Happy Father's Day Pals.
I want to call my Mom to wish her a Happy Father's Day, but I can't because I know she'll say something hurtful and scary like, "We don't have any Father's around here." She's said it before, and I just don't want to hear it again. This is only my second Father's Day without my dad. Last year it occurred so close to his dying that I was still in shock.
Having to write the obituary and eulogy, plan the funeral, pick the casket and everything else, was so hard, but oddly beautiful in a way. I think all of the ritual around dying has so much meaning. Not that funerals or celebrations of someone's dying should have to conform to any standard. I'm all about non conformity, but there is something so comforting about tradition and ritual.
In my culture we don't tear our clothes when someone we love dies, we don't even wear black anymore, but I could see how these things would comfort someone. Me maybe. It would be nice to be able to wear something that would identify you as grieving so that people would be gentler, or maybe just a little bit kinder to you, for as long as you need them to be.
Last night after Scott left I started watching this beautiful movie about four generations of a Hungarian Jewish family and their battles with anti-Semitism, Sunshine. It was so good. I had wanted to see it when it was out and never got around to it. I have had a HUGE crush on Ralph Fiennes for a while now and he was amazing in this. Amazing and naked.
I also really loved Jennifer Ehle and her mother, Rosemary Harris. They shared a character, playing her at different times in her life. Maybe it was because the woman they played was sooo loving and dedicated, or maybe it's just because they are both so beautiful. I adore red headed women and men, it's a passion of mine. I don't understand it, I'm just drawn to people with this coloring, especially natural red heads with porcelain skin and freckles, yum.
All the scenes of fencing were a bit restimulating for me, (my ex was a fencer) and there was one seriously horrible death camp scene that I don't think I'll ever forget.
While I was watching the movie I found myself browsing through the religious items on eBay. I was particularly interested in bright, flaming red and orange, sacred heart imagery. I wondered if, as a child, the imagery around Christ had been too scary for me, and because of that I had never really felt a connection to Jesus. Perhaps subconsciously I was trying to make my way there via this more acceptable iconography.
This last Christmas was the first time I began to understand connecting to Christ through the idea of loving a baby Jesus. I never got that before. Then somehow Sister Eileen (my friend and neighbor) said something that made me feel more open and loving towards this little baby version of Jesus at Christmas. I don't know why I've always been so closed to Jesus the son, but I have. I think I feared him more than anything, and yet he was such a nice guy, a groovy, forgiving, miracle working, desert wandering, vegetarian hippy dude, why was I so afraid?
I love/d all the stories, the parables, the miracles, the whole thing, but until the last couple of years I had a hard time relating to this image of a man hanging from a cross. Now, surprisingly, I find some kind of comfort in it. You have to know what a wacky, pro nudity, Burning Man attending, pro body mod, hair dyeing, liberal, democrat, Wanna-be-Jewish, grrrl I am to find this funny. Then last night, while watching a movie about the atrocities perpetrated against my Jewish brothers and sisters, I found myself feeling closer to the Catholic part of my past, via eBay, of all places. Weird, n'est pas? Maybe it's because I always associated all of this imagery with the people who owned it, cold judgmental, closed hearted, but oddly well meaning people, and now I'm finding a way to embrace what's beautiful about it, integrated with what's beautiful about myself, my own groovy spiritual love blend. You know, naked orgasms in Tahiti, Hawaiian volcanos and rosaries, apparitions of weeping Marys, floating with angels on pastel clouds, tattoos and crucifixes, hearts on fire, kitsch and Christ.
I guess it all has to do with imagery, and eBay is this enormous, compelling and ever changing storehouse of visual feastiness. Looking at lovely luminous images of Mary and burning red hearts made me feel closer to something in my childhood and then somehow I felt closer to this image of a suffering Christ. Last night I wanted to put up an image of this crucifix I thought was beautiful but then I was concerned I would freak people out. Now I feel differently and I'm going to go get it to share with you. Yeah, that's me, freaky mixed up Catholic girl, one minute I'm posting about ana's seriously wonderful and perfect right to make little polaroid flip books of her boobs and ass, the next I'm putting up images of a bleeding Christ on the cross. What are you gonna do? I'm gonna embrace me.
After my browse through millagro and crucifix land (I bought some millagros and crucifixes) I found myself stumbling through the land of Victorian mourning jewelry, black jet and hair jewelry. Fire and death, babies and blood. Letting go of my Father, letting go of my ex, mourning the loss, embracing life. It was all so cathartic somehow. I'm left thinking about how brilliant the subconscious mind is, how it knows perfectly well where you need to go and what needs healing. Whether it's eBay or a church, it knows just where to go.