one had to tell me what happened, I know. I'm searching for mother, one of these days I will find her! When I was in the hospital, many, many years later, for some other malady, I wrote songs and all of them probably possessed of the cross. Would you like to be saved by the cross, readers and write songs? I wrote song 5 to those within hearing. That would be you reader since reading is hearing with the mind's ear.
I will give praise to my God who awakens the beauty of the morning and
Withdraws the curtain of the night from my eyes. I will praise God who is
With me in my laying down and in my rising up. I will praise my God who
Has chosen his singer from the midst of many rivals. I will praise God when
All around me are full of treachery, open jaws contemplating my end. My God
Knows of my distress and will comfort me for he is my God and on Him do I
Rest. Hear their secret plottings, Lord, dash their plans against the highest
Mountains, make sure Lord to remember your chosen one who bears your
Cross in the midst of her sorrows.
There is something peculiar about being born Greek Orthodox, didn't I tell you readers this is what I am? I was baptized as Greek Orthodox by my uncle a priest in the Greek Orthodox Church. He said for we spent many summers together since he was married to my father's sister, my aunt, that he dubbed me a Duchess by inferring English inflection on my grandmother's name, that was who I was named after. We plotted together, John and I. He was my favorite uncle and he died. Sometime while visiting him in Symi, I also traveled to Israel. We must have passed, it's a fleeting memory of a walled nunnery, the nunnery of St. Mary Magdalene is in Jerusalem, isn't it? It isn't amusing but I think I will make my cross into a maypole and all Mary's my brides. Such ribbons of Adam shouldn't be lost as Pope Gregory who thoroughly tarnished the blessed Magdalene's soul might well agree now. I'm tired. I turn and look out the window and the street is dark and cold or looks it for how would I know its cold, being in the room. Somewhere in betwixt my travels and my fellowship with my uncle John, the priest, I evolved in my own mind what I was determined was the real story of a woman I call marina. The story of Marina as written by me before I married, of course, follows and if you condescend to follow me in my personal reverie of my cross, don't judge it harshly, what is written is written. For some reason I think I have comediennes as readers. Regardless, a reader is a reader and a rose is a rose, penned by someone who knew better than me, of course.
The steep shadows formed terrorizing figures on the majestically built house. Fir trees of unknown generation loomed around it and their breath mingled with the smell of gardenias and the richly scented roses. Situated in one corner of the outer garden was a small family monastery. Its whitewashed frame glistened as it reflected the bright moonlight. The monastery was built for the family's patron saint, St . Paul. Within the tall large wooden doors were rows of hanging chandeliers of various sizes. In front of the most holy icon of St. Paul was a raised platform made of brass. On top of this platform was a small jar filled with water and oil and centered with a lit taper floating in a tin holder. The small insignificant light did not show the figure of the one who knelt in the center of the altar with head bent and softly, chanting prayers. On either side of her were icons depicting various saints and event in the life of Jesus Christ martyred in Jerusalem for his acts contrary to the laws of the Jewish state and enforced by their roman masters.
“St. Paul,” she prayed, “if it is right that it should be then it will intercede thou for me. This marriage cannot be. He is a known a sinner.” The soft light cast by the wicket fed by the oil was now heavily filling the monastery with the resinous smell of olive and was comforting.
The story of Marina does not end here readers maybe I'll finish it for you all at some time.
May I interject a thought kind reader at the incredulity of atheists to Christian believers? Do you all know that in the United States of America a sitting president made it law that a woman who was bright and well educated was forbidden to write or to work in the areas for which she was highly trained because her sister-in-law who carried similar sounding names was ignorant but well skilled in the arts of giving males pleasure. Of course this brilliant woman was already targeted for being an excellent educator and a thoughtful and giving person and extremely sensitive to males seeking to give pleasure for ten thousand but were fortunately part of a nonexistent American game of turning a human being into a game rabbit. Seriously kind readers since we all live with such absurd threats attacking us and being supported by demonic posing as federal guns and calling themselves the ins game attacker? Really kind readers such preposterous behavior is real what is the fear of admitting will they lock us all up? Perhaps Jesus of Nazareth had similar lack of fear as your amusing writer. I bear my cross and listen quietly to a tape of a voice telling me she knows where I live and that she will kill me. If I tell the police then they drag me to hospital and then to jail because I recognize the voice and that endangers theirs. I know who is threatening to kill me and that endangers theirs the killer? Ssh! Don't tell anybody but I know who their law is he studies international law and that makes him the law or the entrance to the cave of the depository of Jesus' body. The entrance to the cave is the now meant to be the vagina and the Holy Grail; the cup is their whore's vagina. Ssh! don't tell them we know or they will call us what they are vile for knowing! Can we share a laugh friends, I call my readers friends for who else can come out from reading the voice of another but a friend. There once was a vile and dangerous witch. Really and truly friends! She left a land steeped in Maya as they call witchcraft in Greece. She was not really from Greece from what I know, and she married a very wealthy and obnoxiously self-important man whose family had spent years molding into a caricature of what they never had, a father. Being fearful of her impending marriage she faked a trip back to her secret country from there she wrote her about to be husband that she had a former alliance with a man who now lived in New York City and her family considered it a point of honor for her to visit him and to inform him of her about to be marriage. Talk about the entrance to a cave and the audacity but it worked. Her about to be husband was proud of his about to be wife having such proper connections! I am sure Emily of etiquette fame did not write for witches but who knows? She had made arrangements in her country to visit a Japanese doctor who was making a lucrative business of sewing back vaginas. She returned back from New York a new woman! Such flair, such audacity, such remarkable change in personality and she married. Women don't you think the vagina is overly exaggerated!
