last-judgment2.jpg

Come on down from there,

if only for a quick minute.

The last time I saw you is

unsatisfactory in hindsight.

Retrospection is a bitch dressed in my skin—

I’ve become leprous.

I may not pray to God, but I do

talk to Jesus. My words

fall on dead ears.

Christ will not come to me.

And if only for a quick minute, you will not

come down from there.

*

Your mother keeps on ringing me.

I don’t answer.

Does my cruelty hurt you terribly?

Some things I just can’t do to honor you.

To answer is to satisfy Jehovah, and I do not

wish to please Him. He’d used her willing hands to

ruin you. I’ve decided that

forgiving trespasses does not heal me.

Leave the forgiving to God.

Some things are simply

unforgivable

by the human heart.

*

You were both meaner and kinder than me.

I float about the in-between,

neither better nor worser.

Mother, how could you have

ever thought yourself

lesser than me?

You were my teacher—

the one who’d showed up

drunk every day,

but a teacher nonetheless.

And I wish you’d come down from there,

if only for a quick minute.

*

Come on down from there,

if only for a quick minute.

The last time I saw you is

unsatisfactory in hindsight.

 

© Kindra M. Austin

(image: Rick Richards)

3d57c7a62ffe0aa1e015359b255af20d
Dante’s Inferno

Matthew 7:2 (King James)

For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged:

and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.


I’m not religious, and I don’t fear a god, but I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on how people should treat one another.

But I could be wrong. There could be a special level of Hell waiting for me. Because I do judge.

I judge because I have personal high standards–standards so high that I have no tolerance for abuse of any sort.

I judge because I have no tolerance for those who try to get ahead by propagating lies, and target the defenseless.

I don’t give a fuck about creed, color, or race. What I care about is the individual quality of the human spirit.

Period.

 

(image: Pinterest)

 

Marcia was sixteen years old when she was disfellowshipped—the resultant of a rape accusation. The Kingdom Hall doesn’t fuck around, you see. The Brother in question was a husband and father; Marcia was the babysitter. Even though her father wanted to notify the police, and press legal charges against the sick fuck who’d violated his little girl, Marcia’s mother insisted that the situation be left solely in the self-serving hands of the Elders. The Elders, after hearing the douche bag’s bullshit, decided that Marcia would be excommunicated from the Kingdom Hall. Jehovah does not love girls who allow themselves to be raped. Apparently.

Marcia is my late mother.

So all of you fuck-sticks who keep contacting me regarding my irreverence can choke on this mother fucking tid-bit. Open your throat and take it all.

I am not a heathen. I am not a bad person. Just because I don’t accept every aspect of Christianity does not mean I’m the devil’s spawn. In fact, if you’d take the time to read my blog, you’d discover that I am deeply loving, and even though I don’t agree with every facet of religion, I am respectful of those who are religious. Except for those who are Jehovah’s Witnesses.

 

I lost my religion the day I was born to a beautiful young woman abused by her mother’s god. At the age of sixteen this innocent was raped by a Brother—a married man with children. The Elders voted to excommunicate the girl—my mom. So there should be no wonder why I abhor Jehovah’s Witnesses. Even though my mother had been disfellowshipped, this religious faction dictated my adolescent life. My mother, although she was unwelcome in the Kingdom Hall, and despised the religion, she still feared the wrath of Jehovah. So, she allowed her parents to take me to bible studies, and assemblies in Pontiac. My dad didn’t like it, but he followed my mother’s lead. Why? I don’t fucking know.

I remember feeling a great sigh of relief when I told my mom and dad that I no longer wanted to have anything to do with Jehovah. My parents promised me that I would never have to step foot inside a Kingdom Hall ever again. I’m nearly 39, and every time I drive past a Kingdom Hall, my heart sinks into my belly. I don’t like to generalize groups of people. Anyone who knows me knows that I am an open-minded person—I typically dislike labeling as a whole. But Jehovah’s Witnesses hold a special place in my heart.

Half of the JW kids my mother grew up with have committed suicide. I remember when my mother was living in Texas, she’d call me up and tell me about so and so hanging themselves, or swallowing the barrel of a gun. It freaked mom out, because these people were her age, and their actions gave her ideas of escape. My mother has slit her wrists and overdosed more times than I care to count. And I know the root of her problem is her own mother, and that fucking religion.

It’s that fucking religion that guided my grandmother in raising her children. My mother isn’t the only one permanently fucked up—my uncles are a mess. At least my Uncle Kenny is a functioning member of society. He’s more than that, really. My Uncle Kenny is my favorite man, besides my dad, and my husband. Uncle Kenny is soft spoken and kind—but he hurts, and he says, “Up yours!” to the Kingdom Hall. Aunt Denise always supported him. Now she’s gone…and I worry about him. My Uncle Kenny and Aunt Denise were always a united force—Denise being the foundation.

Uncle Kenny came over the other night. It was a great surprise to me, him knocking on our door at 8:30. Before he left at 2 a.m. he said, “You’re Aunt Denise was fierce. She was a warrior.”

And I thought about Blood into Ink. All of us at Blood into Ink are warriors. I wish my fellow writers could have known my aunt. She had to overcome much. And she was always proud of me in life; I know she is proud of me now—what I stand for.

Aunt Denise wasn’t the sort who shoved religion down throats. She believed what she believed, and respected whatever the fuck anyone else believed. Unless they were Jehovah’s Witnesses. Because like me, she’d witnessed the destructive properties of that cult. After my mother had been raped, and disfellowshipped, Aunt Denise spoke to her parents, and they allowed my mother to move in with them. My grandparents are pieces of shit, as far as I am concerned—the rape was never reported to the police.

My mother and my Aunt Denise had been best friends since high school. When Aunt Denise passed, I thought my mother would totally break. But, she and her brother, Kenny, have one another, and they are both managing, together.

When Uncle Kenny was at my house the other night, I finally had the chance to tell him, one on one, that I missed Aunt Denise. I at last told him my final words to Aunt Denise before she was gone. And he cried. He’s never cried in front of me. He said, “Aunt Denise was with you when you were talking to her. She’s always been proud of you.”

Next month, just before Thanksgiving, and Uncle Kenny’s birthday, is Aunt Denise’s death day.

I don’t pray to a god for the well-being of her soul. She is a part of the Universe now, and she visits me in my dreams frequently. I know Aunt Denise is existing in a state of peace, and she reaches out to show me she’s okay.

Don’t tell that to a Jehovah’s Witness, because they’ll say I’m league with Satan. According to Jehovah’s Witnesses, a person who dies does not release a soul; they are simply dead, buried in the fucking dirt, and if they are a Witness, they will be resurrected like Jesus was, to live on a paradise earth after Armageddon has passed. Think of it! If you’ve ever found a JW pamphlet at your door, you’ll know what I’m talking about—people living amongst tigers and elephants and shit. Fucking lambs sleeping with lions on your front lawn. Asians and Latinos smiling like morons alongside the whites and blacks, they may as well be unicorns. The Watchtower and Awake! always depict Asians and Latinos chilling with wild animals. For real, how many Chinese Jehovah’s Witnesses do you know?

Propaganda, folks! That’s what this fucking cult comes calling with when they knock on your door on Christmas Eve.

Christmas Eve/ Christmas isn’t even holy to Jehovah’s Witnesses.

You know why JWs don’t celebrate the birth of Christ? Because their bible doesn’t tell them to.

JWs don’t celebrate anything their bible doesn’t explicitly say to celebrate. So, they don’t celebrate Christmas. They don’t celebrate their own birthdays, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, ANY holiday. They do not observe Veteran’s Day, Memorial Day, or even Labor Day. Any calendar holiday is off limits. JW children don’t recite the Pledge of Allegiance because JWs believe that only Jehovah deserves allegiance; a JW does not willingly serve in the military.

My grandpa (my mother’s dad) was in the ARMY. He married my grandmother. I remember seeing his ARMY photo when I was young. I wonder, after he converted to Grandma’s religion (because she was a pushy bitch), if he was ashamed of his service. I’d like to think he wasn’t ashamed, though I do recall that he spoke against the military. Jehovah’s Witnesses are not permitted to enlist in any faction of the military, as pledging allegiance to anything other than Jehovah is blatant defiance.

It’s late, and I’m babbling. I’ve lost sight of what this entry is supposed to be. I’m listening to The Cranberries. Each song means something different to me—

I guess what I mean to say, in the long winded way, is that I don’t like Jehovah’s Witnesses. For personal reasons. And probably for fundamental reasons, too.

P.S. Yes, I’ve had a few drinks. It’s Sunday Funday.

Cover your eyes, and count to one hundred

against the old oak tree in your backyard

Do you know who you seek?

Your liberal grand-daughter, raised Roman-Catholic,

now engaged to a Muslim who works for a mulatto family

back in the city you’d left behind to save your

religion

But you weren’t listening, or Father wasn’t teaching…

which is it?

Are you really a friend of Jesus?

Your grand-daughter argues that you do the devil’s bidding

because you spit on her Muslim fiance

and his bi-racial employers

You laugh because you’re cocky,

but you are old, knocking on Death’s door

So why fight a losing battle?

Each generation is moving further away from religion

Religion, in the traditional sense, has one foot in the grave

And religion, by and large, no longer dictates–

at least not here in the States

So stop pretending that gays are going to hell

Stop pretending that God is real

and that God gives humans morals

God does not equal morality

I know many Atheists who are far better human beings

than the most stringent followers of God and his son

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alarm clock screams.

You’re awake, mind rushing.

A happy hand silences the noise, and you say,

“Who can I fuck with today?”

Because you don’t have anything better to do–

like say, your job. You have decent employment that pays

your bills, and offers health insurance at a reasonable rate.

It’s still cool to bash Obama, so you make sure

to say something anti to your white liberal co-worker–just make sure

the blacks don’t hear–you’re opinionated, but you’re a pussy, too.

Or maybe you’re not–but you probably are–

so you’ll spout off only to your fellow Caucasians–

because fuck the Asians, too. And anyone else not derived from Smith.

Muslims are the devil incarnate. Planned Parenthood is managed by the Witches of Salem. Gays are depraved. Christianity is the only way–fuck the Jews. But don’t fuck the Jews so badly that Israel can’t fuck the Palestinians TO DEATH with the American dollar.

I’m a real American, damn it. I believe that the Constitution was designed and signed by Christians. Even though most of our founding fathers denounced organized religion, I know America was built upon the foundation of Christianity. So of course our schools should teach Christian values, even though Christianity is just another religion built upon the myths of Egyptian lore.

YEAH, I SAID IT.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Teeth chew hearts and desecrate souls,

but stand idle on the streets,

munching the fucking sammich

you paid for with a credit card.

Conversate with friends:

“Lookit what they’re doing to her.”

“It’s awful. But what can we do?”

Goddamn it, you’ve got red on you.

Ketchup on your precious pressed shirt–

never mind the blood on sidewalks.

 

Lost my religion

because you had lost yours, Mom;

innocence was stripped away

with his turpentine.

If only I’d been

your god, true. Omnipotent;

then I could have saved your life.

Young life worth saving

was left to spoil,

and I feel the loss of you–

who you might have been

if not for the man

with the turpentine.

 

 

helix-nebula-ngc-7293-planetary-fog-constellation-aquarius-113744What do I look like to you from outer space? It must be easy to judge so far out of reach–a panoramic view of my sins displayed to be measured. It is not enough that I repent daily for deeds disgraceful. I wait for the droplets of salvation to cleanse me. But salvation from who? To be sure, I do not know.