Maundy Thursday

 

March 28, 2024

Maundy Thursday. Blazing cold light. A turkey hen has spent most of the day wandering around in my garden. It’s unusual to see one solitary. Maybe she just had to get away from the flock for a little while. Weeded, planted foam flower and Solomon’s seal.  

Foot Washing at the Cathedral, then the stripping of the altar. Moving. 

In the time between rehearsal and the Maundy Thursday service, I sat in the parish hall listening to a trio of health care workers (evidently) talk about PTSD. They discussed a symptom whereby a traumatic experience replays and replays, years later, with unabated bitterness, the recurrence out of the person’s control. I realized at that moment that the uncontrollable and often context-less repetition of the worst moments in my life, without any apparent reason or trigger, is PTSD. I have a condition I’ve heard of without applying to myself. The remarkable part is that attaching that simple diagnosis to an amorphous and mysterious affliction has made it better already. “Oh, that’s just my PTSD.” A previous explanation was that I had somehow left myself open to demonic possession and those horrible remembrances were the prick of the devils’ pitchforks in my soul. Something like that.

Most beautiful moon.