This is not apropos of nothing, and I hope its relevance will become clear.

I recall that several years ago I read an interpretation of Gounod’s Faust that had to do with the gradual stripping-away of Marguerite, the heroine who is seduced and abandoned by Faust, her lover. She becomes pregnant, gives birth, is cursed by her dying brother, goes mad, and kills the child. Yet instead of being hanged, burned, or beheaded, she is physically assumed into Heaven. She has been abandoned by her lover, by the Church, by her own brother who curses her, by everyone. Yet she believes that there is a God out there, and world of angels who can hear prayer and save her soul.

So today I’m thinking of Marguerite. I haven’t killed a child, God knows, but the sense of abandonment lives deep inside me. It always has, I suppose: that when Hell explodes into my life, as night follows day, I will be abandoned. Nevertheless, there are angels out there, divine and human, who can intervene. More often than not they intervene in our affairs–my affairs–in human form, and often come to my aid (our aid) without expectation of reward.

Last night I tried to borrow money from some people in AA, some of whom I’ve known for years. Someone said he had to draw the line. Draw it he did. Yet today he delivered food to me via Meals on Wheels, anonymously although I know he’s a volunteer driver for the organization. Was it great food? No. Was it a gesture of good will? Absolutely. It was a form of amend for having to refuse me. He was looking out for me too. He as well as the person who volunteered earlier yesterday, and without a request from me to send out a check today. With any good luck, it will come tomorrow. I can deposit it and draw against it for food, cigarettes (yes, yet), for gas.

I don’t trust happiness. I’m not by nature a happy person. I’m bug-infested, wearing a blood-spotted undershirt, and I don’t know how this will play out, or for how long. Right now I’m content to look at a hot shower and a trip to the food bank so I can eat tonight. ‘Tis enough, ’twill serve.


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