‘The ghost of Belle Starr, she hands down her wits 

To Jezebel the nun, she violently knits

A bald wig for Jack the Ripper, who sits 

At the head of the Chamber of Commerce.’

Bob Dylan: Tombstone Blues

Fancy a nun being influenced by the 19th century outlaw Belle Starr, the Queen of the Oklahoma Outlaws herself? The female Jesse James. A woman who could outperform most men with a gun, who rode sidesaddle. Belle was probably considered to be too stylish to be an outlaw. Famed for her black velvet riding habit, feathered hat, and festooned with more ammunition than you could shake a stick at. Not to mention the two pistols she was never without. Belle was quite simply, completely kickass. Her death was gruesome, as is the case with most legends. She died fearless and punctured with shotgun bullets. A helluva role model for a nun. 

They say I’m wasted being cloistered in a nunnery. That I’m not investing, or not “cashing in” on my ultimate value. My beauty. Women diluted into loose change. Value being synonymous with external beauty. Woman being exchanged and sold as a type of cryptic currency.

And furthermore, isn’t it cripplingly boring, the simple life? But there’s nothing simplistic about being busy. The simpler you live, the busier you are.

How many individuals are cloistered by things? Stifled by stuff. Smothered by excess? Some of the most bored people have the most. They’re the most ravishing of all the conspicuous consumers who worship false profits. Consumers who judge simplicity as a failure to accumulate. Consumption is the paradox of choice. It debilitates us to the point where we’re so busy choosing that we forget to live. Decisions eating into the currency of time. Commerce is a silent assassin, a killer. It sneaks up, and leaves receipts as the ultimate calling card. 

Maybe I’m playing the fool. Perhaps I really am too beautiful to be a nun? Be wary of false prophets. I could be a rogue Jezebel. 

An impossible oxymoron.