The way Natalie Franklin-Ortez saw it, there are two ways of understanding the human condition. In the first, we are born in the likeness of God, and are blessed with the eyes of the very universe seeing itself come alive. We are transient miracles of light, given a home for a brief while in a body of matter. A flesh-home. The other way to see things is that the Earth is a giant rock arbitrarily spinning around a star, which just so happened to have the chemical ingredients to foster life. This life is a total, blind war toward adaptability. We humans are but clever apes clinging to our rock, consuming beyond our means, forging our own irrelevance. Of course, one prefers the first option, that we discover meaning in our lives, not just random events which scatter about us like rain drops on the walk to the bus stop. Do we ride our boats with the tide? Or is there an encroaching meaninglessness that tries to drag us back into its drift?
Natalie Franklin-Ortez was a college professor in Religious Studies. On Mondays her classes did not start till the afternoon so she had some time to enjoy the mornings. She showered, brushed her teeth and donned her day’s garments. She paused to evaluate her reflection in the mirror. She looked sufficient. Her hair was long, blonde, curly and wild, her mouth small, her chin weak. She put on bright red lipstick. Sometimes she thought of giving up the whole beauty thing and letting herself go to pasture, becoming comfortably slovenly. But once a woman reaches a certain age she must be neat and attractive to be taken seriously. In her job as a University professor, she could not risk looking unkempt. At least as a woman, you can’t. You must earn dignity through perfection. Maybe on a trip to Walmart she could wear sweat pants and a trucker hat, and fit in with those enviable untouchables who didn’t give a shit about prestige, but not in the elite University.
She sat down at the dining room table with a light breakfast of almonds, grapefruit, and a cup of black coffee, while she read the New York Times. Having finished the Arts and Leisure section, she put the paper aside and took a sip from her coffee, allowing her thoughts to stroll through the past, revisiting a rare happy memory from her childhood that sustained her, pausing to recall momentary anguish during adolescence, next to ponder some powerful affection unreturned, to consider an accidental encounter, and to regard the burgeoning of a sound companionship. Reflecting on these memories as a process that shaped her, a force of order that she was unaware of as it happened, she found that only through recollection could she discover clarity, and redeem the pain, and understand the necessary order of these events.
Through this wandering she realized, with surprise, that she was happy now. She had arrived. Life had been hard for years, ever since she was a girl and her mother left home forever, but now she was finally in a good place, somewhere she wanted to stay. She returned to the bedroom. Her beloved wife, Rita, was still wrapped up in white Egyptian cotton sheets. Rita was a short, plump, Hispanic woman with an adorably round face who was a kind, gentle presence in Natalie’s life. “Bye, love.” Natalie kissed her shoulder.
“Come back here,” said Rita. She sat up and kissed Natalie on the lips. Some of the lipstick smeared on Rita’s lip. Natalie took a finger to her mouth, licked it and wiped the lipstick away.
It was a sunny day outside. As Natalie walked toward her Subaru the next door neighbor’s daughter, who was about nine years old, ran up to greet her. Her manner was awkward and flustered. “Can I take a selfie with you?” she said without a pause between words. They had been neighbors for years, and yet the young girl had never so much as introduced herself. This sudden reversal seemed strange to Natalie, but she figured maybe the girl was in a photography class. The girl held up her phone, got them both in the frame and took a picture. The girl smiled at her. “My name is Cassie,” she said.
“Hi Cassie, I’m Natalie.”
“Of course you are! Everyone knows you!”
A quizzical expression passed over her face, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, generating a brief chill. She tried to smile at Cassie as she resumed her walk to the car. She got in and drove to work, the radio tuned to an oldies station.
She found her customary parking spot and climbed out of the car. On Mondays, part of her daily ritual was to get lunch from the hotdog vendor and eat it in her office before her first class. The hotdogs were fancier than the average hotdog stand’s selection, including reindeer, elk, buffalo, and her favorite, wild boar. As she waited in line she glanced at the menu she was so accustomed to seeing. Instead of wild boar the menu advertised the Natalie Franklin Frank. As her turn to order arrived she smiled at the vendor.
“That’s so sweet that you named a hotdog after me!”
“Well, you’re no ordinary lady, Ms. Franklin.”
“That’s so nice of you. A good way to start a day. I’ll have the Natalie Franklin Frank, please!”
As the vendor prepared the meal he kept talking, “Yep, you sure are special. You are my favorite customer, you know? I feel close to you, Natalie. It has been a blessing knowing you.”
This flattery seemed to be a bit much, but Natalie flashed a forced smile and took her hotdog and Coke.
On the way to her office everyone she passed waved at her. Though strangers to her, they acted with fond familiarity. She got to her building and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. She walked to her office and sat down to eat her hotdog.
There was a knock on her open door. “Hey, Natalie, it’s me, Craig.”
“Hi, Craig, how’s it going?”
“Well, I just wanted to tell you how much you mean to me.” He immediately seemed ashamed of what he said. “And to the department, of course. You really have changed the Religious Studies department.”
“Thanks, Craig,” she said, uncertainly.
“To be totally honest with you, Natalie, when you came to work here, it was like someone opened a window in my heart, and a light I’d never known shone inside me. What I’m trying to say is, I’d love to get to know you better. I’d like to be closer to you.”
“Craig,” she said in surprise, “you know I’m married, right?” And then, to firmly shut the door, she said, “And even if I was single, I’m a lesbian.”
“Of course, of course.” said Craig. “Well, just wanted to stop and say hello.”
As he walked off Natalie found herself dumbstruck. What was going on? It was like everyone had abruptly fallen in love with her. She felt a sense of the uncanny set in, but did her best to shake it off and get her lecture notes together. She walked to room 504 for Eastern Religion class. What she saw was incredible. Not only was every student in her class there on time for once, including Scott Schroder who had missed the last two weeks, but a standing room only group of zealous students crowded the little room. As she approached her lectern she was given a standing ovation. She began to feel as if she were going insane. She nervously looked over her lecture notes. One could only go on with things, as if everything were normal.
She spoke of the Upanishads, particularly the Brihadarantaka, wherein you find the doctrine of Sat-Chit-Ananda, three words which translate from the Sanskrit as Being, Consciousness, and Bliss, which are the components of Brahman, the unitary presence of the ulitmate reality, which is beyond change. She spoke of transcending Maya and burning off all karma. As a quick aside she said, “In a way, the Buddha was a failed Hindu. He did not achieve Sat-Chit-Ananda. He was subsequently disillusioned by Hindu metaphysics and founded the ‘middle path’”
Applause burst out. “Brilliant point!” someone shouted.
Natalie lost her train of thought. She stood there frozen, as if she had been hypnotized. She felt trapped in the little room full of people. “I’m sorry, I am not feeling well. Just, do the reading for Wednesday.” She gathered her belongings and rushed out the room. She wouldn’t take the elevator, for fear of being cornered. She kept her head down as she descended the stairs. “Hello Dr. Franklin” she heard now and then but did not respond. She made her way back to her car and drove home. Her heart beat too fast and she felt faint. As she turned a corner toward her house she was horrified to find a gaggle of the press ready with cameras and microphones.
She parked her car, got out, and pushed her way through the ravenous crowd. As she shut the front door behind her, trying to shield herself from the insanity, Rita ran to her immediately, “What’s going on, Natalie? There have been phone calls all day, people wanting to interview you. And the paparazzi is out front!”
“I don’t know what is going on, Rita. I don’t understand.”
They held each other and stood there, a single tower of strength in a now uncertain universe. When they eventually parted from the embrace, Natalie searched for some resolution. “Maybe this is just some one day thing. Maybe this will be gone tomorrow.”
The next day, hoping to seem like just a regular person, Natalie neglected to put on makeup and dressed in sweat pants and a trucker hat as a disguise. She tentatively opened the front door. To her relief, there was no one. She stepped forward, locked the door, and turned to walk to the car when a man popped up from beneath a bush like a Whack-a-Mole. He took photo after photo, each click feeling like a nail hammered into her. And so it seemed that whatever weird occurrences happened yesterday would continue to happen today. Cassie rushed toward Natalie, requesting another photograph. Natalie ignored her and walked to the car.
At school the strange adoration continued. Despite her lazy lesbo get-up everyone recognized her. Students asked her to autograph her obscure academic book, William James: Free Will and the Cosmic Yes. A line formed. People wanted her to read their own philosophical writings. She had become so important to these strange people. She was the star professor for no reason at all.
A man in a suit approached. He identified himself as an agent. “You could do big things, Mrs. Natalie Franklin-Ortez. And I can help you facilitate that. TV interviews, biopics, an autobiography. The sky’s the limit. Here’s my card.”
Natalie considered the possibility that all this adoration for her would be permanent. She worried what that would do to her psyche. Would she come to feel she deserved the praise? She remembered a Sufi story, wherein a shaykah, a spiritual elder, embarrassed and spiritually threatened by his popular esteem and supposed saintliness, urinated publicly to cast blame on himself. Maybe if she had some crazy public meltdown people would leave her alone. If the unworthy admiration continued she might lose all sense of meaning.
After work, she decided to talk to Rita about her situation. “I would talk with my therapist, but she would just fall under the same spell as everyone else. I feel like someone has put a hex on me.”
Rita spoke. “I was embarrassed to tell you this, Natalie, but I consult with a psychic. She reads my Tarot cards. She really helps me out. If it is a hex causing all this fame, she will be resistant. She is a modern day witch with formidable powers. But you must give in to the magic. Don’t make fun of it in your head.”
Natalie agreed to try it. The next day they left the house together. A swarm of paparazzi surrounded them, shouting questions: What’s it like being a genius? How do you maintain such a youthful look? Do you have a new book coming out? Who are you wearing? What’s it like to be the most famous woman in town? What’s your favorite dessert?
They walked on with the circle of cultural bottom feeders surrounding them, who took pictures and filmed them, carrying overhead microphones that scurried like tarantula legs. Natalie and Rita held hands for solidarity. Natalie felt the intimate pulse in Rita’s hand. Each step they took was answered by the paparazzi, who continued to maintain a circle around them. They walked down the esplanade into a street full of bars. They came to a sign that read “Real Psychic Readings! Tarot Cards! Potions!” Rita led the way down a flight of stairs, through a door that made a “ding” as they entered, and into a waiting room, where they sat on a blue love seat. The air was suffused with incense. From behind a wave of beaded curtains an overweight, elderly woman appeared. She had squinty eyes and long black hair pulled into a bun. “Rita! It’s been too long. And who is this?”
“This is my wife, Natalie.”
“I recognize you from the news. What did you do to get so famous?”
“That’s actually why we’re here,” said Rita. “We were hoping you could determine what is going on.”
“Come in, come in.” she said, parting the beaded curtains for them. “My name is Martha. I’m an eclectic witch. Have a seat at the round table, the table of divination. I’ll be right back.” The table was covered in a scarlet cloth, with three candles burning on it. Indian music played in the background, sitars droning.
“This is going to help, baby. Didn’t I tell you Martha wouldn’t be affected by the spell?”
Martha the witch reappeared with a crystal ball. She sat it in the center of the table of divination. “Now let’s get loose. We’re going to play a mind association game. I say a word and you say the first word that comes to your mind. Okay: Tree?”
“Trunk”
“Sky?”
“Blue.”
“Mother?”
“Absent.”
“Anger?”
“Red.”
“Sleep?”
“Dreams.”
“Glass?”
“Darkly.”
“Darkly? Why that word?”
“It’s in the Bible. ‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.’”
“Okay, then. Fire?”
“Passion”
“Quiet?”
“Serenity.”
“Okay, good,” said the witch.
“How did I do?”
“Just fine, now let me see.” She got up from her chair and ambled over to Natalie. “Put your palms out.” Natalie did so. “Ah, I see. Before you became famous you had found yourself where you want to be. The fame has interfered with this good life. You want the fame to go away. And it will. This stage of your life is just that, a stage. You will live a long happy life. Are you considering having a child?”
“Well, yes. We haven’t told anyone about that though. We don’t know whether to adopt or do fertilization.”
“Verifications of your marriage are strong. The way your head line rests against the heart line shows that sometimes you can be overly analytical and too intellectual.”
Rita laughed. “It’s true!”
“Okay then,” said the witch as she walked back to her chair. Let’s see inward.” She blew out the candles. The room took on the muted blue light of an eclipse. “Relax,” she said, and with a long space between every phrase she continued. “Soften your gaze…. Look into the crystal ball…. Feel your breathing…. Breath deeply…. Now let your mind open…. You see a light…. A bright light…. Walk away from it…. Walk away from the light…. Now you will see your shadow, cast by the light, in front of you on the ground…. Command the shadow to stand up…. Now walk through the tall shadow before you, as if it were an open door.”
In an instant Natalie was living in a memory. She was 13 years old, in middle school, an ungainly girl, insecure, shy, nerdy, face full of acne. She was at her friend Angie’s house. They were talking about boys they had a crush on but Natalie’s real crush was on Angie. “You’re my only friend, Angie. I wish I was popular.”
“Do you really wish that?” Angie asked conspiratorially.
“Yes, I really mean it. I want to be accepted for who I am.”
“I have magic powers, Natalie.” She walked to her closet and returned with a box. She opened the box. Inside was a little mirror, five inches by five inches. There were also two plastic, red devil horns with suction cups at the base. “Lick the suction cup and put the devil horns on your temples. Now look at yourself in the mirror, look yourself in the eyes. Now say the wish.”
“I want to be popular. I want to be the most popular girl in the city.”
“I want to be popular!” She shouted, but was now back in the room with Rita and Martha, the witch.
Martha waited for Natalie to process what had happened.
“Did I make a deal with the devil?”
“It would seem so.”
“But I wanted to be popular when I was 13. Not at 39!”
“The dark spirits gave you what you wanted at the most inconvenient time. Just when everything was aligned. It is a curse!”
“Do you have methods to restore things to how they should be?”
“I might.” Martha rose and walked into another room. She returned with what seemed to be plant roots and a bag. “Grind these roots and put two tablespoons in a bowl of boiling hot water. Wait for the brew to form a sediment. When you drink the potion say words of intention; they will help you heal from the hex. This potion is to hexes what antacids are to heartburn.” The witch opened the bag and dropped the contents on the table. There were gem stones. “This is obsidian. This will be like armor to protect your heart and mind from the influence of the insanity that is going on around you. It will protect you from negativity and will help you find a sense of self to rely upon as you negotiate your absurd situation. And this is jasper. This is like a gateway into your own inner strength. It will inspire bravery, cunning and self-assurance, to combat the curse. You need to charge your gemstones in a bowl of water in a window or outside under the sun and moon for a full 24 hours. Full moons are the most powerful. Then you put them on different chakras. Lie down and put the gemstones on your heart or head and envision the gemstone healing you. Keep them on your body until you intuit they have done their job. After continued use, the stone will become cloudy and will need to be recharged.” She momentarily stopped being a witch and became a business woman. “The memory retrieval is on the house. The roots and the gemstones will be fifty dollars.”
Rita paid with a credit card.
“But before you go, Natalie, I must say I sense you have bigger questions about the meaning of life, and if it even has a meaning. You have discovered that spells of intention have affects in the real world. Clarify your intentions. Realize intentions have consequences, sometimes unintended consequences. We live in a world of creation and death, love and captivity. What do you want to do with your life?”
As they left Martha the witch, there was no one around watching them. The tenuous hope that they were free tantalized Natalie as they walked back to the esplanade. But soon they assembled like evil crows with black magical intent. The paparazzi spun around Natalie and Rita like a tornado. The walk home became a stressful march as the reporters continued to badger Natalie with questions. But now they turned also to Rita: How did you land the most beautiful bachelorette in the city? Why you? Why are you so special?
Natalie hated their cheap jealousy. “Leave my wife out of this.”
When they got back to their house and locked the doors, they sat down on the love seat. “What did you see, Natalie?”
Natalie told her about the spell and being back with Angie. “I said, I want to be the most popular girl in the city.”
“So you made a deal with the devil?”
“I suppose I did. But it was so innocent at the moment. Just make-believe”
Natalie decided to take time to focus on the gemstones and the root tea. She called the dean to request a leave of absence from work. The dean was understanding and supportive, but, predictably, he became overly familiar. “Natalie, I hope we can meet sometime for coffee. You are a fascinating woman. I’d love to get to know you better. I think we have chemistry.”
“I’m a lesbian, Mr. Cork.”
Natalie and Rita put aluminum foil on the outsides of their windows, to block the light and eliminate any view into the house. Natalie charged her gemstones in a bowl of water on the back porch. After 24 hours she took her shirt off and lyed in bed with the obsidian on her heart and the jasper balanced on her forehead. The Very Best of Enya played in the background. She felt ridiculous, lying stiff and still, like Gulliver when tied to the ground by the Lilliputians. Martha, the witch, had told her to focus on healing energies radiating from the stones. She tried to imagine some kind of mystical light penetrating her skin and resting in her chakras. She didn’t know if she even believed in chakras. When the Enya album finished she did too.
She took the roots to a cheese grater and collected the pieces, then used a French press to heat and filter the brew. She waited for it to cool and took small sip. The brew was thick. It tasted like dirt mixed with chewed Aspirin and it made her gag. She swallowed it quickly like she did when she took NyQuil. It slithered down her throat.
To avoid the spies and hangers on Rita and Natalie became shut-ins. They door dashed food and drink. They stayed inside all day. They unplugged the landline. With all the free time, Natalie decided to work on another academic paper about Heidegger and negative theology. She wrote and studied somewhat obsessively. At night she drank wine. She told Rita she was too stressed to have sex. Rita started to feel shut out, having become the “angel of the house,” the ideal Victorian wife. She cleaned. She cooked. She did laundry. All of which Natalie took for granted.
One day Natalie called out to her. “Rita, could you get me a cup of coffee?”
In five minutes she entered Natalie’s study. “Here you go, your majesty.”
“What’s with the sarcasm?”
“You treat me like I’m a maid,” said Rita.
“I am the breadwinner in this family. I thought you wanted to be a housewife.”
“I did. I do. But I want to be a mom. Do you still want to have a baby with me?”
“Yes, Rita. Of course I do.”
“How are we going to raise a kid in this environment? With us locked away like prisoners?”
“I thought you had faith in these gemstones?”
“I do but … are they working?”
“How would I know? We never go outside. I can’t test it.”
“Don’t you want to test it?”
“I don’t think anything is going to change. I think these gems and roots are hooey.”
“But you had an authentic magical experience! You saw your past as if it was happening now. Why distrust the witch? Why not believe in the gemstones power? They could be your salvation! You are too cynical.”
“Fine, you want to test it, let’s fucking test it.” Natalie grabbed a jacket, threw it on and stuffed her head in her trucker hat. Everything she did was with a spirit of protest. She even opened the door angrily. She charged out into the sunlight. There was no one on the lawn. “Come on, Rita. We’re going downtown.” Natalie marched ahead with purpose while Rita, who was a bit out of shape, struggled to keep up. Again, both felt a cautious optimism. So far, so good. But then their hopes crumbled. Pedestrians started pointing at Natalie. They waved. They took photos on their cellphones. One approached for an autograph. Natalie and Rita walked back home, dejected.
“See, your witch couldn’t stop the hex.”
“At least I had an idea! I don’t see you taking any steps to end this.”
“What am I supposed to do? I go out in my sweatpants and trucker hat get-up and they still treat me like I’m the pope.”
“I can’t be the only one maintaining a spirit of optimism. You are acting like a trapped animal.”
“You are acting like a bitch!”
Rita broke into tears and fled for the bedroom.
Once left alone, Natalie found herself surprised by her own power, her potential for brutality. She didn’t intend to hurt Rita so badly. The curse just fell out her mouth clumsily, like it was a drink spilled by a passionate gesture. She couldn’t focus on her studies so she went to watch TV. She turned to the news, hoping for distraction. Trump had been indicted. This would usually pique her interest, but the guilt continued to gnaw at her obstinately. Rita’s emotional outburst frightened her. But she frightened herself, her own emotion going beyond the measure of the cause. While numbly watching the news she kept waiting for her Rita to come out and make everything better with a smile. In her absence, Natalie condemned herself. Her crime made her feel guilty. Her punishment? Further guilt. The TV reports were drained of all meaning. They didn’t matter.
Eventually she couldn’t take the stalemate anymore. She stood up and walked into their bedroom. “Hey, love.”
“Hey,” Rita said, sniffling.
Natalie got in bed next to her and spooned her. “I’m sorry, Rita. I’m sorry I got so mad. I’m not always the best at handling emotions.”
“I’m sorry, too. Being locked up in the house is taking a toll on me.”
*
The next morning Natalie woke late. Rita was cooking in the other room. The smell of coffee was in the air. She remembered last night. The fight. The making up. And why? The gemstones didn’t work.
Natalie, in pink underwear and an oversized Bikini Kill T-shirt, walked into the kitchen. “Morning love.”
Rita smiled and handed her a cup of coffee. “I hope this doesn’t make you mad. But I was thinking, since you made a deal with the devil maybe you should seek some form of religious healing. If the devil is real, God must be real too.”
“You want me to get exorcised?
“Maybe just a laying on of hands?”
At this point Natalie was up for anything. “If you can find a crazy-ass Pentecostal minister who will rid me of the devil’s pact, I will go see that crazy-ass Pentecostal minister.”
*
The exterior of the church was an ugly concrete box, like some communist tenement. It was called Power Invasion Ministry. They entered into an enormous interior, the walls painted a mildew green, and they took their seats in the pew.
There were cheerful songs, a sermon on repentance, “Repent of your old ways and pick up Jesus’ yoke. With Jesus your yoke will be easy to bear. Now all who have sinned come forward.” A few came up and kneeled before the pulpit.
“Today is a very powerful, blessed day! A big Holy Ghost day! A woman we all know well, the esteemed Natalie Franklin-Ortez, is here for salvation. She has been defiled with the demon of homosexual sex –“
Natalie turned to Rita, and spoke at a whisper. “What is this? They want to rid me of my sexuality?”
“Courageously, she left her position at the worldly university where corrupt professors teach us that homosexuality is normal.“
“What is this shit, Rita?” Natalie whispered.
“I had to play along so they would do this ceremony.”
“And Natalie Franklin-Ortez also wants to be a humble servant of God, not the shallow celebrity she’s become. She shall undergo deliverance. Come to the pulpit, Mrs. Franklin-Ortez.”
Natalie felt she was walking a gauntlet of hyper-normal people judging her.
“Have you accepted Jesus as your lord and savior?”
“No, I have not.”
“Do you want to now?”
“Sure.”
“Have you been a part of any other religion?”
“I am an Unitarian Universalist.”
“Are you prepared to renounce Unitarianism?”
“I suppose so.”
“Are you ready to have the demon of homosexuality removed?”
“Okay.”
“This is our mission as Christians: I read from Matthew 10:8. ‘Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give.”
Five members of the congregation made a circle around Natalie. They touched her lightly but fervently, and then began to speak in tongues, a rythmic babble that transported her to some other reality pulsing with light. She was frightened, like she was about to be destroyed. Reality continued to warp, she swayed. She went pale, felt she was plummeting, tried to steady herself. Before she knew it she threw up all over herself.
“The demon is cast out!” said the pastor. “What a day!”
As they left the church, again they were overcome with that terribly awkward feeling: would the adulation cease, or would it continue? Unfortunately, crowds formed, autographs were given and photos were taken. When they finally got home Natalie spoke, “That was really strange, Rita. The vomiting was cathartic, like I really did cast off something evil. Maybe I am in the bondage of sin. Are we living the wrong way? Is it wrong to be lesbian?” Rita removed her vomit stained shirt.
“Well, the ceremony didn’t work anyway, so I wouldn’t read too much into it. You were probably just stressed out and overwhelmed. Let’s have sex and move on.”
*
Rita was raised in the Catholic Church but became a lapsed Catholic after the rampant accusations of child sexual abuse. Still the crucifix had great power over her. She prayed to Christ and felt redeemed by His blood, although, if they knew about it, the church might excommunicate her for dabbling in the occult. But what was worse? Tarot cards or rape?
One day Rita made another of her risky suggestions. “Natalie, I don’t want to force my own faith upon you, but why don’t we try a Catholic exorcism?”
Natalie was at a loss. She hoped for the curse and any related demons to be tamed and expelled, as when the ferocity is taken out of a wolf by instruction.
Natalie and Rita attended service at the local Catholic church. They sat in the back. The pews were mostly empty, only about 20 people in attendance. The walls were painted white but beautiful stained glass scenes of the Stations of the Cross punctuated the walls. The colors were radiant: greens, blues, reds, golds.
A voice enhanced by a microphone commanded them to stand. The crowd stood to sing along with the music of a Worship band. The song was not a traditional hymn nor a mystical, Gregorian chant, but a cheesy soft-rock kind of pop song, though with lyrics praising God. Preceded by altar boys, the Priest walked up to the pulpit, dressed in an emerald and gold gown. He wandered about the podium, swinging a dangling ball from which incense spew, then stood to face the congregation. “In the name of the father of the son and of the holy spirit, amen. The Lord be with you.
“My brothers and sisters, let us acknowledge our sins and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries.”
Though she had never attended a mass, Natalie recognized this ceremony as the Liturgy of the Word. Various rituals took place that Natalie tried to keep up with. There was a song. The Priest prayed aloud. The congregation sat down.
The beginning of the homily centered on The Book of Job. In the framing narrative, the pastor explained, God and Satan have an existential wager. Satan proposes the only reason humans worship God as they do is because they live well, rewarded for good. It’s a quid pro quo relationship. But if a man suffers enough and loses what he loves, he will surely curse God. So God lets Satan bring suffering down on the righteous Job, causing the death of his 10 children. There is a cruel irony in this story, for Job will never know of the wager between God and Satan. Job only knows he was a just man, free from sin, who doesn’t deserve this suffering. It is, to him, a meaningless suffering. Job wants answers, but God is silent. Job wishes he was never born. Life has become a curse and not a gift. The priest then spoke his own interpretation again, speaking of how life is often unfair. How bad things happen to good people. How suffering happens to people for no reason of their own doing. “All this is called theodicy: why does God let evil and suffering happen in the world? It is a question that has perplexed greater minds than my own.” The priest then returned to the scripture, where three friends come to support Job, but chastise his lack of faith. Job is angered by their platitudes. Job wants to hear from God directly. Eventually, God speaks to Job. God is unequivocal: ‘Look here, you mere human, where were you when I created the universe? I made the leviathan! I made the behemoth!’
“It is a mystical experience, being addressed directly by God, face to face in a cosmic storm. Having been answered, Job is satisfied, accepting himself as limited being, incapable of understanding the wonders of creation. Job ultimately says yes to his limited portion of reality. He is subsequently rewarded with more children, though, of course, the 10 who died before are not restored to life. It is a difficult text for modern readers. The God of this story can be hard to sympathize with. And remember, Job did not believe in a heaven, only recompence in this world, so with no promise of reward in the afterlife, you must value this broken world, as it is the only world we may ever know, hoping to plant the seeds of future trees of a better world. If there is a plan to the universe, it is beyond human comprehension. This might seem an unsatisfactory reason for the torture of Job, but know this: sometimes we may feel alienated from God. This teaches us humility. Here we must rest in Christ. And we must be righteous and aid others through their suffering and celebrate with them when they come out the other side. Thus reads the Book of Job.”
Next came an interpretation of Corinthians and Mark, the latter which seemed demarcated as special as it alone was introduced with a chant, but as the service continued, Natalie found herself distracted. The priest’s words on Job captivated her and spoke to her own experience, though where Job was cursed by suffering into alienation her alienation came from a cursed blessing, the experience of fame, a dream gone sour. But she took heart that the gospel clearly says there is a way through.
The homily completed, they were told to stand and profess their faith. The crowd recited the Nicene creed. And so communion began. She knew this elaborate process was called the Liturgy of the Eucharist. The congregation was told to embrace their neighbors and wish “Christ’s peace be with you.” Though they were seated in the back one man walked all the way to receive them. Then, as the communion was transformed and offered to the faithful, Natalie remained seated but expected Rita would go up to the altar and receive the body and blood of Christ. “Why don’t you go up, Rita?”
“I haven’t confessed my sins.”
The priest was young, not much older than Natalie, and good looking. His short brown hair a little messy. His eyes full of tenderness. After the service the priest stood at the doors, shaking everyone’s hands. Natalie approached. “Oh, the famous Natalie. I didn’t know you were Catholic. What parish do you attend?”
“Can we talk in private?” she whispered.
“Sure, give me 15 minutes.” Natalie and Rita waited. Then followed the priest upstairs to his office. The walls were lined in books.
“I believe I made a pact with the devil. That is why I am so popular. I asked the devil to do this. I sold my soul. I want an exorcism. I want his powers out of me.”
“First of all, your soul is not yours to sell. It belongs to God. And you are not possessed. If you were you would not voluntarily come to a church to have an exorcism performed. Secondly, I do not do exorcisms. You have to have training and access to a certain esoteric book. But exorcisms are not necessarily what you might think they are. Maybe I can help you help yourself get demonic powers out of your soul. It is not so exotic, really. It is more like therapy. Learn your triggers, develop effective coping mechanisms, learn what brings you peace, do what you love. Surround yourself with good people, like your friend here. Satan is crafty. He is brilliant. But he has no power over love.
“And as far as having an encounter with darkness, as Carl Jung said, ‘No tree can grow to Heaven unless its roots reach down to Hell.’ And Jung’s ‘Answer to Job’ is well worth a read.
“And if this is your fate, to be supernaturally popular, maybe you can embrace it and use your popularity for good. You have a podium of great power and influence. People will listen to you. You could save more souls than most.”
Natalie was agape. “You’re really a priest?” She decided to venture a question, “You spoke of God claiming the design of the leviathan and behemoth. Is His claim to making monstrous beasts an acknowledgement that there is a meanness in the grain of the world?”
“You paid attention to my sermon! I thank you. Remember the poem by Blake, does the same God who made the lamb make the tiger? It is a mystery. But in Christ is refuge.”
Natalie felt unguarded in his company, and told him her story. “I think I have no strong sense of meaning in my life, but l look to the intellectual study of various faiths to see what they have to say. I’m afraid it is all meaningless underneath, that the stories and symbolism are signifiers with no fixed signified truth. I envy your faith. I wish I had a path to follow.”
“You’re welcome here anytime. Do you pray?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You might try to practice silent prayer, making yourself available to God. And remember, we all go through periods of doubt. By the way,” the Priest said, “I have a question for you. What do you think of the Praise music.”
“Didn’t like it.”
“I really don’t care for the Praise Music we use at the service now. I far prefer traditional mass music. If you agree please consider writing a note for our suggestion box.”
*
Again the spiritual experience did not result in a loss of her popularity, but Natalie began a crusade. “I’m going to call that agent who gave me his card. I’m going to try to spread wisdom, the best I can.” She thought of the priest’s line about Job ultimately saying yes to his limited reality. It chimed with some of her studies and beliefs. The agent immediately got her booked.
A news host interviewed her. “What do you want to talk about tonight?”
“I want to talk about saying yes to the world, in all its complexity and pain.” She spoke of William James, who writes a comparison of mysticism with drunkenness, and quoted him: ‘Sobriety diminishes, discriminates and says no; drunkenness expands, unites, and says yes.” She spoke on Nietzsche’s ‘yes’ to life, his Amor Fati, love of fate, and his urging us to bold, brave, urgent action so that if the world reincarnates and we are destined to live our same lives again, we will be glad to live our poetic being anew into eternity, without regret. She spoke of the theologian Meister Eckhart, who wants us to let go of our expectations and let the world come as it is. She spoke of Heidegger, who had an ontology of letting go and letting be. “Letting the world happen and come to you. Surrendering to being itself. He calls this Gelassenheit. You must stop fighting against reality.” She compared us all to the Prodigal son, the father affirming his suffering. “He says yes to his son’s wayward path back to him. Acknowledging sin makes us humble. Jesus said yes to his life in all its eventual torture and yes to his role of Messiah. So say yes to meaning no matter what.”
*
On the way home, a man cut his way through the crowd, arriving at Natalie’s side. He spoke to her in manic tones. “Natalie, I am your biggest fan! I have every article published about you. I have all the photos. All the posters. I feel like I know you. You and I are a lot alike. May I walk you home?” He walked next to them, starring at Natalie, his eyes afire with a mysterious danger. His smile was strange. He pulled his lips up and displayed his teeth like a rat. Natalie chose to remain silent, ignoring the unnerving man. “You ignore me now, but soon I will be famous like you. We are kindred. We are messianic!”
Having been persistently ignored, the disturbing man eventually wandered off, leaving them alone, though Rita expressed concern. “That guy was really scary, Natalie. Like some evil cult leader, like Charles Manson. Do you think we should buy a gun?”
“Maybe so. Maybe so.”
*
During a calm moment at home together the agent called. He reported great reaction in her city, but not much outside. The ratings began to fall only 10 minutes into the program. By the end, the ratings were terrible. Her agent urged her not to read the online comments. She proceeded to read the online comments. George from Michigan wrote, “Why is this the most popular person? She seems like your average highfalutin academic.” Lou Anne from Oregon wrote, “If you’re going to talk to the people, talk to the people. Don’t speak in some elitist code.” Terry from Texas wrote, “She’s smart. She’s read a lot. But what does she really have to say?”
Rita grew inspired. “Natalie, the solution has been looking us in the face the whole time. You wished to be the most popular girl in the city. So, let’s leave the city!”
*
They crammed their clothes in the Subaru and sped off. “It’s like ‘Fast Car’ by Tracie Chapman” said Rita. “Except not.” They cruised straight and steady as a pool ball.
“I’ve been thinking about Nietzsche. He considers a world without religion, where there is no longer a God to give us values and purpose. In such a world, where do we find direction? He admits nihilism is at our door. Nietzsche has been called a nihilist, a metaphysical nihilist, as he believed that the universe doesn’t provide you with any pre-existing meaning. Instead, he thinks you must make meaning in your own human life. We create ourselves, existentially, on our own. Destiny is not a fixed destination, it is self-crafted. So we must live bravely and creatively in this post-God world where we create our own values and, if we are true, if we have integrity, we live by them. I am intrigued but bothered by these thoughts. Can they co-exist with Buddhism? Buddhists also reject a creator God. But Nietzsche thought Buddhism was life-denying nihilism. I need to make a defense of Buddhism. What do you think?”
“Sorry, love, I kind of zoned out.”
Natalie checked the mirror, then glanced at Rita, “I don’t know if meaning is external or internal, but you mean the world to me.”
They spent the night in a motel. The next morning Natalie went to the convenience store.
“Do you recognize me?” she asked the clerk.
A burly man with a wizard beard looked her up and down. “No. Why would I? Did you rob a bank?”
She felt a salvation, his indifference made her feel like a panicked, drowning animal lifted from the river by caring hands. “Get me a pack of Marlboro’s and a Playboy.” She returned to the car.
“Are we good?” asked Rita.
“We’re good, babe.”
“You are smoking again?”
“Just for a little while.”
Having swerved onto the interstate, Natalie put her foot down on the accelerator, driving into a blank realm of possibility and becoming, leaving behind the curse of fame, two rebellious strangers on to a new world, knowing not where they were going but going to the same place, one that they could get to know, as the whole world spun around a rogue star.
Intriguing combination of story and philosophy. We can only hope they find their way. Unless there is a sequel coming?
This story makes me feel like so much is possible. I loved it.