Confessions to the Wildman part i

Father, forgive me for I have sinned.

That's how it begins, alwasy the same. All have sinned and this is nothing new. All must admit their sin and confess in order for the sin to be absolved. He listens patiently each time.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," he said.

"Yes," he answered to fill the gap in the ritual.

"It has been three years since my last confession."

"Go on, my son," he said. It was patronising but the masses liked it.

"I have committed fornication, adultery, and masturbation."

"God has given us the gift of sexuality so that we may procreate inside of marriage, my son," said the Wildman.

"Yes, Father. But I have done it irresponsibly and I was unable to conceive because I used prophylactics," the sinner said.

"Oh, that is bad. God does not like that," said the Wildman.

"Forgive me, Father. I should not be so blunt."

"No, my son," here the Wildman winced at the patronisation again but continued the ruse. "I am used to all of God's creatures sins and I appreciate the honesty."

"Bless me Father, I seek absolution," the sinner begged.

The Wildman intoned: "Say one hail Mary for each incident of masturbation. Count one rosary as well for each sexual liason with a condom. You can deduct any incidents of infidelity from conjugal procreative sex inside of marriage, up to and the including three years from the last confession. If the previous confession included incidents of infidelity, you cannot deduct those from the current procreative marital sex during the current sinful period, unless you have a carry-forward credit. The credit can only be used at the rate of one per month, or three per trimester if your wife was pregnant during the period in consideration."

"Thank you father. What about the gay stuff?" the sinner asked.

"Son, you did not mention gay stuff," said the Wildman wearily.

"I accidentally looked at some lesbian porn on my computer when I clicked a link in my email, I didn't know..."

"If it was an accident, you may say one hail Mary per three spam emails. If they were not accidents, but instead weakness of flesh, you will need to spend three days per incident offline, including usage of a cell phone."

"Father, that seems strict," complained the sinner.

"Not as strict as God will punish you if you have any mortal sins on your ledger during the calendar year of your death," answered the Wildman grimly.

"Thank you Father."

It has been six days since my last confession.

It's part of the ritual. The masses like rituals. They are comforting. The rituals pass time in a measured way. They remove monotony and alleviate boredome. They give something for the mind to project forward and look forward to. The rituals prepare for the inevitable consequences of death.

"Father, forgive me for I have sinned, it has been, like three months since I last talked to a priest," she said.

"Go ahead, my child," the Wildman answered. Giving permission is the power invested in him by the powers that be.

"Father, I'm an alcoholic, and I abuse medication," she says plainly.

"Medication, like the foul weed marijuana?" asks the Wildman.

"Yes, Father. I also took illegal drugs. Methamphetamines, heroin, MDMA, Ectasy, um, crack, cocaine, um, a few others. Downers, uppers, that kind of thing."

"God has created medicine to improve the life of his creation, not to destroy it, my child. You are lucky to be alive," said the Wildman.

"I know. I've been real lucky. I score a lot of drugs by being attractive and men give me shit. Sometimes I have to do stuff, but it's not so bad. Handjobs and the mouth. The feel my tits. Sometimes the ass. Like I said, not too bad."

"Child, the hand of the righteous do not perform sexual sin. The lips of the righteous do not spill the sacred seed of procreation. The touching is approved by God as it leads to procreation, but only in the safe confines of marriage."

"Yeah, I feel kinda bad about that," she admits wishing she were chewing gum so she could do more to work her jaws in her discomfort.

"The Lord will allow you to fill out a form detailing your medical uses and also your non-medicinal applications of drugs. You should decline to use any drugs that are recreational or destructive or non-medicinal for at least 90 days to cover the usage of the present confessional period. If you had previously confessed to drug use, you should double the length of abstainance to 180 days. You can also get future credits for the next relapse (God forbid) if you check in to a rehab clinic. I have some cards of Catholic-God approved resources for your use."

"Father, don't you think God wouldn't forgive my sins as they have such large impact on society and culture?"

"No, my child," answered the Wildman. The address fit this time and he did not feel any shame in using it. "God is more of a liberal pharmaceutical professional who does not judge the informed consent patient who applies medications for other-than-moral uses. Although birth control is right out."

"Um..."

"Oh dear. You've been on birth control?" asked the Wildman.

"Yes, Father. Forgive me! What if one of those assholes tried to rape me while I'm high on PCP or something? I gotta protect myself!"

"That is hard to forgive on God's behalf," admitted the Wildman. "In that case, God is still more of a fiscal conservative federalist and prefers that the local chapters below the Bishop level take care of problems like that. Although policy is set by the committe with the saints and Beloved Pope. So tread carefully."

"Thank you Father," she said and actually curtseyed like a child.

Father, I have taken confession from actors and liars and lawyers. I have taken confession from drug adicts, gamblers, and compulsive shoppers. I have spoken to fornicators, adulterers, sexual perverts, rapists, aborters, abortionists, and cross dressers. In short, sinners of every kind. None of it has infected my mind and I live a pure life. I confess regularly to absolve myself of any guilt. I live a clean and sin-free existence with up to three nines of accuracy.

"I do not hear any sin, my child," said the Wildman to soothe his confessor.

Father, it is this: when I listen to their stories of sin and awful mortal degregation, I am jealous.

"My child, that is normal. Pray to our Spiritual Father and he will surely write up a dispensation based on the blamelessness of your actions and the intent you hide in your heart. He can file that with the clerk and it will be processed in three to six weeks. You can expedite it with some hail Mary's and daily ablations."

Amen, Wildman.

Musings on Gobzaga Bay

Much has been written about Gobzaga and none of it shall be repeated here. The mythical location of the birthplace of the Wildman is a subject of much speculation. In a famous painting done of the Gobzaga bay, Michelangelo depicts a cerulean sea with white caps reflecting perfectly the serene sky and clouds above. Along the curving bay the viewer witnesses warm sandy beaches lined with thick verdant foliage. The pale trunks of the trees contrast against the deep green of the leaves. In another part of the mural, a lone Spanish Galleon is moored in the calm waters.

Closer inspection shows two native Gobzagans (clearly human forms with their tanned skin and long flowing manes of hair) near the shore, hovering at the edge between plant and silica. The male Gobzagan ventures forward with more confidence, his gaze tilting in a line between the shore and the Galleon. The female figure hangs back, a step and a half behind, hiding her fear behind long flowing locks of black hair that hangs down in front of her face and discreetly covers her bosom. They are both nude, which is how the artist depicts all natives, Gobzagan or not.

Turning attention back to the Spanish Galleon, a single thick rope leads from the bow and dives down at a steep angle toward the sea. One almost hears the creaking of ropes and lumber as the seas lap around the base of the strong ship. Her sails are forlorn and sagging, implying a lack of wind to stir them. No invisible viagra moves the flaccid flag sailing from the top mast (which is incidentally how Michelangelo depicts this is an actual Spanish Galleon and not, say, an Italian Galleon).

The decks of the ship are shockingly empty, as if the hanging coils of ropes and various wooden equipment on deck had just recently been handled and are merely awaiting the quick return of the sailors. The side of the Galleon facing the viewer shows the cannon hatches are opened and the eight cannon are extended and pointed toward the curved line of the bay. The angle of the attack of the cannon and side of the ship point downward from where the tentative Gobzagans peer out from the foliage.

Along the other side of the mural, which by its perspective implies the viewer is looking at this window onto a vista from the side of a bluff or cliff, some craggy rocks and resolute trees grip the sides of a rocky mountain tightly. From the viewer's perch somewhere on this steep slope (seemingly), the wind blows by a bit quicker. One sees and tastes the effect of this salty wind from the bay below in the ruffled feathers of some nesting seagulls on a few rocks in the near-distance. The birds' beaks betray their line of sight, downward and forward toward the ship in the bay.

Somewhere implied deep within the bowels of the ship, one wonders if the seamen are sleeping on a hot day enjoying their siesta, or perhaps quietly planning the next leg of their trip. Somewhere onshore, one could imagine a landing party (perhaps with the captain leading the expedition) to find water. This last scenario is plausible but unlikely because Michelangelo has not seen fit to draw in a ferry boat on the shore of the calm bay. Perhaps the the landing boat is beached somewhere underneath the curve of the rocky slope of the foreground, but that too is unlikely as there is a wonderful spot to land right over there, just below the depiction of the timid Gobzagans.

Another noticeable absence to confirm our suspicion of a landing party is the lack of foot prints in the sand, which should be visible  by a group of 5 or 10 sailors making a landing there to explore and stock up on rations which are clearly plentiful on the lush island. Looking closer at the ship, the viewer is unable to see any signs of a landing or ferry boat, unless the boat is hanging off the back or side of the ship that is not visible from the viewer's perspective.

Rising above the far distance of the treetops rises a sharp spire of an ancient volcano with wispy fragments of cloud cover circling the peak. The viewer immediately assumes this ancient and lifeless volcano must be the original mother of this tropical island wilderness, giving birth to such beautiful bounty and tranquility in the middle of the vast deep blue-green ocean.

Michelangelo did paint Gobzaga, but where did he put the Wildman? Look closer and you should see him. He must be there somewhere.