Category Archives: Christian fundamentalism

The Tyrant.

 

Truth is inherent power.

And, one who manipulates or misrepresents it is a tyrant.

Such a creature recognizes that by lying, or misrepresenting facts, one can exert limited control over another’s perception of reality.

Those who need to control others’ perceptions of reality seek to use them, in some way. Perhaps minions are sought, to do bidding, as delegates or constituents. Perhaps the tyrant needs to hide nefarious actions by cloaking them in deceit. But, in every case, the liar assumes power because, in the mind of the used, truth is taken captive.

However, truth is also omniscient and omnipresent.

While one may seize upon another’s apprehension of it, truth transcends perception.

In spite of the actions of one tyrant, what is real is known to reveal of its own volition.

This could be argued as evidence of a higher power. Many name God.

Don’t lie to me. My trust is in Truth. As such, I am impermeable.

I am your tyrant.

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© 3/26/19    Ruth Ann Scanzillo.     All rights those of the author, whose truth it is, and whose name appears above this line. Tell it.

littlebarefeetblog.com

 

 

 

 

 

Polar Bears.

[*formerly entitled: The Tail of Winter.]
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Boscov’s had chocolate.
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Upstairs, above the endless racks of merch ( likely special purchases from the south that didn’t sell ) three whole glass cases of it, at least a third of which: gluten free. I’d been craving since 3:30 pm, and this was the tail of winter, the flagellate, whipping us into a frenzy on the final frigid night of the year.
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Parking lot nearly empty, normally packed to the gills during the day and across the weekend, it was Thursday night, the cusp, and see above. I’d fought the craving for over four hours. At 8:02, time enough to get there before closing, the flush of rationale; hustling into the store with one other straggly woman, braving the ascending escalator, straight ahead I saw them: not confections — end of season sheet sets. My having just ordered a dog print flat and pillow shams from catalog for a resounding 93 bucks, these fleece for 19.99 tempted redemption. Grabbing a King of pale blue polar bears, I rounded the corner of packaged displays to the candy counter.
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She was stooped over the open rear of the fudge case, sweeping crumbs into a tray, when I called out. A short, ponytailed woman with a Latino accent and what would be a penchant for calling me “honey”, she had a cold.
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This, of course, was God. This was his reprimand for my weak, sniveling sin of the flesh. He would let me have the desires of my heart, but send leanness to my soul. I would eat a bag of chocolate, but be exposed to a virus likely potent enough to cause pneumonia and a reactivation of the chicken pox. I would get shingles, followed by post-herpetic neuralgia, and be in excruciating pain for the rest of my life.
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In reality, selecting thirteen pieces with sugar and two without, I’d pay for everything, take the elevator down to the first floor because of descending escalator PTSD and head home in the solitary dark.
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The cold. The God forsaken dripping nose. The two sugar free were packed in their own box; I could tear open the end, where she didn’t touch, and pull one almond bark out for the car.
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So as not to break the last, number six stainless wire of orthodontia, I went for the first bite with two molars, rear left. Coasting down Peach Street, I thought of every diabetic I’d ever known and how relatively grateful they’d be to be eating something shaped right that sort of felt recognizable under the teeth. Like some chocolate with your carnauba wax? Anyone?
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But, the total price was gnawing. $34. 95? for a box of chocolate? Not even Suzanne Somers charged that much for her cancer-safe creations.
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She’d said, albeit nasally, that the sugar free was 19.95, honey, and the regular 17.95. I’d always let mum do the math. And, money was no object to addiction. But, mum was gone now, for almost twenty years, leaving me quite adrift when it came to tallying up indulgences, let alone the flat out mortal variety.
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Pulling up to the curb, I crawled out, locking the driver door, and headed in. Dispensing with the bag would prevent transmission of the virus to the edibles within. Reaching the kitchen sink, I grabbed a plastic container and poured the bag’s contents into it. Even under the LED track lighting, this stuff was the shit; dry, faded, even the white peppermint bark lacking luster, I stared at thirty four dollars of specialty confection and felt nauseous. The girl who’d called me honey had ripped me off. At this price, there should have been twice as much candy.
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After one phone call to the Boscov’s operator and the courtesy desk, I was already out the door. I-79 was a bleak vista at this hour, but a straight shot back to the mall. I’d find a manager. No; I’d confront her, quietly. No; I’d get the courtesy desk, which “didn’t know anything about the candy, let me put you through to can —” No; I’d say nothing – just dump it out, onto the counter.
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Maybe the caffeine, theobromine, maltitol had created a synergy. Maybe the dark highway, and me alone on it. But, I began to follow a different train, one which took me deeply into the psyche of the candy woman. She had a family, at least some children. She made minimum wage, working the candy counter. She was a first generation immigrant,  and she was sick.
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Just ahead of the parking spot closest to the Boscov’s entrance, I’d resolved my intention; I would speak confidentially, my voice hushed. We’d be the only two who knew what had been done, and I’d tell no one else. She needed to feed her family. And, she could have the chocolate. The receipt had indicated 9.95 for two “seasonal” candy purchases; she’d falsely categorized my purchase, too. There was the 19.99, and a grand total of 34…….my lungs filled with the purest air, swelling my chest with a powerful self righteousness that could have been true goodness on a better day.
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Then, I spied them. Sitting on the front seat. The pale blue polar bears, dancing across their fleece sheets inside the plastic see through case with the PAID sticker on it. And, mum, faintly, speaking from the world beyond, calculating out loud again, rising vocal inflections reaching the slightly hysterical, and me, seated again at the corner of the kitchen table against the wall, feet over the heat vent as she “helped” me with my math word problems. Now, listen to me!!! Nine ninety five plus nineteen ninety nine for the seasonal sheet set equals: $34.95 !!!
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My foot was still on the brake pedal.
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Turning the key in the ignition, I thanked my own for saving me, as by fire, from public humiliation and full on, single mother first generation immigrant retaliation. Every scenario ever devised by my oppressively overactive imagination converged, in a flood of expulsion. Thrust back into the present, I flew down Interchange Road to the interstate, stuffing chocolate absolution into my gullet like a starving Biafran.
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The candy was disgusting.
I’d been whipped by addiction, for the last time.
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Boscov’s had nothing on epiphany.
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© 3/7/19 Ruth Ann Scanzillo.

Forsaken?

 

“And Jesus answered and said unto them, ‘Are ye come out, as against a thief, with swords and staves to take me? I was daily with you in the temple teaching, and ye took me not: but — the scriptures must be fulfilled.’

And they all forsook him, and fled.”

 

 

Mark 14: 48-50. KJV

 

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Two angles from which this quote can be viewed, both of them compelling.

One:  Jesus, exclaiming his dismay at those who sought by aggressively seizing him to betray him, when they’d had ample opportunity to take him without incident and did not. Two: Jesus, relinquishing to prophecy’s requisite.

Jesus both saw the illogic in their behavior, declaring it, and felt the pain it brought to him – and, in the same breath, knew that their acts were unavoidable.

But, it was his final statement which sent them running for the hills.

Why?

The very fact that their actions were a fulfillment of prophecy, as such essentially pre-determined. The power of destiny. Fear. Scary stuff.

Even when those who seek to dismiss, discredit, or otherwise hurt others carry out their alleged intentions against them, the real power is quite beyond even these who bow to such manipulations. Frightening, it would seem, indeed, to face that in the very act of deliberate betrayal one’s role is as a pawn to a much greater power.

But, comforting to the victim of such acts, to reflect upon such power. Jesus’ agony would prove temporary; though he would cry out from the cross, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? ” he would rise from the dead, and ascend back to the Father, God Almighty, All Powerful. Those who carried out their role against him would diminish into the shadows, to face their own mortality in due time.

Better, rather, to consider what the Apostle Paul advised those at Philippi:

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

 

 

Selah.

 

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© 2/11/19   Ruth Ann Scanzillo.

littlebarefeetblog.com