A HARD RAIN

Caroline: But I heard it can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you if you don’t believe.
Hallie: Then I suggest you leave that house, before you do.
— Skeleton Key, 2005

Well. Y’all. It’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it? Like every other warm-blooded body, I’ve been in a bit of a down swing lately. Laying down like I’ve done is not just unlike me, I have not ever considered such a move an option. Reckon it was just my turn to see the sky turn black and the wind rip my shelter down to dirt.

And, here in the tapping of my fingers to the sound of a storm against the window, I am trying . . . to save me.  No one else can make that magic.  No one else can help me.  Wish me luck.  I’m rather short and out of kryptonite.

So here goes nothing.

I saw Skeleton Key again the other night and found myself just as shaken by bad writing and bad lighting, just as troubled by the final scene and haunted by the slice of truth embedded in a salt circle.  Seems to me, it’s the same damn conversation about faith that I keep running back to: believing is energy.  Let’s play with “The F Word in the Craft” again, shall we? (See February’s post.)  We were talking back then about faith being an active verb, but what I forgot to chew on was the alternative.  If taking no position in politics equates to having a position, if being an Atheist is taking a position, then we can deduct that NOT having faith is one, as well.  Hang on here with me . . .

I’m gonna say it again: if energy cannot be created nor destroyed, and we agree that we hold energy, then we have a foundation for faith.  Holding my energy back, aka resistance, requires energy.  It is an active state.  Science states that solid matter is still moving (aka energy) but at such a slow rate that it holds shape.  Hmm.  Let’s call these two states resistant and aggressive rather than negative and positive just for shits and giggles.  After all, being resistant to bashing in the noggin of some nimnut is not necessarily a “negative” act–you feel me? And vice versa.  Have you ever noticed how much energy it takes not to tongue lash some deserving soul?  How in carnation could that resistance not require energy?

  • Then . . . when we “lose” faith and plunk our arses down, become “resistant” to it . . . we are doing so actively. It takes energy. There’s no way out but the crying, y’all. Everything is everything.

  • Therefore, I saw a black hole, was pissed at the hard rain in my life, and actively jumped in. Y’all know what rain does to a hole? Mm hmm. Dumb move.

  • It sucks down here. Dank, dark and musty.

  • You ever try to pull a crying, kicking child up off the floor? Mmm hmm. They have to WANT to get up.

  • I just found some rope. Now, I could noose it up-which is aggressive energy–or I could fashion a ladder with the same energy.

Just as soon as my bawly ass stops resisting action.

Back to our crappy movie: so, Blondie doesn’t believe in magic.  Blondie starts researching, thinking, and believing.  Blondie backs herself into an attic, fashions a salt circle for “protection” against a magic she claims not to hanker to–and poof.  Fubar.  Permanent resistance.  (Well, at least according to the writers.)  But, what if . . . Blondie fixed her broken prison of a body she had been cast into–now that she “believed” and all–and got her ass in gear after Miss Voodoo?  What if, stay with me, she didn’t lay down?

Well.  I guess Papa Justify would be in for a shock.

Seems to me we’re cruising around the whole “bodies, rest and motion” moment again.  A body at rest will stay at rest unless acted upon by an outside force.  And vice versa.  (Energy still holds here, folks.  Anyone heard of gravity?)  Alright.  Then:

  • Resistant energy is still effort.

  • The world doesn’t give a hot damn if I want to sulk.

  • I need an outside force to piss me off and make me move my energy.

  • I’m pissed at a whole cartload of folks and situations.

  • I think I know how I wanna use that rope–right after I crawl out of here.

It occurs to me that, while bad ju ju might have created the black hole, it was my silly butt that thought it a good idea to jump in it.  Well.  Slap me naked.  It can’t hurt you unless you believe in it.  Stay with me.  I have a memory.

When I was a little girl, I dreamed of a scary, vicious witch who would chase me through twilight REM states in order to eat me up.  One night, before I fell asleep, I sat crosslegged in my bed and closed my eyes and chanted: you can fly.  Don’t forget you can fly.  From then on, when I heard her click through the hallway of sleep, I would wait until she was the breath on my neck and I would lift off, floating above her without a broom.  Later, I adapted this sleep power and would transform to the carpet beneath her feet, the crow on her shoulder or a car passing by on a dusty road.  Decades before the Matrix, I had figured it out: NOT believing in her power was an active state, while believing in mine (while also active) gave me power.  Turns out, I’m moving at such a slow rate I cannot fly anymore.  My shape, my “matter” if you will, has become crap, generically solid and unable to transform itself into air.  So:

  • I DO NOT have to believe in the bad ju ju cast in my path. Rather, I can drag the monster out from under my bed and have a hardy belly chuckle at its astonished, moldy face. Ie: Don’t give monsters energy.

  • Believing is EVERYTHING. I believe I’d like to kick a few asses. I believe I can kick a few asses. I believe I will kick said asses.

  • I can fly.

  • Lying here has about wore me out.

I had a friend once that said: “Turning the other cheek assumes that you haven’t been knocked down yet.”  And I’m all out of cheeks.

So.  Do I have faith?  Oh, yes, darlin.  The question is: what do I want to do with it?  I remember a saying from a movie about resistance being futile.  And I reckon that’s true.  Guess there’s nothing much left to do but . . .

Tell them I’m coming.  And hell’s comin’ with me.  Tombstone

Seba

Seba O'KileyComment