I've been wanting to go back to the priests lately. Open the spring action door, walk into the cloister, cross myself and kneel down on the long wood pew. I remember sometimes when you went face-to-face, which I often did, it felt awkward to go behind the screen, talking to a wall, thwen on the other side you'd have a proverbial sponge. Unless I confessed murdering someone, or worse. Then, they'd have a conscientious duty to either turn me in or convince me to turn myself in. And that could get dangerous. Muddy. But when you walk into that place, it can be suffocating. I used to think that was an entirely internal experience. Knowing that you were about to cough up your worst attributes, the things you'd done. How could you breathe? Like your body was going into that shock mode, like you were about to hyperventilate. But that wasn't it at all. You could say what you wanted. Lie if you felt you had to need to. But always and every time, God knew the truth. God knew what was in your heart. Just about every preist I ever came into contact with, whether liberal or conservative in his religious leanings, would tell you the same thing--- delight in the truth, for it will set you free. And depending how you want to respond to that statement on any given day, either the light that shines upon you is quite white or else it fades to dull grey.

The truth and the guilt was what sucked the air out of that room. How a priest could stand to cover himself in cloaks and stay in that room, not knowing how many people would come through there, not knowing what personal burdens would be laid upon them-- unfathomable. How you could muster up the courage to not sit in judgement for so many judgements which had been rolled out that way. If you were a priest. But I received sanctimony for everything that had come from my lips before. It's like the quiet stillness of a cold freezing room with so many spirits, so many demons, and there you are with all your black vows. Your great little deaths.