CHEZ JIM
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Copyright 1998

I HAVE faith. That's what you must understand. I possess it. Yes, in a way, it possesses me. But at the same time,
it is mine. In the same way as a lung, or a foot, or an ear. In the same way, I have life, I have faith.
Oh, I struggle. As some with failing sight struggle to see, to focus again; in the same way, sometimes my faith
weakens, becomes indistinct. Not that faith is imperfect. But I am. Oh yes, I am.
Still, my faith remains mine, in weakness, in doubt, no less mine than any physical attribute or quality I have. 
Even more so.
You probe with your questions, you try – not very hard – to hide your pity, your sense that I am not quite 
right – as if this was a wig you could pull from me, as if it was a bubble you could prick. 
And I welcome your probing, I welcome your assurance that I am blind, that I am lost. As a beach welcomes 
the water. As the water welcomes the wind. Because your doubt is like a light on my conviction. Because it 
reminds me that what you want to chase away, this thing you want to cure me of, like a shadow across my 
vision, is bound with me like my blood. You can have it – I'd share it with you gladly – but you can never 
take it from me.

  


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