God Is Love. Just ask Her.

Saint Joseph’s church has no time. 

In church, I am the same person that carried my Grampa out the door as I was when I served the archbishop the day he confirmed my brother and sister. 

I have always believed in God. But only recently have I come to know Her. 

For whom among us believes the New Testament God to be as forgiving and gracious as the Old Testament flood-God, always with the locusts and salt pillars. The Old God seems to resent those He - or It - made. 

But I digress. 

Just know that I may not have looked like or been a textbook Catholic growing up. I always looked up to God with Love, but kinda like a treat or a dessert, as I looked up at TV Catwoman. And when I say Catwoman, I believe Julie Newmar was literally tied with Eartha Kitt in looks, poise, brains and body. The tiebreaker? When Eartha Kitt looked out at the situation and called it puuuuuurfect. 

And so it was how I looked upon the perfect villain as a woman, and not the other way around. I was never repulsed or scared of strong, opinionated women. I often harbored what I consider to be a healthy mix of attraction and fear; both in healthy and inspiring quantities. 

It may or may not be the reason why I looked out at the world as we know or remember it -  mostly above water. Today, I find me in a less than advantageous position. But only because I let things get this way. I find myself luckier than most; especially when it came to the fairer sex. 

It, then, came to pass, as late as my fourth decade on this Earth, that I finally found Her. The One. And, just as unceremoniously as she walked up to my front door, she left me right in front of hers. 

I resigned to myself that I was less of a person that I should have been. Just know that I have never - ever - loved a woman as much as I loved her. 

For more years that I am willing to admit, I was resigned to live out the rest of my days as the person she made me believe I was. When she asked me where all of the confidence I had was when we met, the headache I had from being run over by a car prevented me from speculating or guessing. 

For years, I had to re-invent myself. I had to make me think I was worthy enough to be considered normal. And it took me even more years to begin to believe I could make myself be better than the person she became tired of. 

So, I was content to think I would never amount to anything more than who I was fourteen years previous. By the time 2024 came around, I couldn’t connect with anyone or anything that made me feel I had something to contribute. The woman I loved gave me music and art back. She told me I had talent. Until she did not. 

Thank God, then, that my first and second son, gave me the view or foresight to believe I had the emotional fortitude to make the world a better place. In totally different ways, they inspired me to go to church. They both led me by example. My sons reminded me who and what I was like - someone who had never been there for them. Or anyone else, for that matter. 

I had failed their mothers and, in turn, my kids. I am inspired and motivated by all three of my grown-up children. Especially because they made themselves great people, with little to no help from me. 

So, the stage is set. For the last few months, I had yet to see the world in any light that was spiritual, artistic, poetic, historic or even righteous. I played no guitar in more than a year. My painting was better than ever, which isn’t saying much. My ability to write, if ever I did have said ability, vanished. 

I thought of nothing I felt I wanted or needed to say. I felt uncomfortable with people. The more I knew someone the worse I felt talking to them. My world turned upside-down in every way when COVID washed it all away. 

Everything. Everyone. 

By 2023, I could care less. And I spent every day since trying to do just that. 

Then came 2024. 

The lack of return from everyone I tried to give laughter or hope assured me that if I forgot about them, no one would be the better or wiser or happier. I was looking out at the world with someone else’s eyes. I was neglecting family that were neglecting me. Those who I looked up to never called or wrote at a point in time everyone sequestered themselves in. I was left outside to die. 

So go out and see the world. Just take an hour off every week just to pray. 

 Because my Mom passed away a year before the woman of my dreams began to tire of me, she gave the last of her best up to the day my sister passed away. 

The only two woman who truly believed as I was taught - that there IS no one who is above family - are now no longer of this Earth. They weren’t the only family that ever loved me. But as soon as Pecia died, those who remained from my family of origin became family in name only. They fed me to the LA Times, according to the Wall Street Journal and the BBC. 

But that, now, in 2024 is over. My extended family now treat me as one of their own. It’s nice to belong to someone. 

And my schoolmates remember me. I am so grateful they still reach out to me. And their good graces have given me a point in time - a memory, a laugh, an article or reason to celebrate - to help bring me back. I have yet to reciprocate, believing it was an inflated sense of self that caused me to be alone. 

In the cancel culture, I was cancelled by the Unintended. 

Make a new start, perhaps. 

So know, as have I have come to know, that I have had real friends - classmates, teammates, teachers, fucking ENEMIES - give me more purpose, help, motivation, reason to live, than I have experienced lately. And from the COVID, upside down weather, the lonely and indifference of America I was left with, I sought  to bring myself up out of the social filth we find our post-Trump era with.

If you feel better about blaming the third world for your illiterate shortcomings, and believe the GOP will help you save yourself, then blame the underprivileged some more. Take more from the pregnant and the sexually uncertain and the inferior and the Godless. Because the rest of the world is as certain as you are that you are right and that everyone else is Wrong. And those who have a different opinion than you won’t or can’t help. 

,,,,

It’s Saturday afternoon. 5:33pm. 

Every time I sit down at SJMV, the timeless center of my spiritual and scholastic orbit, I can remember Father Keane. 

Many recall the cannibalistic and gluttonous nature of others who once priested these canonic halls. 

But not me. 

When I think back, I think of the decisive, quick, direct and no less sincere manner of the Great Father Keane. He was a holy, and great priest as he was intensely loyal to the San Francisco Forty Niners. He once conducted a mass in twenty-seven minutes. And there was, then, no game that was important enough to render any celebration of Mary’s oldest son to get condensed. Father Keane is and always will be the reason why, when I get to mass, I smile. 

So, I am sitting in church, due to make myself get better, feel better, BE better - without my sister, Mom or a soulmate. It’s time just to be. 

And, for the first time in fifteen years, I pledge to myself: To the next woman who shows me even the tiniest amount of recognition or courtesy or empathy, I will be the kindest, funniest, most interesting gentleman Santa Clara county can be.  I will be as genteel and forgiving as I can. For always. 

For I am in the house I grew up in. I have people here with whom I share joy. I am part of a network of non-strangers. And I promise myself to not be an asshole anymore. Everyone just wants to belong. So don’t scare anybody off right away. 

And don’t be yourself for Chrissake, Rick. Just grow up. And relax. Because there’s no one who knows you here anymore. We are all here just to listen. And stand. And kneel. Then sit and stand one more time. 

It’s 5:37pm inside the church without time. Do I remain with the rest of the Earth? Or do I …

Someone is tapping me on the arm. 

She wasn’t Heaven. And I was pretty sure she wasn’t God. 

One thing was clear: She was nice. 

And she had the most wonderful smile. 

..