Happy Monday.
That’s all I can muster now, given my depleted dopamine, thanks to the magic of Mardi Gras.
I remember why I avoided it for so long, but hey, it was a good time. I saw some people I hadn’t seen in twenty years and some I hoped I’d never have to see again, but there they were on Fat Tuesday, dressed like entitled toddlers in the French Quarter. Their faces withered from two decades of cigarettes and stinking up the already foul-smelling street with their smugness.
But I digress.
Nothing crazy happened this Mardi Gras. At least nothing crazy happened to me or to those I care about. Everyone is safe and sound, going about their lives like Carnival never happened. I saw things. Horrid things. But everyone’s fine.
Even Travers Mackel from WDSU, New Orleans’ home for fast, accurate, and reliable news, reported that Mardi Gras 2024 was a success from a safety standpoint. At least, I think it was Travers. His twin brother Fletcher might have reported that bit of good news.
Sometimes, I imagine them bickering over a loofah in their parents’ uptown mansion.
“Travers, it’s my turn with the loofah Travers.”
“It actually isn’t your turn, Fletcher. It’s my turn. You had the loofah two nights ago. Honestly, you are so silly, Fletcher. I don’t know what to do with you.”
“You’re right again, Travers. Maybe we should ask Mother to buy us another loofah so we’ll have two.”
“Ha! Now, who’s the silly one, Fletcher!”
Before Mardi Gras ‘24, I looked around my classroom while the kids were psychologically torturing one of the newer teachers. I remember seeing the Meraux water tower from my classroom window, and I thought this wasn’t a school.
It was purgatory.
Every day, it’s the same thing. Wake up, go to school, do the same things, admonish the same kids for the same behavior, the same dead-eyed looks, the same hollow “good mornings” to the same people I barely know. I felt like my life was meant for something more vibrant.
But, in some of my downtime after Mardi Gras, I did some digging into what purgatory actually is. In my mind, it was a place of limbo. It was where nothing has or ever will happen—a white void where one floats in anticipation of something that never comes.
Turns out, our old friends, the Catholics, not only know how to throw one hell of a party, but they clued me into what purgatory is and why it’s not such a bad spot to be in.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines purgatory as a “purification, to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven,” which is experienced by those “who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified” (CCC 1030). It notes that “this final purification of the elect . . . is entirely different from the punishment of the damned.”
Instead of interpreting my situation as a punishment, it’s simply a step towards purification. Interesting.
Maybe I was the one flattened by a float in 2020 driven by the succubi of Nyx. I died in front of Avenue Pub on St. Charles Avenue, and ever since, I’ve been in purgatory.
This is starting to make perfect sense.
Did I die in God’s grace and friendship but still imperfectly purified?
You better believe it.
Am I burning in hell?
This coffee shop is unnecessarily warm, but no.
From what I understand of purification, one must enter the fire, face it, and come out the other side. In my case, the fire was Mardi Gras Day 2024. I saw things in the Quarter no man should ever see. Lucifer stood outside Toulouse Theater, tempting me with all manner of earthly delights. Some were enticing, and others? Profligate at best.
I thrust my hand into Lucifer’s exquisitely symmetrical face and said, “No.” Then, in a move I learned from a Super Bowl commercial, I grabbed a bucket from the bar, filled it with warm water, and washed the Devil’s feet.
All this is to say that I’m still in purgatory, and it took Mardi Gras to show me that. It’s not the punishment I thought it was, and good things are on the horizon. Things better meant for me and more in line with my dreams. Or I’m destined to be a teacher in Meraux until Nyx regroups and kills me again.
Either way, heaven awaits.
Until next time.