I am going to present writing well over twenty years from the past. I felt the piece was important the moment it burst forth. It is now a piece of a greater whole. I still carry common themes. Now Christ centered, consecrated to Mary, immersed within Catholicism, I hold a fascination for the young man I was. There was always a confidence regarding my destiny, an awareness of God’s love. I recall being so isolated from the world, psychologically broken to a large degree, yet I now perceive God working the whole time, aligning me with matters to my making, assisting me in finding Him, hounding me through love. I always felt blessed with a natural love of prayer, an ability to secure sanctity through stillness. No matter what the conditions were in my life, I could steal away to a Catholic church, place myself before the tabernacle, quiet myself, and experience the presence of God. Though I wandered, though I searched, though I stumbled, bumped my head, broke my legs upon wounding paths, nothing could ever compare to the absolute awareness graced upon me during mass that there were no moments greater than those during mass. There is no place I am more at home, more at peace, secure in every facet–fearing nothing, than during mass. Reality in all its splendor was always made evident during mass. Without a doubt, I had my struggles, yet through the grace of God, I received salvific treatment, an infant suckling at the breast of his mother. God would not let me escape. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I resisted, no matter how willing I was to hurt myself, God would not give up on me. Anyway, this is the writing of a young man searching too damn hard.

OBSCURITY

I am disturbed when others demand that I think about myself. Uselessness. Driven toward the destruction of images attached to identities, I am confused when forced to create one for myself. What? Obscurity! The lack of a personality. It is not a dream. It is reality.

For good or bad, I crave non-attachment. The opportunity to preserve energy. To avoid rationalization. To be. To be able to concentrate upon the essential, the simple: breathing and a heart pumping. Stillness. Solitude by choice and prayer. Silent words voiced to the eternal. Reclusion without running. Emerging while disappearing. Achieving while doing nothing.

I remember something I read once: “You must learn to break through you’re most cherished thoughts and actions. And even more than this, you must learn to pass through that which you hold to the highest esteem, for your cravings will not lead to fulfillment. And most difficult of all, you must learn to love life

THE ASPIRATION TO OVERCOME THE DESIRE FOR OBSCURITY

“Fake the saint.” And the loneliness of attempted super human consciousness. The impossible. The Acts of a Weak Man: Part Unknown. Crying and weeping into the ether, unable to stop the penetration of thoughts and desire, while conducting actions that only lead to mourning and the gnashing of teeth. The weak man crumbles beneath his aspirations. What? Why? Where?

Natural laws. Facts to man. It takes an outside force to place an object at rest into motion and an object in motion needs an outside force to bring it to rest. The rebellious angel cries out, but always he moves. Still he will never be. What can bring him to rest?

Fallen faces,
Thinking thoughts,
Into little tiny pieces,
From inner-circles,
As they inter-lock.

I am going through documents, searching for something, finding other things. Decided to post something else from days more recent.

I would like to touch on a preparation for prayer I practice. I close my eyes, centering myself, eliminating sensual surroundings. I envision myself wielding a two-edged sword with both of my hands. I slash about, cutting out, destroying all external influences. Sounds, acquaintances, people bodily near, even concepts from books, everything is cut away. The removal is necessary to create empty space. I said I was going to take the thought of you into prayer, yet you are right, as an individual—no. Not even you in the deepest prayer. No petitioning. No positioning. No manipulating. No thought. I slash about with my sword, with fury and anger, a lion roaring, demanding everyone to get away, screaming at even loved ones, all attachments annihilated. I circle my ‘pearl, with violent harsh strikes of the sword, everything is demolished, the minutest thing desiring to place itself between God and myself must be demolished. Ideas, knowledge, compassion, everything bad and good, is violently dealt with. It is a physical and mental act. I will even catch myself spasmodically twitching my head when cutting off something difficult to remove, yesterday Danny insistently talking nonsense, insane words. I do not want to even compassionately pray for him. No thoughts. I want silence, the Blessed Sacrament before me, patiently waiting, eternally pacing. In the created void, within nothing, the presence of Christ reveals, encountering a security I relate to warmth, an enlightening voice within darkness. Sometimes it takes long minutes, decades upon decades, before anything is felt, and sometimes nothing is felt. Yesterday, I almost gave up so convinced I was that I was out of practice. Persevering, the Presence warmed. Even more, I realized the struggle to attain the illuminating stillness possessed Him also. He is always there. Our goal together should be to allow one another a constant awareness of His presence. By the time mass started, I was overflowing. Quietly, humbly, inconspicuous, content with smallness, I am always happy to attend mass.

I am ready to take this deeper. Today I will spend an hour or two in meditation, also confession—the attaining of a refreshed state of grace—acts performed at the Blessed Sacrament church. I see you in two ways, the lark singing in my ear. St Francis loved larks, preaching to them. Movie hint again. ‘Brother Sun Sister Moon’. It is a quirky 70s movie, yet moments are so inspired. Zefirelli also made ‘Jesus of Nazareth’, another incredible movie in regards to scenes. In fact, I will include a scene from the movie, in a following message, a favorite—adoration to the extreme. I have another image of your influence. I envision myself approaching my position of prayer. It is a raised perch, three steps leading upward. Approaching the steps lacking a handrail, you stand to the side. Before starting the ascent, I look to you. You hold out a hand. Touching, grasping, receiving your hand, I am able to maintain balance. Nothing said, contact lost, I kneel before the Lord. Not even noticing you disappear.

The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls. When he finds a pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.

A reflection this morning, the idea of a pearl, its origin, came to mind. You mentioned the ‘pearl’. That is the idea, others have touched upon it. A pearl forms after an infestation, an invading parasitic worm ignites the process of formation. In defense of itself, an oyster secrets a fluid that surrounds the invader, giving birth to a pearl, a treasure to mankind. The idea of one’s soul being a pearl is powerful, especially in regards to your reflections upon my alcoholism and your incurred damage. Our eternal condition assaulted, we must cultivate matters into proper healing, a gem for God. When I grant credit to you, it may be another’s idea, yet I reflect upon it through interaction with you so I associate it to you. I know you are humble, no reason to deflect. It is also good to know how to receive. I recall friary days, visiting the Our Lady of Guadalupe shrine in La Crosse, Wisconsin. This elderly woman wanted to buy me a prayer card of St Clare. I declined, stubbornly refusing her offers, until finally I turned and walked away. Father David Mary witnessed the event. He spoke with me, telling me I missed a chance to assist the woman. It would have meant a lot for her to purchase the card and give it to me. He scolded, telling me I had to learn how to receive proper gifts with enthusiasm and sincere gratitude. The same goes for compliments regarding behavior and words that are appropriately praised. The nurturing flattery must be received kindly and humbly, not shunned by repressive false modesty. Regarding the pearl, to nurture one’s weakness into a treasure is the deepest soul redemption.  To produce a pearl from our most crippling pain is a profound heavenly treasure.  God enters horrifically, wonderfully penetrating through our wounds. To offer Him mended imperfections, a pearl, is to honor Him immensely. I expand upon this by saying we must protect the pearl, hiding it from the world. The showing of our ‘pearl’ to the world, in its brokenness, stains our challenging interior work. Constantly, tenderly, and devotedly, I must polish my pearl, caring for its luminescence, enraptured with its shinning, while protecting it from the world.  Worldly attachments are not my only concern, an offensive world is to be on guard against. I desire for God to take delight in my pearl’s shimmering, sparkling condition. I move with care and precision in seeking Divine assistance in order to avoid the fires of purgatory, or most horridly the fires of hell. Even in my darkest moments, I cling to my ‘pearl’, interiorly weeping for its condition, concretely aware of its presence. I take particular grace from St Maximillian Kolbe. An image of the saint, I place myself in front of in all my disgrace. Embarrassed, I still want him to see me as I am. I demand the saint witness the decrepit being I am. St Kolbe saw humans lowered to the lowest degree in the concentration camps. He understands the depravity the human condition can endure. I beg him to help me elevate myself.

THE HOUND OF HEAVEN (first stanza)
Francis Thompson

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me’.