my Limitation

When I see people grievously wounded by their own consciousness, little more than animals that speak and pay bills and drive cars; when I see men sunk into aggression and women into childmaking, the young lost in poverty and the old distracted in isolation; when I see the lonely young men successful, and the lonely young women divorced; when I see, as after all we all do at sometime, the dead in their messy contortions that to see is to be tortured by the memory of, or their too-too-neat funereal posturing, and the living in their messy sweat of lovemaking or lovers' rage; when I feel anger and know it is poisin, when I feel ignorance creep like sweat across my unconcerned animal brow; when I - but who am I kidding that this cumulative sentence has a payoff that could be genuine and authentic? - when I, I said, feel myself slipping down into a lingering loss of self from which the only emergence can be the death of that provisional self that is created to cope with such a Fall - then indeed I am a Christian in my heart, outraged in the heat of my sorrow and overcome with sadness at the sacrifice of Our Lord, and lost in undiscerning ignorance forever without His Intercession. And this all is my Limitation.