Mammon

A life well lived should have at least a couple moments where the odds are, you're not going to live through them. At least this is my philosophy. The people I work and live around everyday seem so shallowly motivated towards accumulation and personal space.

My sister, who I love dearly, wants a bigger house. In her words, she needs a bigger house. Her current abode is around 1600 square feet, nearly twice the size of home our family was raised in. And by family, I don't mean a single parent and two kids. I mean both parents, the girl, and three boys. Then we had a string of goats, rabbits, chickens, kittens, and dogs. Our house seemed plenty big, even with all three of us boys sharing an 8ft by 10ft room. My sister has only herself and her two daughters.

As she was discussing all of this with me over a little too much wine, I had flashbacks to living in a barracks room half the size of her living room with a room mate. She talked about how her yards was too small and I had flashbacks to living in a two foot tall coffin and having all of my personal space in the world in a six inch deep locker under that coffin. The wine dissappeared at an alarming rate, and I somehow felt cold.

Here, in this beautiful place, with her money and new car, my sister was unhappy. When she was unhappy because of some asshole who thought he could justify hitting a girl, I felt powerless because I was a kid incapable of damaging someone the man's size. When I had a woman to love who looked striking like my sister after they'd had too much to drink, become so unhappy as to make attempt after attempt to kill herself the first few times, I was on a boat, thousands of miles away fighting for oil and free trade.

Now, I'm powerless to help my sister because I can't help her with what she needs. I don't know if anyone ever will.

The only thing that will help her is freedom. Freedom from all her things. Freedom from her men, jewelry, and cars. Freedom from her beliefs. A freedom I had to fight for. A freedom that was only given to me after I showed the unforgiving government of myself that I was unafraid of losing my chains. Wife, car, dog, house, cat, religion, they're all gone now, and I have nothing but a beat up guitar and some worn out shoes to show for my life. I am free.

As touted on nearly every bumper sticker in this state, freedom is not free. The cost I pay is the sadness I feel for so many others who have never had this. I see the huddled masses of slaves who propel their own exploitation by the clergy of the International Curch of Mammon by wanting and desiring. The victims of a systemic sickness where sharing is the only sin because things are the only value held dear.

In my daily walk through a continued misunderstanding of God, I just hope that he can give me the strength to shoulder this burden of freedom.