The Unholy Trinity in my Head

There are three faces in my mind’s eye that I wish were not there.  The initials for them are TVJ, three last names, in descending order of their power, though it could be argued that J is more powerful than V, though neither more powerful than T.

Each day I awaken with an ever heavier chest and must force myself to take deep breaths. Yet in books I find solace, as I have since third grade when I read The Yearling. This classic is in my library even now. 

But this morning I located a small book titled Reverence, published by The Oxford University Press. I like the cover for Paul Woodruff’s thoughts on Reverence and “Renewing a Forgotten Virtue.”

                                                      The book’s copyright is 2001, though I bought it a few years later from the remaindered book company Daedalus in Maryland, not its later Mid-West successor that I doubt could have identified the company’s figure, whose son Icarus flew too close to the sun and melted the wax on his wings.      

One (me) keeps hoping that de-waxing will happen to TVJ.  The Greek greats would caution to Beware of Hubris. Which is to say …that an overweening pride creates the arrogance or insolence that causes a man to violate the moral code of the divine and to challenge God or the Gods directly.

 What have I underlined in Reverence on the first page of chapter two?

“Reverence requires us to maintain a modest sense of the difference between human and divine.  If you wish to be reverent, never claim the awful majesty in support of your political views.” 

The Unholy Trinity in my Head lights up, glitters in fact, a recognition that the three men (TVJ) speak for God, the Christian one only.  Throw Yahweh, Buddha, Mohammad, and all the other  prophets into the river and watch them drown. TVJ are gods unto themselves, though two chant Tee, Tee, Tee, prostrating themselves on golf greens and drinking Kool Aid to honor the big T, the Prince of Peace.

I’ve lived too long, my friends. Lived in five other countries, endured the slights against Americans, felt an envy mixed with admiration for us, and assurance the USA would help in a crisis, that USAID would find creative ways to help those whose fate was to be born poor in struggling countries.

I sound glib to lessen the pain in my heart, that I awaken day after day to a less reverent United States of America.

Next week: The Magical Mikhail Bulgakov and 1918 in Kiev