Morning Prayers

   
   "Morning Prayers"
   
   Beaten down the day before, lathered in the spicy aroma of Icy Hot, waking to see an old yet lovely dog, given a toxic peach pit by a nasty intruder at one time; next, I pet her, tell her I love her, find Mom, and I sing:  "Good Morning!  Good Morning!"  The wiping, the washing, the lifting, the medicating, the dressing, the brushing, the feeding, and plenty more.  And there are other decent souls who sacrifice their lives to look after a relative, because they feel when they die; next, they'll have to answer to God.  God will ask:  "What did you do?"  The phonies will say:  "Hey, I'm rich."  I think we all know how God will respond to such laziness.  
   Mom and myself start off by invoking Saint Joan of Arc--it's a great invocation--part of it:  "Ride with us in battle today Saint Joan."  And it feels like she does.
   My Mom loves horses.  I tell her:  "Brush the horse.  Ride the horse.  Feel its might and power beneath you."  If she sees people murdered on television, gruesome shows they always project to us, and starts getting a little melancholy, I tell her:  "Ride your powerful horse right over the bad guys.  Let nothing unclean enter the Temple of your mind."
   When I used to sit and tell my mother about the great French Saint, family members would look at me and say: "Don't talk to her Mark--you can't get through."  Screw them.  That's my Mom.  She deserves the best.  Not over 100 damn people barging into HER house over the last 7 years, talking about disease and death in front of her, pitying her as if she is nothing, or getting drunk and passing guns around in front of her, acting as if she's not there, and it all gets so much worse.  Most things I've documented in life.  Have all her blood work, her medication over the last ten years--the shit they were giving her.  Possibly, destroying a nervous system.  A pretty lady, and her whole damn life treated like a trophy or a subject.  I just always thought she was kinda/sorta a sublime flake.  Now, and for a long time--I see the strength in her eyes, the determination, and we pray, holding hands, tied together by our blood.
   We always start the day, and throughout the day, and end the day with prayer.  If I'm not totally zapped by all the crummy news and people showing up left and right, barging in, I read to her Psalms 103; specifically, a Psalm of David--the King James version.  "Bless the Lord, O my soul."