The
Fruit
(A
Silent Dialogue in Two Pages)
“You are mistaken, sir. I was only
20 then, perhaps 33. I was chosen, and knowledgeable… but naïve. The
first two descriptives still apply; the latter and third descriptive does not.
I am no longer naïve.
“Yet that which is to be
accomplished will not be done because of knowledge and a lack of
naïveté. It will be done because the One Who Chooses --- the Triune
Catholic God --- inexorably and sovereignly ordains that it be done. The instrument
He chooses… weak and brittle? Malformed and ugly?
Ineffectual and unreliable? All the
better to demonstrate His Power and His Mercy.
“I cannot wait to see it done!
“Notwithstanding, He has made
someone that is not so.
“This someone is His Son’s Mother. She is His Perfect
Creature. She is the Ever-Immaculate and without sin. She never fails. She is
the Virgin above all virgins, the Queen above all queens, Star of the Sea, a
Lady --- the Lady! --- Who is the Template of all women and all that is
feminine, thrice-vowed ark in the
“I am merely mud and slime.
“The Almighty Creator has willed
that this thing be done.
“She is the crusher, the serpent
the crushed. I am the crush-between. I count myself fortunate to be but the
sole of Her Foot. Inasmuch as I share in Her crushing,
I rejoice in accomplishing that for which I yearn. Inasmuch as I am crushed
along with the crushed, I weep for my sins and the rebellions the snake has
caused. But I rejoice to see him crushed and I rejoice to die for my sins. May
I die a thousand painful deaths for what I’ve done --- only let him be
brought down into dust, his venomous skull shattered and effaced.
“Yet did I say a thousand deaths?
“Yes, nonetheless, solely that
life may follow upon this death, like a seed sown in the soil. When dirt is
watered, it is cleansed and washed, with new life springing up where death
alone existed before. And the seed, though dead, gives birth to new life.
“Dust is fruitless and dry.
“I have said that I would rather
be the least in the
“For if I do not believe it, why die the death?
“Why not grasp the forbidden fruit
and be as God?
“Why not follow our first mother
and steal the thing denied?
“Mother of all living become mother of all dead! Ultimately redeemed, yes, but why
not imitate her badness and eschew her eventual goodness? Why not follow her
into revolution and be my own ruler? Dead, true. Yet in
death, unconquered… no?
“Why not rule in Hell and not be
ruled in Heaven?
“Ah, but therein is the lie.
“For in Hell I would never rule,
simply be ruled.
“And a bitter rule it should be,
torment neverending, with waterless tears.
“Whereas
in Heaven, in being ruled, I rule. And a sweet rule it shall be, endlessly
happy. I will never again weep or suffer or die or be in darkness or wander
lost or ache in ignorance or drown in the flood of irrational passions or be
afraid.
“Wherefore I choose Heaven.
“I will die the death, willingly,
according to His Will.
“But if I die the death, I die
spitting & spewing the forbidden fruit out of my mouth and I die with God
at my side, in Him. I die at His right hand, rebuking the bad thief and begging
God to remember me. And I die with the Promise of Paradise in my ears.
“You see, sir, I would rather die
with God’s bitter but Blessed Fruit placed in my mouth, with Him and the
Bread of Life in my grasp, than sweet yet poisonous fruit upon my tongue,
against Him and the Dust of Death my only fate, stubborn hands weakening finger
by finger till they lose their grasp and I plummet like a smoking, screaming,
burning corpse --- putrid and reeking, worms crawling in my rancid flesh,
oozing the fetid stench of hatred, despising what I am, loathing Who I look
like, a werewolf beast howling with lucid insanity & disemboweled agony,
frothing, cursing --- into the
abyss.
“I am chosen, sir, and bitter is
the taste in my mouth.
“May that sweet bitterness wipe away every trace of bitter sweetness from my tongue, the
poison finally expunged and I finally released --- along with all creation ---
from the heavy, arduous & god-like burden under which we mere mortal
creatures groan!
“I will die, sir… yet on
God’s terms, not my own.
“Freely I take His terms as my own.
“You see then:
“I am no longer naïve.”
+
+ +
Pilate’s
query met:
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