[WARNING: The following includes scenes of gruesome bodily harm against rapists, murderers, and mundane terrorists. If you’d rather not look in the face of my blood-drenched, over-the-top anger, read no further.]
[You have been warned.]
O Father God, please have mercy on me for being a merciless tyrant in my own heart. Forgive me for wanting to find the dullest, rustiest axe still impaled in the rotting corpse of a mother grizzly in the Rockies and with infinite slowness flay the fugly white beard off the face of the Planned Parenthood shooter. Forgive me for imagining myself removing his spleen with my teeth and a toothbrush. For picturing a horde of women trampling him wearing six-inch stiletto heels (the women, not the shooter, although he can wear whatever he likes in the face of the stampede). For slicing him head to toe into microscopic bits, then inventing a machine that will stick him painfully back together so I can start the process all over again.
O Mother God, please look with pity on my fiery mind that has no outlet to rage against the mass shooters of our country. I want no weaponry. I am a pacifist. Instead, I want your wrath and the most profound and hidden powers of the universe to transform myself into a flaming beast the likes of which Planned Parenthood “protesters” have never seen. Those men and women who ignite gasoline on the doorsteps of clinics and shriek in the faces of women trying to get health care? I want to gather them all in the most barren stretch of the desert and belch brimstone down upon them until they fall to their knees and doubt their own existence, let alone their perception of You.
And for the politicians who try to deny this despicable man, the shooter–a man who was not a “gentle loner,” as a New York Times reporter claimed, who beat his wives and was charged with raping a woman at knifepoint: I want those politicians to experience simultaneous shin pains and catastrophic attacks of diarrhea at their next debate to pay them back for ratcheting up the far right’s hatred of women, all to gain support for the primary election. How I wish I could pray to you, O Many-Personed God, to infest all of their clothing with fleas and all their mattresses with bedbugs. But I don’t believe in praying to You to damage Your creation, so I guess I’m stuck wishing for these things to happen.
And to the community of men and women, mothers and fathers, who lived with this latest Christian terrorist: I want them to be haunted by the eyes of the dead. I want them to realize that men (particularly white men in this country) become monsters because smaller acts of violence–stalking, adultery, a cuff to the wife’s chin every now and again–are left to slide. I want these people to take real accountability for their actions and stop forgiving hatred toward women because somehow women “deserve it.” I want mothers especially to figure out what sort of sons they want to raise and teach their sons to understand that they have no right to dominate anyone else’s body.
Forgive me for wishing pain and horror on all these people, O Unknowable God. Forgive me for getting sucked into their awful game.