I am weaving this blog from a novel by Flannery O'Connor and my former friend, Maureen. The central character in the novel is someone who used to be into Jesus but begins to display behavior that avoids Jesus due to his unrepented sin. He becomes downright ugly about denying Jesus which as Christians know is soul wrenching to do so. He almost at the level of blashpheming the Holy Spirit. He is a dark protagonist.
In a similar but not such a dramatic sense, I waited 6 years for a response from a former Stoughtonite. When I got it, it was rather raw and obtrusive....and rude. She complained about her own life in a way that I should have sensed it. She cliched herself as a tag, a miner's daughter tag. I couldn't actually have had empathy for someone who did not appear to have a pulse for six years. She insinuated I didn't have any comprehension on how I might have paid her bills. Could I have known or probed or sent a band radio signal that this was on my radar? I figured she was upset about her divorce and leave it alone. If you needed the old man around for the mortgage, why ax him?
All of these questions are blanks in mind formation in an imaginary conclave that no one could fill but her. Her, pent up and expressionless in her questioning glare in a vacant room of sixth sense apparitions. Designed in part for the world to see, her bleeding sorrow, her unforrgiveness, her concealed love.
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