Sister Baffy ~ Part 3 of 3

Nun's_dream_by_Karl_Briullov(Sister Baffy pauses to test the audience reaction to her story.)
A bad vibe? Well, then allow me to digress once more: From their wallows of never-ending sacrifice, the leaden of conformity await thin reward. Where are the spirited cascades? Where is the glowing cheer of neighbourly proximity? Where is the payback? All that is being offered is the ascension of processed emancipation. I shouted this from every street corner until after the twenty-eight day observational period at the special hospital came to an end. All the while the doctors were trying to snap that downward spiral of boredom and futility with pharmaceuticals. I was diagnosed, treated, then released into the community but where are the miracles bursting like popcorn in the heat of this never-ending stream of Divine love?
(Sister Baffy moves closer to the audience.)
Miracles are intended to replenish faith or at least that’s how I’ve always come to understand it. Growing up, I was never certain what to make of the loaves and fishes part of the Gospels and poor Lazarus – what a legacy! A zombie into eternity so that Jesus could erase all doubt to his spiritual legitimacy once and for all. I know we are not supposed to think thoughts like that but what if they’re true? Is it a fair bargain? All that faith required to keep the warm waters flowing.
(Sister goes back to the woman in the audience.)
Miss Tight-Ship herself, is it? Love to you, madam – love to choke off the process of that ever-building hate inside of you, sitting there with the strangest expression on your face…
(She suddenly puts her hands over her ears.)
Shhh! Top of the mornin’ ladies! Wait — listen there. Those are the first words I have heard all day without that ringing in my ears. It is like someone finally tightened a dripping faucet or stopped a skipping record — it was truly distracting. What will hoist a spirit through bewildering times?
(She pulls a tambourine from the case and attempts to play it.)
How sad is a broken tambourine? Perhaps there is a message for the church in this disintegration?
(She lets the tambourine drop to the floor.)
I had a dream last night where something was spoken to me by a sincere but rabbity man. He said he needed me to understand that government is paranoid, the citizenry is paranoid —everyone seems a bit paranoid these days. Have we risked the wrath of the Universe too much? I wasn’t to get involved too directly, said the rabbity man but it made me sad just the same. He needed me to understand that solutions abound and I was to be in on the private joke too. Trouble is folks, I tend to panic in the face of too much choice and indiscreet disclosure is an indulgence that I can ill afford.
(Sister Baffy removes a kazoo from the folds of her habit and plays ‘Onward Christian Soldiers.’)
I have an especial Guardian Spirit and boy-o-boy is he hard on me. It’s none of that ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ business. He rides me like a fearless cowboy, telling me loudly when I have strayed from the right-hand path. What many people outside of the church do not realize is that angels have egos too. They don’t like to see a project sour and while I am not one of those people obsessed with doing good, I will pass through the Golden gates of the Eternal kingdom when my time comes and this woman in the audience —  this woman right here thinks I am mistaking sentiment for fact and aims to make a mockery of me! 
(Sister Baffy moves closer to the woman)
This woman right here, ladies and gentlemen thinks the whole subject of Life itself, with its multitude of practices and systems can be broken down to the old chestnut — the old academic polarity of creation versus evolution? Let me tell you something for nothing Miss Evolution, and this is not an explanation of the cosmic process but evidence of the process itself. Do you understand that? This is about unnecessary separation from God. You’re not taking this in, are you? Sweet she is but she has shit for brains.
(Sister Baffy covers her mouth.)
Did I say that aloud? I am sorry for that but she’s confusing me, this woman. She is reminding me of another woman, a dear, sweet soul herself who lost all faith in God’s mercy on the blade of a motorized propeller. It is a tragic story, really. Her family had been camping one summer, you see and Uncle Seamus and Uncle Dylan decided she should be in the water swimming instead of enjoying herself safely in the boat. They’d been drinking steadily all afternoon, like true Irishmen and when she hit the chopping waters, it was in the line of a swirling blade. One hundred and sixteen stitches later and she was trying to re-cross a burned-out bridge, the sun blinding her desperate face. ‘I am so sorry,’ she cried. ‘Can you forgive me?’ I understood her feelings exactly for I lost my faith once. I fell completely into sin and doubt, feeling all the while God watching me like a jilted lover. Oh my dears! It was a scandal for the church, let me tell you — my ‘perversions of loyalty’ they called them but what I originally wanted to ask you was do you think world events are a way of God getting our attention? I do. The confirmation of my belief in the Divine interconnectedness in things came when I realized that I was Jesus’s weathervane. By my error and omissions and on the contrary, through my glory, chastity and truth, I could make the weather act accordingly. One day I could talk to God like a sun-struck peasant, the next be crying after the church picnic was cancelled because I forgot to say morning vespers.
(Sister Baffy presses the bible to her forehead.)
How is faith restored? Tell us, sweet baby Jesus. We have been here before, where I have sinned but you are always there to remind me, in your never-ending grace that no one is perfect, except you. How shall we come to make the right decisions, my Lord? You know best and shall decide.
(Sister Baffy crosses herself and turns back to the ‘spy.’)
I was in the  middle of defusing a curse when I received the omen I was to find you again. The dead squirrel by the roadside broke the first part of the jinx, so it was safe to risk making contact. The last time I encountered this woman — the very woman who has done her best to alienate me the entire evening, preventing me from making my point clearly — the last time I encountered this wretched thing it was exactly the same situation. To discuss metaphysics with a non-believer is to begin at a serious disadvantage, for their unmoving faith is but a weight to drag down a soaring heart. You can feel them judging you, their perception passing over like a tide, soft or fierce depending on temperament behind it. I always thought I’d recognize the bad people; they would be preceded by the stench of Sodom and Gomorrah but on that sunshiny morning, before everything soured, there was a sense that some ideology of sisterhood had cultivated between a couple of daffy gals, different as Master and servant. I confessed that paranoia was lousy leverage but Sister Baffy has to work with what she’s got. The woman didn’t want to make it too personal but I couldn’t resist. I leaned in close to whisper: ‘All that is required to succeed is the activation of faith.’ You know what she does, this mesmerizing siren? She winks at me, then turns away. Not so strange perhaps, I hear you all thinking but you didn’t see that wink. In her twinkling eye, I could see how disappointed she was to discover I was just another stupid romantic. She hugged me briskly, to be polite I am sure of that, then disappeared. There goes my almost friend.
(Sister Baffy waves gently in the distance.)
You will have to forgive me stopping so abruptly like this. I will say a prayer, to change things between us.
(Sister Baffy prays quickly and when finished, crosses herself and smiles warmly at the audience. She curtsies, then replaces the bible into the suitcase and exits the playing area.)
{Painting by Kark Briullov}

Fresh Poetry ~ “Venus Slenderizes”

A_Magician_by_Edward_Kelly - Venus SlenderizesEngineered by the same 
complex magical diagrams 
which force angelic wings,
irresponsible giants work fear deeply
patriotism programming,
essential myths told 
on through 
challenging choreography
for centuries;
nonsense projects hurting the economy,
gross exhibitions of wealth
jockey for position to that rare sight.
Need another clue?
Increase requirements 
with tendencies towards a liberating effect,
break any bad habit, 
attain a new one
to think in measured doses, 
pick up the water chalice
fitted now with acoustic apparatus because it is
time to shine,
time to fight those demons born of celebrity avarice.
Pose resistance,
clear psychic space: 
paint your shield
bat concepts around then 
make the picture in mind‘s eye;
recall anatomy & proportion,
the esoteric seven-fold
this intriguing analysis.
A relevant fact:
Madagascar = Lemuria;
Antarctica equals Atlantis.
Just because it’s a secret
doesn’t mean it’s true.
{Illustration by Edward Kelly}

Quotation from Virginia Woolf

George Charles Beresford“ ‘No going to the Lighthouse, James,’ he said, as he stood by the window speaking awkwardly, but trying in deference to Mrs. Ramsey to soften his voice into some semblance of gentility at least.
Odious little man, thought Mrs. Ramsey, why go on saying that.” 
~ Virginia Woolf
{Photographic Portrait by 
George Charles Beresford}

Sister Baffy ~ Part 2 of 3

681px-Egon_Schiele_033(Sister Baffy whoops in celebration.)
Do they always go so well together? You there — ask your friend. A strange woman, this creature. I am certain I see her or someone who ‘looks just like her’ exercising regularly each morning. Near the convent she’ll be, on a very public promenade mind you, doing tai chi or whatever martial art she specializes in. Now, like most magnetic people she is puzzling so cautiously I approach. ‘The soul is a complex thing,’ I warn with the same protective intent as a mother panther guarding it’s young. As a Christian woman, I can appreciate that kindly advice from strangers is not everyone’s cup of tea but this woman reached out as quick as Jesus’s love and snatched a hold of my head. ‘Are you confused?’ she asked. Trembling in her grasp, I admitted  it was so. ‘Look at the pictures in your mind’s eye for clues.’ She released my head and it snapped back like a healed believer! Uncorked my brain she did, the second time that month so immediately I hurried to church to mediate over her fascinating remark. ‘Look at the pictures in your mind’s eye.’ Indeed. There in that well-worn oak pew inside St. Ignatius church at 23rd and Main, I allowed images to tumble like rocks through my feverish mind. I prayed and prayed and prayed until the beard of St. Peter scratched my nose. I prayed until all at once I saw the reason why the Catholic clergy have become a pack of degenerate pedophiles. It was as if Moses hisself had breathed it into my lungs! I went straight into the priest’s sanctuary to tell them how wrong it all was. ‘For certain we could improve on existing methods’ said the rabbity man in the vestments and I asked to speak to the superiors in the Vatican. ‘We must not dwell on the specifics’ they cried and who can ignore those bastards, hovering above the church impenetrable as God hisself!
(Sister Baffy shakes her head.)
Now that I’ve given the Lord a chance to speak, He doesn’t wish to stop. Oh sweet Jesus! Do they mention that in the bible? Nevermind — we must make do with the channels we are aligned because the human organism is capable of a great many things. There are amazing, hidden functions released through the power of faith and if channelled into the correct functions, there would be no need for hospitals or doctors. ‘We need a potluck Jesus,’ I told that priest rather brightly, considering the odds of his actually taking me seriously. ‘We need a leader who will let people bring whatever they can to the Holy party.’ Oh! I argued with him. ‘You want paradise now,’ that pervert said to me and why not I asked? Why tell people to wait for their rewards when the heavenly bounty is available now? ‘You are meddling in church business’ he said, looking at me like my name was Pandora and I was wearing a ragged cape and too much eye makeup. I only wanted to peek under the cosmic tapestry but it would appear I released an adventurous cracken. ‘There are tablets for these states,’ he said and if the young filly is foolish enough to ignore the doctor’s orders, then she gets exactly what she deserves!
(Sister Baffy sings and dances)
‘I can smell your burning engine / Yet we’ve a thousand miles to go!’
(She dances over to the case and pulls out her Angelscope. She surveys the audience.)
A gossipy, needy bunch of angels. That’s what I see before me today. Is it real or is it Memorex? Hard to say, sometimes. Can I get a  ‘Halleluiah?’
(She puts the Angelscope back into the case and returns to her bible.) 
I quote to you now from the Book of Isaiah: ‘Naked I entered, naked I will return.’ Now that there is a golden band of truth around my head — a halo of sorts, I have discovered that more than money or self — can I get another  ‘Halleluiah?’ Like a sexton releasing incense & spreading love, we must keep faith alive and the Jiminy Cricket – type says it’s fine. You — oh, yes you! Why is the snake not affected by its own venom? I can see right through you. ‘In my flesh shall I see God.’ You know that feeling of talking and talking and people are listening but they don’t understand? They just twist things? Then I will come to my point more directly. 
(She once again prays deeply.)
Father forgive them for they know not what they do.’ What can we do for the truly hopeless?  How long will this take, my Heavenly Father? Oh! Don’t bother then. As Mother Superior always said: ‘Worry is just wasted prayer and patience is a part of God’s design.’ Ultimately, it boils down to a matter of credibility. If I am to meet people and they ask what my occupation is, I am at immediate odds to tell how I struggle to pave the way for Jesus. He’s a fountain, he’s forever and I am utterly possessed with notions, high on this man Jesus and vibrating in coffee — the walls of Jericho come a’ tumbling down! 
(Sister Baffy throws her arms into the air and slowly circles.)
Images within images, different layers of reality all wrapping together, ingredients gathering, the mixture stirred stiff. Time now to light the candles that will illuminate the bridge crossing the cosmic divide. Mired in misery no more, converted and regenerated — this is good people! My thoughts are expanding to the point where I am a magical thinker again. It is the basis of my whole character.
(Sister Baffy thumbs her nose and wiggles her backside to the audience. She returns once more to suspect audience member.) 
You see — she has something against me! I must always explain myself. There is a certain type of creature that does not possess power on its own. It is capable of influence only through its poison. You best watch your girlfriend there. She needs the indulgence of seeing herself as unusual, as someone who Fate has screwed. Sees herself as a victim, she does. I swear I can taste your curses! I shall have to unbewitch myself. ‘Find the ghosts in your head and tell them you love them.’
(Sister Baffy crosses herself, then sighs loudly, realizing she will have to explain her position more fully.)
My dear, poor woman — I am merely spinning for some truth. You should try it yourself and then you’d not make such a fuss when you see someone else giving it a whirl, now would you? It is our aim to stop the violence against spirit. Are you in agreement with that, at least in principle? Yes? That is a start then. Now where was I — oh yes, I remember. When I was just a wee girl, those donation boxes that swirl the coins around fascinated me. Mother Superior would allow me a shiny copper penny and I’d watch it spin round and around. That’s what praying to the Heavenly Fathers is like, you know. Round and round and around! 
(Sister Baffy laughs heartily) 
I’ve been on every pill you can imagine — Thorazine, Lithium, Prozac, Paxil and Valium for extra measure — round and round and round she goes! Woohooo!  I was already the perfect vessel for the Christ–light and it didn’t take long for the Mother Superior to realize that when I prayed to the Blessed Virgin, I meant it. The other lasses soon noticed this too and would sit apart from me in the masses and one afternoon, Mother Superior took me to a doctor, a special doctor Mother assured me but I have strayed from the point. Once you start accepting these holy symbols as truth, your thoughts begin running together like carefree schoolgirls, dancing through a sunny meadow and it’s the momentum carrying you along and. . . like I was saying, Mother Superior noticed this and brought me to the Doctor whose name I cannot recall and he prescribed pills, just like that. ‘Prozac’ scribble, scribble, scribble. ‘Might experience side effects.’ Scribble, scribble, scribble. ‘Drowsiness, light-headedness, fatigue, depression.’ Scribble, scribble, scribble.
(Sister Baffy puts her hands on her hips.)
I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘What do I need those for? I have Jesus in my heart.’ How could I make them understand? ‘Speak to me in the language of God!’ I cried ‘A disorder of dopamine metabolism,’ he told the Mother Superior. ‘If not treated will result in deteriorated functioning, the learning of inappropriate response and spoil her identity.’ She handed me the prescription. Later on, when no one was looking I took those poisonous tablets and threw them into the Kettle River! Oh cry your selfish tears if you must, but if the Christ himself came along tomorrow afternoon, he’d be drugged on Haloperidol and thrown into a psychiatric institution as quick as an Irish wink! This is what I said to the Doctor whose name I cannot recall, when I was committed to a ‘rest home’ after my indiscretions were discovered. ‘Aren’t you tired of being trapped in a reckless fugue?’ On a better day, I would have argued with the man but being quite buggy at the time, could hardly dispute the matter. The good thing about God’s love is that there is a miracle around every corner but to tell the truth, I would have preferred madness at the turn of the century — vintage madness, when it was passion and torrent that drove a mind to extremes, rather than chemical imbalance and self-indulgence. Mind you, the good doctor did apologize all those years later for locking me up against my will but what good is an apology without contrition? When all is said and done, it is hard to have respect for someone living a lie.
{Painting by Egon Schiele}

Fresh Poetry ~ “Edward Alexander”

Jules Jacot GuillarmodFirstly – rites of purification reduce toxic craft
rituals sublime;
there are lessons to be learned
inside an air of sanitation & privacy.
Change can only be achieved
from the winds of heaven
soaring to heights of worship,
carry the dearest whispers of Aiwass
to your scarlet scryer’s mouth
karma resolves absolute.
It is not so much fun 
when you must always do the 
so let it be a dactyl 
followed by a spondee,
fuse story with abstract
then don that magical regalia
during the years of your mission;
wealth erotica
necessarily not clear-cut
proved no greater than sham-worship;
one aspect of such elevated influence
different commerce replaces truth
with symbolism 
It was a utopia for few:
divided into meta-structures
a kingdom built on fetid soil,
a kingdom of carnal pleasures
the sewer of one paranoid man’s mind 
translating history
to open the third eye; 
a craftsman of filth
pleased to present 
the evil genius.
Bored with life you
to keep crossing the wicked line to feel alive,
to bury the rock;
eat the fruits of your 
intensive work.
This we understand: 
an honest-to-God multiple
trying to dominate,  
kidnaps an object of obsession;
human history
spiritual & economical, 
the presentation of reasonable response,
a revelation from some God
interested in establishing 
the New Aeon,
tattooing the unicursal hexagram,
source for the Master Plan,
preparation for the Golden Dawn.
Truth of the matter:
a memoirist
received by automatic writing,
breaks the fetters 
practically burning through the screen, then
joy when all is lost.
Helped in aiding the cause of evil forces,
calculating inevitable degradation of 
moral progress,
average citizen’s view,
dancing upon eggs
everyone wants to be a star. 
Blessed with the art of detecting divinity,
a bias in favour of specific conclusions
Can someone be a spiritual egomaniac?
There is no good picture so 
use his Holy Name
from a Gnostic sense,
partially obscured behind
the oft-bewildering complexity of
imagination growing wilder & wilder
you drive out devils
which dominate the interpretation of life’s rhythms & as such
cannot be trusted to 
follow correct intuition, that
sexual corruption which polluted 
indications of devotion
entitlement to this love is never questioned.
Show your body, 
act like a train wreck
along the ascended plains,
plunge down the rabbit hole metaphor
hidden beyond a veil of darkness,
spun from malignant intent
focusing sexual energies 
upon a wish—
the will shall be fulfilled.
Faith through denial; faith’s whore
scratching out words of evolution
Does that ring a bell?
Perhaps then:
Mediocre product of intense 
hero worship;
martyr of supposed innocence who
taught an elaborate cosmology?
Christian, Jewish, Sufi, Hindu, Greek, & Ancient Egyptian 
elements synthesized from
equals The Great Lie,
growing stronger & stronger.
*pulls out some Scripture* 
A fountain sealed:
Thelemites attend,
speaking a twilight language 
of symbol —– the true expression of 
belief & unconscious agreements.  
{Photograph by Jules Jacot Guillarmod}

Quotation from Zoroaster

“When you doubt, abstain.”
~ Zoroaster
{Fresco by Raphael}