They do not know
they cannot see
the ones who work this
dusty machinery
to them it is their
call to ministry

Call this their home
then make them a clone
full of doctrine
and knowledge
and ritual
and garbage

Tell them this is a family
where they can belong
as long as
they go along
with the dresscode
and every other mode
of control to keep the order
of this their new world.

This little ranty poem possibly calls for a little bit of context. I wrote it back in October 2015. I was still reeling from a surreal experience of disillusionment, loss, grief and failure. However, I was also emerging and evolving into an independent, rational whilst still emotional human being after having spent years in organised religion or insitutionalised faith. In my opinion, it is impossible to institutionalise faith and hope and love. It would be a bit like trying to catch the wind. As soon as you catch it, it stops being the wind. You cannot have your cake and eat it, so to speak. Freedom is not for sale. There are multiple stories to my journey of disentanglement and I think it will take another, possibly a few blog posts to tell them. There was a friendship. There was a wedding. There was a funeral. There was a divorce. There is still a little prince.

The wedding was around this time of year 2014, so maybe that is why I remember it again. I could not attend this wedding, even though, but really because, I was a friend of the bride. I mourned for her life and her son and our friendship and in March 2015 she was gone. She died in Ghana under suspicious circumstances.

The emotions were like a stormy ocean that would not calm down. Anger and grief and loneliness and despair and anger and grief and loneliness and despair and exhaustion. Little made sense as I wrote in my little books. When I read those writings now, I still get a sense of disconnection and unreality, but I’m not reeling anymore. The anger has subsided, but the story still needs to be told. My friend cannot tell her story anymore, but at least I can tell my part of her story, the bit that I knew.