One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying. If I am not in the state of grace, may God put me there; and if I am, may God so keep me.

We declare that you are fallen again into your former errors and under the sentence of excommunication which you originally incurred we decree that you are a relapsed heretic; and by this sentence which we deliver in writing and pronounce from this tribunal, we denounce you as a rotten member, which, so that you shall not infect the other members of Christ, must be cast out of the unity of the Church, cut off from her body, and given over to the secular power: we cast you off, separate and abandon you, praying this same secular power on this side of death and the mutilation of your limbs, to moderate its judgment towards you, and if true signs of repentance appear in you to permit the sacrament of penance to be administered to you.

A portion of the final sentence pronounced to Joan in public after her trial

Long Ass Note From Joan

To whom it may concern:

Just wanted you to know

I enjoyed my informal visit

to the nut house on the strip.

Everything was cozy and clean.

The belligerent being however,

who manned the manure moat

and lowered the bridge

for the special privileged,

was not very nice to me.

Even though I had tons of I.D.

he insisted I wade through

like all the other losers.

I wish I had listened to Mother

and packed my hip boots.

Nonetheless, the atmosphere

was jaunty and the regulars,

once they got to know me,

were full of goodwill and advice

which they offered freely

most of the time and charged

for the remainder.

All in all it was an experience

I shall always forget

and even now as I pen this

note of gratitude and degradation

I can hardly remember

your solicitous smile

or the particular name of your monkey.

Please don’t think me cynical,

hoity-toity or sarcastic.

I’ve shed those three demons

thanks to you and your

hilarious crash course.

Now instead I’m wearing

light weight armor to protect

my delicate new skin

until I’m on my feet again

and no longer flinch

when I brush up against reality

or get knocked off my pony

in a jousting match.

Sirs and Madams,

you have been incredibly kind;

you saved my ass,

opened my eyes

rearranged my innards,

directed my feet,

purged my heart,

and sent me home

on a bus full of bozos

and bawling babies.

Not in a basket.

Not in a casket.

How could I be anything but

Respectfully Yours,

Joan

©Leocadia