Fragment #8 – 30 June 2014

I wanted to become a nun for as long as I can remember.  My parents, who had never seen a bible outside of a cheap hotel room, let alone read it, or even seriously thought about god, were against the idea until I took them, when I was fourteen, to the sole Catholic church in the town, where the priest, Father Tintola, gently outlined the glories of the the church in a language that they, the untutored, could understand.  And the language was this: That I, as a nun, would require no feeding, no board, no clothes, no money, from them, and that the burden of my upbringing – Oh, Father Tintola!  You knew just the right words – would be eased under the auspices of a noble and gentle god.

In the beginning was the word, he said, and as he spoke he smiled the way a child smiles, which is to say without guile, without intent, without ulterior motive – at least, that is how a child believes they smile, when they are too young to realise that their parents are distinct individuals and can detect lies and truths with comparative ease – and his voice was gentle as he admitted that the word was the start of all things, and that word was God.  From there, the rest follows, and it was all so terribly simple.  My parents nodded along, and I knew that my wishes would be met.

The conversation continued for an hour, during which time I busied myself with discussing the details of my life with the Virgin Mary, who had appeared before me surrounded by a piercing blue light.  We had many things to discuss, her and I, and it would be a long time until I was able to see her again so clearly.

* * *

The above piece of writing comprises part of my fragments project, some of which are available on this website.  I intend to add new fragments piecemeal, not in any particular order, and as the occasion take me.

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