Bitter Star

  

   "Bitter Star" 

   My name is Mary; I'm Catholic, of course.  Name has many meanings and variations.  I was humbled when I had my First Holy Communion, eating the Son of Man, as the Major Prophet Ezekiel might have said about himself.  And why would he say such a thing; next, repeated by Christ, Him a Master of the Old Testament, getting many of His wise lines from the likes of Moses, Isaiah, and of course King David, His metaphorical patriarch.
   Son of Man, huh?  Maybe He did have eyes to see and ears to hear, glimpsing easily beyond the electromagnetic spectrum of things, knowing:  all aren't the sons of men.
   His last words on the cross to the Disciple John were concerning His Mother's care; moreover, He had keen perception, and those who were not the sons of men feared His sight; plus, His awesome synergy with the all-encompassing power of the Holy Spirit. 
   Saint John declared Saint Michael tossed the others down onto Terra's terrain, and we're stuck here with them.  However, always a few Nordic-styled angels walking about to make sure things don't get too wondrously wacky.
   So, I was a janitor for a physician's office.  Mean old lady, like a viper, my boss, bossing me around; next, saying she lived by the Golden Rule.  Yeah, he with the gold makes the rules.
   Mary, the Queen of Angels was bitter, might Fyodor point to in The Brothers Karamazov, but I kept my mouth shut, mostly, knowing the Virgin's Litany concerning poverty and chastity.
   So, I kept away from the bodily juices of others, knowing:  some were not the sons of men.  Yeah, I saw a doctor and was on a plethora of pills; nevertheless, only here to serve the poor.
   Too, I watched PEANUTS cartoons, and fancied wholesome shows.  What was I to do, for I was just a janitor?  But you never can tell.  Frodo was a mere Hobbit.  I crack myself up, take the Eucharist, and feel the everlasting flow of the Trinity washing away my sins when I see a hot country music guy.  Heck, we're all human.  Most of us.