6/29/19 letting go of that habit

I see in my mind a flash to a nun standing in plain clothes, gripping her habit with white knuckles, looking down. Then, quickly, to a young woman behind her screaming “Set down THE HABIT, JOAN, SET IT DOWN,” to the woman who really did, apparently, need to let go of being a nun. (PS, why was she screaming oh so loud? She must’ve had a really good reason).

Then, flash, to a man hanging out of a window, clinging to a makeshift rope of tied together habits. The walls and window were sandstone, and he was high off the ground, and someone else, not Joan, was clinging to the other side—so as not to let him fall? So as to help him get out and down safely? So as to help him safely into this tall, sandstone tower? Clinging, desperately, to a makeshift rope of habits taken off the bodies and backs of other people, now lifeless, tied together to keep the tension of a scene connected. 

Let go of the habit, Joan. I can imagine, now, that the coarse fabric and the pulling, see-sawing tension of both the people on either side of that rope was carving a groove into the lip of the window. Because its sand, you know—red and soft. The back and forth back and forth of the man outside trying to be safe with the person inside anchoring him, allowing him to do so—I wonder if those connected habits would saw right down the side of the building, the frenzied effort of the two kinetic humans heating up the habits and turning them into a keen edged blade, like sand is prone to do when exposed to heat. Like a hot knife through cold butter, would that rope of habits slice down the safety? Open up the tower, the beacon, the elevated rise-up above-ness that the man was clearly either in love with or repulsed by?

Probably not. Sandstone is pretty damn solid. Then again, so are habits. Powerful, spiritually enriched costumes of epic religious integrity. LET GO of the habits, Joan.