New World (Part 5) – A Poetry Journal

2-13-22 – 10:03 a.m.

The crucifix over my desk reminds me that I’m a small part of a larger whole among the billions of people on earth. I don’t go to church. Nor do I even know if I believe in Jesus. But my Catholic roots have stayed with me. No matter how terrible the Church has been, the traditions still speak to me.

My dreams speak to me, too. The moon was bright in the sky last night. I’m not sure what phase it was in, but it was partially concealed. I’ve read before about how the moon is so powerful it can affect our moods. This makes sense since it often affects the tides in the sea. When she is in Texas this week, we’ll both look up and see the same glowing orb. It will bring me comfort.

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Looking up at the Church (a photo)

The Deerpark Reformed Church on Main Street in Port Jervis, NY. Photo was taken in spring of 2021. This church is home to the oldest Christian congregation in Port Jervis, and it was established by Dutch settlers in 1737. It is indeed a beautiful building.

The Church & the Park (a drawing)

Here’s another one of my art therapy drawings. Like many people, I love old churches, especially ones with big steeples and clocks. I also like this drawing because of the wide expanse of the grassy area.

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Church Basements (a poem)

A teacher told my mother I’d join a cult –

that was in the ‘90s + twenty years later,

I was a recovery zealot, driving through

snowstorms to share my sorrows with

strangers, always thinking I was in danger,

fighting my impulses + a mind that

seemed to want me dead.

(Photo by Karl Fredrickson on Unsplash)