry me away, and I’ve come to confession … the conclusion that it is caused by the same thing that spawns my Tourettes-like behavior. I was, of course, cured of a stammer long ago, but the wrong words just leap out of me, and sometimes they are dangerously too close to the truth. Are my actions governed in the same way? Is eloping with … err groping Marcel something I want to do on a base level? He’s nice. He’s handsome, but he’s also married, and that is something I usually hold sacred.

Allen is gone. Shit!

It keeps coming back. I blew him a kiss … um, blew that one. I never deserved him. On a scale of one to ten. I’m a one, and he’s a hen … ten. (There I go again.)

Christa’s asleep now, but I have a feeling I’ll be up all night. I’ve donned my headphones, and am blasting Bruckner right now. Nothing like some heavy brass to clear the bugs … wax from one’s ears. Only a few days left. She leaves on Monday afternoon. I wish she’d touch me up … touch up my henna before she goes, but Evangeline is doing that next Friday. Monday is too soon.

I’m resolved to wear the henna until this evil spirit is completely gone. I still feel the urge from time to time, and I’m desperate to have a man between my legs. That may be more due to the fact that I’m in a period of abstinence than to her powers. Marcel says she is gone, but I can’t say I believe it. She’s done something irreparable to my soul, to my desire, to my …

I’ve become like her, not in the eat-your-soul sex-in-your face respect, but a more subtle taint. I need … what do I need? I just need. I can’t just now see that feeling go away. I just have to separate my wants from my needs. I need that man between my legs, but I don’t necessarily want him. I want to be respectable. I want to love someone first. I want to respect them.

I want to respect myself again.

I’m not sure that will ever happen.

It’ snowing outside. I’m cold.