That same year I got suspended from Seminary over the Avenging (Destroying) Angel, Orin Porter Rockwell. Loyal Mormon, Man of God, and Cold Blooded Killer. You tell me how I’m supposed to take Thou Shalt Not Kill seriously. The founding fathers of my (ex) faith called this killer Brother. Can I, next time my neighbor calls me a stupid cult zombie, shoot him in the head with a Peacemaker? Oh, I can’t… go figure.

Violence is only excusable in a religion’s infancy. After awhile, killing just seems desperate. Everybody knows you’re here.

My Seminary teacher that year was maybe five foot six, in his mid thirties, thinning hairline, but he had a nice face. And he had a hunger I couldn’t define. There was something desperate in him and something had broken in me. I wasn’t a fighter, but I wasn’t a victim either. What else is there but predator. I didn’t consider myself ruinable. You have to believe in God to fear the devil, right? I had turned the other cheek to scathing religious rhetoric long before, as a child and kept only the one valuable lesson they offered, how to appear genuine in the face of utter apathy. How to smile through my teeth, bide my time, sit through Sundays, and wait for college. So when the Avenging Angel came up in conversation, I couldn’t help myself. I waited until after class. I asked about the people he had killed. How could religious men justify supporting a man like that?

“Those were different times,” he said, “people were hungry, they were desperate. Mormons of those days were being exterminated.”

-note: Missouri Executive Order 44- Missouri Governor Lilburn Boggs effectively ordered Mormons driven from the state or exterminated. The God fearing people responded by requesting that Orin Porter Rockwell assassinate Lilburn Boggs- allegedly.

“Thou shalt not kill,” I said.

“Is it really that upsetting to you?”

“No, you caught me, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“Oh, why? Are you OK?”

“It’s just these thoughts I’ve been having about you.”

You get the idea. He kicked me out. I got to come back, but I had to have a female teacher. My mother felt vindicated, which was nice for her.

Even now though, whenever the missionaries come to my door, I can barely control myself. I just want to rip through their happy bouncy bubble and show them what real life is like. Real **** life.

Here’s where it all ties together, unless I’m wrong. I am fallible.

There is a strong Jungian sense of apocalypse in my soul.