Distinct Class

What owns you brothers and sisters?…

Oh, dear God,

I have a question on this class distinction sh*t. (I know, language, but I used an *). Why does having more money or junk give people the tendency to believe they are better than someone else? Are we not ALL Your children? That would make us brothers and sisters, correct?

There were times in my life when I was not feeling brotherly love, but as if I was a pile of merde (pardon my French) to be stepped over. I’m sure You saw me on my knees. I wasn’t always in direct communication with You, but rather scrubbing someone’s floors.

If I could pay a person to clean my house, sincere gratitude would compel me to hug that person and plant a kiss on their cheek as I handed over the check. A few of Your children treated our cleaning crew like we were the best thing since margaritas with real fruit.

Then there were the devil’s spawn, sorry, Your other children, who felt that owning five bathrooms made their merde less stinky. Owning a home with five bathrooms only gave a person more options on where to dump. Merde was merde. It smelled. Five bathrooms also raised their rates significantly. They paid more for sh*t. (See what I mean about language? Paid more for poop or merde (unless you’re French) doesn’t have the same effect as sh*t.)

Oh, the contempt I felt from the devil’s spa…, those other children. I did pray some while on my knees, but those prayers weren’t always good prayers. How I prayed for You to smite a few people who referred to me as “that girl.” I was not a “girl”, but a woman providing for her family who just wanted a job that offered weekends off. Cleaning houses didn’t mean I was less intelligent, or less of anything.

Sorry for the smite types of prayers. I’m feeling the enlightenment since we’ve been having these conversations.

As we cleaned gorgeous recreation rooms that were larger than my entire house, I wondered if all the stuff was worth the upkeep. The bars and pool tables were used less than five times a year. How did you find time to enjoy the fruits of labor if you were living to make the next payment and paying someone to clean your fruits? Too much stuff seemed like a vicious cycle for a few of the stressed out customers.

I can’t help but to think that too much stuff gives your kids more to sell at an auction, to give to Goodwill, or to toss in a dumpster when you are dead.

Everything is on loan. I’m guessing You didn’t come up with idea of joy including an interest payment of 4.5% to 26%.

Couldn’t You give us all the same stuff so we wouldn’t lord things over one another? Oh, but I guess that You do. We have to only look around. The fireflies were particularly spectacular last evening. I didn’t feel the need to capture them in a jar, to possess them, to enjoy their flickering lights.

My children visit regularly. We laugh together. I’m happy that I learned to not drive my kids like the family car and to take them where I want to go. They come back to spend time with me and not my stuff.

I’m glad I’m not owned by a pool table.

Wow, I see now that we’re all mostly just tired, worn out humanity living the past and future, living everywhere except the present never realizing money or goodies don’t make the person. Maybe this is the cause of much unhappiness. The only way to feel better is to believe yourself and what you own makes you better than another?

Sometimes the reverse is true. Having less gives a person more room to think, to live an uncluttered life.

Ah, I shouldn’t look down on others because they look down on me either. We aren’t distinct or separate people. Knowing what to value in life is distinctly classy though. Another lesson learned. I’m humbly Yours.

Hey, thanks for listening.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.