The oscillations of distress and calm with no place to land

I'm in the cathedral praying to God Unable to quell the thoughts that poor people's money built it and that money was spent on beautiful details in the highest eaves as those people starved And I look at the inside of the door, inches thick with multiple locks and think of how those that donated froze outside The courtyard is so peaceful, there are no riffraff there And some men are entombed right there in the building For hundreds of years remembered But how do men rise through the hierarchy of churches? I spoke to a man in robes to ask how to get to the alter and whether I had to pay He said it was free, donation only, reminding me other places charge £17 I felt judged as I judged and wondered who was more real I paid to light a candle and bought a St Christopher and all was awful for me in that beautiful place And I carried on with my mistrust of anyone and anything that takes the money of the desperate and gives them a receipt But my day turned around And I had better days Maybe it was my prayers and maybe I should fear my thoughts Maybe if I never tell anyone what I think and do the right thing then it's ok On other days I've lined up to be blessed Hoping and praying that I can be better I wasn't memorable those days but just promised I was important in the ether Surely there's nothing I can do to get a place on a fluffy cloud if it takes overriding my thoughts I'll be judged on who I am Yet who I aspire to be might be better I judge those on Facebook telling of how they have taken blankets to the homeless person in the village, but that does result in one having blankets and one having glory Better than my nothing I don't need blankets I need authenticity But that inner need is the same as the bishop - my one on one time means more than others in the street, it has to I need to get over myself My welcome is into the flock To be in the congregation Yet I sit on the edge Waiting to be picked off by the next predator Needing a little of the flock and a lot of my own wherewithal I'm glad I'm always welcome and no one checks the money in my purse I'm judge of myself and I'm welcome to relieve myself of guilt And I lay here with choices about today I can make the best of it As it's been gifted to me It doesn't all mean nothing I don't save people and tally them up (Others on Facebook tell how that homeless person will throw the blankets away, throw away home after home, not eat the sandwiches - it's a long story...) I don't blindly help the needy, I'm blind to them until I'm not What is needy anyway? Whats happening for the people who aren't fine but have blankets? I have no perfect answer Blankets need to be given and received I get a glimpse into be saved sometimes and it is beautiful The helplessness of slightly too drunk (read above for not judging) I'll be watched over, spoken softly to, put in a safe place... I'll say thank you I'll be over familiar and find out if I'm welcome I placed my head on my friends shoulder and said "fan me, I'm too warm" and she did And we all were slightly too drunk We all told one friend her Tina Turner dance was a good idea (we were there, the video of it was lies) It was true too - she started an idea and we all threw ourselves into it Hang on, I'm too far into a tangent Ok... I was in a cathedral, before that I was at a wedding, prior to that I was aware of do gooders helping someone who needed help but never changed... And I'm wondering what is a good deed Do we want to be in receipt of them Or do we want to actually matter If we want to actually matter then are we already done for (unless we achieve it by the glory of being do gooders) It's very complicated But I'm thankful for being in the cathedral as whilst it's flawed I can centre myself and there is hope there and peace I'm thankful for this day, please God for this day, it's significant in all my days, I cannot be in my own head today I'm thankful my friend fanned my face I should cuddle up to people more often, it's nice (I won't) I wish I could let people love me Being part of the flock could work But I'm an edge dweller It's painful to be so scared Beautiful to be taken in sometimes to rest I recognise people need more than blankets and I become overwhelmed by the truth of it It's not as simple as saving that day Ok... It is. I see now. We are gifted moments of rest, then we save ourselves Then we gift it onwards We don't tally them up I'm shaking with the day in my hands I need to get back to the cathedral Yesterday was the day I was gifted Today I'm adrift again It's a new poem before the last poem ends Gripped by fear, not taking charge of it These are the days a blanket helps Everything in isolation makes sense But I'm in the bigger picture I don't know what it's called Well, it's called too much stress I'm falling into the endless void in this minute But I'll snap out of it I'm going to run a bath Then look at the sea I'll factor in a cup of tea Maybe I'll decide I'm beyond hope and help someone else instead