Monthly Archives: March 2015

Grace

Such also is the thought of St Teresa. In her ‘Interior Castle’ she teaches that “all our desires, all our meditations, all our tears, all the efforts we can make (in order to raise ourselves to supernatural quietude), are useless; God alone gives this heavenly water to whom He pleases; often He gives it just when we least think of it.” However, she requires as an indispensable disposition “humility, humility, since it is by this virtue that Our Lord allows Himself to be overcome, and is induced to grant all our desires…Let a soul be humble and detached from everything, in very truth, however, and not merely in imagination which often deceives, and the Divine Master, I have no doubt, will grant her not only this grace, but even many others surpassing all her desires.” –Abbot Vital Lehodeyvital_lehodey_tit_1

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Spiritual deconstruction

There can be no greater or livelier faith than to believe that God is managing our affairs with admirable wisdom and love when he seems to be destroying and annihilating us, when he frustrates our holiest designs, when he exposes us to calumny, obscures all our lights in prayer, dries up our devotion and fervor with aridities, ruins our health with infirmities and languors, reduces us to incapacity for doing anything at all.  –Abbot Vital Lehody

Dom Vital Lehody

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The Spiritual Canticle (continued)

QUESTIONS TO THE CREATURES

O woods and thickets,

planted by the hand of my Beloved!

O green meadow,

coated, bright, with flowers,

tell me, has he passed by you?

 

ANSWER OF THE CREATURES

Pouring out a thousand graces,

he passed these groves in haste;

and having looked at them,

with his image alone,

clothed them in beauty.

St John of the Cross

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A prayer from Susan Muto

Lord make me mindful of your nearness in every situation of my life.  Help me to understand every happening as coming from Your hand.  Ask Mary to help me see that.  Lord never let my best plans and projects stand in the way of Your providential plan.  Encourage me to be a channel, a vessel, an instrument, of its unfolding, in all the little things that make up my life.  Lord eat with me, dress with me, drive with me, shop with me.  Be there where I am, in my here and now, every day ordinary life.  Mary stay at my side, so that I can see your Son in my situation.  Sometimes Lord you know that I feel like a lost child rooming in a world that has become a foreign country.  Let me always be led again to the place where I belong.  Do not let me feel like a lonely ship lost in the night.  Lead me to friends, to a faith community.  Lead me to the Eucharist, so that where ever I am I will be found there with you.  Lord you know that there is much about me that is still like a little child.  I need to be shown.  I need to be led.  I need to be fed.  Give me solid food Lord.  The solid food of Your Word Lord, of the tradition I love.  Let it feed me feed me when I most need to be nurtured, when I feel in danger of forgetting.  St Alphonsus De Liguori on Mary offering her Divine Child in the Temple: ‘Consider Mary on her journey to Jerusalem to offer her son.  She hastens her steps toward the place of sacrifice and she herself bears the beloved victim in her arms.  She enters the Temple, approaches the altar and there, beaming with modesty, devotion and humility, she presents her Son to the Most High.  In the meantime, the holy Simeon, who had received a promise from God that he should not die without have first having seeing the expected messiah takes the divine child from the hands of the Blessed Virgin, and enlightened by the Holy Spirit, announces to her, how much the sacrifice, which she then made of her son, would cost her and that with him, her own blessed soul would also be sacrificed.  Yes, she will suffer in her heart.  Her compassion alone for the sufferings of this most beloved son was the sword of sorrow which is to pierce the heart of the mother as Simeon foretold.  Mary, I say, knew all these torments that her son was to endure, but in the words addressed to her by Simeon and all the minute circumstances of the sufferings, internal and external, that were to torment Jesus in His passion were made known to her.  She consented to all with a constancy which even filled the angels with astonishment.  All this was involved in her sacrificial offering of her son this day in the temple.  She consented completely to the will of God and the sword was indeed to pierce her heart and soul.  To understand the violence which Mary had to offer herself in this sacrifice, it would be necessary to understand the love that this mother bore to Jesus.  How ineffable the son.  How noble the mother.  How much it cost her and how much strength of mind she had to exercise this act by which she sacrificed the life of so amiable of Son to the cross.  And so we pray.  Mary, we know that your sufferings did not end in the temple that day.  They only began.  From that time forward, during the whole life of Jesus, oh Mary, you had constantly before your eyes, the death and the torments, he was to endure.  Oh most compassionate lady, I cannot believe that you could have endured for a moment, so excruciating of torment, without expiring under it, had not God himself, the spirit of life, sustained you.  In every moment, you lived dying.  For in every moment, you were assailed by the sorrow of the certain death of your beloved Jesus.  Mother of God, grant through your prayers, that we to will be able to walk with Jesus this path that is the fall and the rising of many.  Oh Mary, make of us an offering, this day, in the temple of our situation. 

Amen.

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Bride

Where have you hidden,
Beloved, and left me moaning?
you fled like the stag
after wounding me;

I went out calling you, but you were gone.

Shepherds, you who go up
through the sheepfolds to the hill,
if by chance you see him I love most,
tell him I am sick,
I suffer, and I die.

Seeking my Love
I will head for the mountains and for watersides,
I will not gather flowers,
nor fear wild beasts;
I will go beyond strong men and frontiers.

Saint John of the Cross
‘The Spiritual Canticle’

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Enzio persuasion upon Man Tower

Towers

Towers

Man Tower

Man Tower

The young ladies were sipping stew when Montaninus and Man Tower returned.  Lightly, the old man Enzio appeared to sleep in a seated position.  Crackling in cadence, a fire burned in the stone fireplace.  Similar to all the castle detail, Alberto marveled at the uniqueness of the fireplace.  The piled stones artistically and efficiently arraigned made a statement of purposeful intent, paying homage to the essence of the fire it contained, allowing the smoke of the fire to rise to the heavens—prayers ascending.  Above the fire pit, upon the chimney, another of the old man’s statues presented itself, this one observing upon a stone ledge.  An Athenian Owl, larger than life, brilliantly chiseled, roosted over the room.  To the right and left of the owl, crows perched, two in number upon each side.

Latin words, phrases, were carved throughout the castle.  Interiorly and exteriorly, there was much to be read for those who could read the forgotten language of the Church and scholars.  Alberto, lacking fluency, could make little sense of the scrawl.  Sporadically literate, he did recognize several words.  There was the naming of Moria, defining with the title of an Unknown God.  The one phrase in local dialect was a New Testament declaration based upon an Old Testament prophecy: `The very stone which the builders rejected has become the head of the corner’.  A Latin phrase Alberto understood, familiar from his youth.  The words made an impression upon him, sticking in his mind.  Nothing can be created from nothing.

The fireplace was situated on the western wall of the room.  To the east, between two windows providing viewing of the rising sun was the only wooden image within the castle.  It was a crucifix Enzio attained from a Spoleto church that burned during a raid by Emperor Barbarossa’s men.  Alberto, a part of the assault, knew nothing of the coincidence.  Larger than life, the crucifix, marvelous in appearance, resounded with unintended burnt beauty, tragedy magnified through charcoaled magnificence.  Black in radiant appearance, the charred wood did not destroy the representation of Christ suffering upon the cross.  The image remained, altered yet abiding.  Its remnant beautiful in being, a burnt black state, sooty to the touch, a new icon created, new patterns of shimmering shining blackness comprising the body of Christ.  Crossing, patching, cracking, lines of demarcation running throughout the charcoal wood, Alberto marveled at the wonder.  Never did Christ upon the cross strike him with such resonance.

“I had to be very careful transporting that torched cross.  The damage was not so severe to the image.  It could be argued the tragedy of the church burning made it stronger in beauty and meaning.  I imagine with time it will crumble away.  Wait for the wisest of all counselors: Time.  Yet nothing is ever truly destroyed.  All things only change form.”

Alberto turned.  Enzio stood next to him.

“Below is my shrine to Our Holy Mother.  My devotion is immense, empowering my prayer life.  It was the first statue I created that I felt extremely proud of.  I was forty-two at the time.  I did not start carving, creating statues until the age of forty, now it has been over fifty years, a whole lifetime passing between then and this moment we share.”

“Your home provides peace.  The charred crucifix is startling, haunting yet transfixing.  Your wolves are also, captivating, gigantic and intelligent”.

“They are not mine.  It is a rumor the weak of mind spread.  You are speaking silent one.  Your words provide contentment.  I have heard much about you.  I knew we would meet.  You are called Man Tower by the people of Assisi.  Those you fight with call you the Fierceness of Silence, or the Vanquisher, or the Ravager, or the Merciless One.  Others call you Poleyphemus, the giant one-eyed Cyclops who would eat Ulysses and his men if were not for the cleverness and courage of Ulysses.  Who knows what others will name you in the future.  Your mother called you Alberto and this is the sweetest call of all.

“Come let us eat.  I see you bathed in my water, another matter that pleases.  You have seen my wolves, watching them devour a horse.  I know what you saw.  Nothing happens without a purpose.  You must keep the images and experiences in your heart and mind, allowing them to work on who you truly are, something that possesses no adequate name.  God works upon one in unseen ways.  I have contemplated you for some time.  You are a destroyer, one who if he had his way would obliterate all images attached to identities, desiring to purge all identities attached to being, an outcast who seeks to cast out, one aspiring for depth through ascension.  I know you better than you know yourself, but enough of words for the time being.  Let us eat delicious nutritious food.  Life is not just for abhorring, grand dramas, and philosophizing.  The ordinary must always be utilized to attain the extraordinary.  Being normal, sane to the highest degree, is a gift for the kissed of Christ—no matter what the world may execute upon them, clarity abides within their heart and mind.  A man of extremes must learn to invite peace and boredom into his heart.  …behold the Lord passeth, and a great and strong wind before the Lord overthrowing the mountains, and breaking the rocks in pieces: the Lord is not in the wind, and after the wind an earthquake; the Lord is not in the earthquake.  And after the earthquake a fire: the Lord is not in the fire, and after the fire a whistling of gentle air. 

Simple things bring joy.  Gratefulness must be the receiver’s reception.  We must appreciate the dullest and plainest of details within the fullness of our being.  That is an extreme change for a master upon the battlefield, a man of war.  Being so seriously violent, an executer of men is fatiguing, soul condemning.  I know the details of your deeds in Terni, the beheading of over a hundred men.  Man Tower you are a broken man of gruesome mystery, cruelest to the most startling escalation.  Your memory can only present querulous demands, constant in vigilance regarding haunting.  It is truly providence you are not crazy.  Further cleansing can only occur through proper warring.  Even though you were under obedience, your soul is still accountable for the atrocity of your deeds.  Self-mutilation comes in many forms.  What is done is done.  Let us not allow flagellation to dominate our talk.  There are ways to make amends.  We will eat, drink, and be merry before we speak about the matters that demand your presence here, matters that will allow you to right wrongs.”

Alberto could not deny the deliciousness of the stew and bread.  Eating, he realized he was ravished.  The wine was also exquisite, strong in effect.  During the meal, he observed Enzio closely.  The health of the elderly one was amazing.  Could the man honestly be nearly a century in time?  There were rumors of men living even longer, yet he doubted authenticity.  Enzio appeared frail yet strong, a man of decent size, not one knocking upon death’s door.  While fragile in regards to aging: white hair, wrinkled skin, a squinting when attempting distant vision, overall, he appeared as if he had many years to live.  Alberto hoped he would be in such fine shape if he lived to such an extreme age, although a lengthy life was something he never truly considered.  Warring as an occupation provided too many opportunities for death.  The assumption of elderly years was not entertained.  Without providing serious regard, he never imagined living a life of longevity.

The silence of the meal was comforting.  The large royal family crest, centered upon an eagle and Constantine’s cross loosened Alberto’s tongue, yet he remained a man preferring no words.  It was better to hold silence than rely upon meaningless words only filling time with vanity, awkwardness, complications, or misunderstandings.  Nervousness was no reason to wag the tongue.  Montaninus also respected quietness during the meal.  The young ladies made their way out of doors, sneaking wine with them.

Sipping wine after the meal, enjoying the comforts of a fire, Enzio preceded to the vital business of the meeting.  Detailing his political and social views, he spoke directly to Alberto.

“The natural order of man is not to be disturbed.  We must learn from the Gospels.  Poverty is a state of dignity, just as wealth, noble rank, is a state of great responsibility.  The Holy family, simple in nature and worldly status, presents to all men the example of holy spiritual nobility.  Poverty is not a horrid state that demands the abolishing of ethics and principles as one pursues rising above deplorable inherited conditions.  By desiring little, a poor man makes himself rich.  Wisdom is lacking when the poor man despises his life.  He should be honored by the simplicity.  God is a teacher, His Word the breath of life.  God incarnate, man returned to true intended beauty, came to the world in a lowly status for precise reasons.  He was demonstrating the importance of spiritual matters; the kingdom of God being the afterlife, while the kingdom of Satan existed upon the earth, within original sin, time and space.  Expiation of sins the reason for the lowering status, Christ became human to celebrate the difference between God, perfection, and man, the disfigured being tainted by original sin.  Sin is the difference; social class simply a complication of sin.  Christ befriended all, trending toward the lowly as their suffering is the greatest.  God tended to the outcast, those with no hope in the physical world.  The Beatitudes wonderfully depict the countenance of Jesus Christ, demonstrating his charity.  He is all hope, eternal hope.  He is not of the world, simply passing through for the sake of the salvation of all men.  He knew the Father.  He was of the Father.  To the Father, He would go, making an eternal home for all.

“It is important to realize He never rebelled against worldly authority, obedience essential to all His words and actions.  His outburst in the temple protected the sanctity of His Father’s home.  He did not identify Rome as the enemy.  Give unto Caesar what is Caesar, and give unto God what is God.  He praised the faith of the Roman centurion, a man of wealth and worldly power who recognized His true nature.  The Roman official, a man of influence, spoke wisdom when he pronounced I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof.  Here is God clearly detailing the natural social order, the righteous way of life for all men to live in harmony.  The internal battle is the true battle.  What are worldly victories if they cost one a soul?  How much more devastating is a defeat if it is realized it came within consequences that never presented the opportunity for victory?  In heaven, there is no social order for God’s love rules.  Here upon the earth there is social order and that is a part of God’s plan.  Obedience is the proper training of the soul.  It tests the character of the wealthy and the poor.  Perseverance and courage are necessary to pursue a life centered upon obedience.  Through obedient wisdom, the discerning of God’s will is attained.  Does one see the world as a personal possession or God’s gift?  Is God the center of your life or are you the alpha and omega?  Can you be satisfied with your life, the blessedness of being created in the image of God, focusing upon profoundness, or are you always wanting more, desiring greater adventures and wealth?  Does selfishness, materialism, avariciousness, pettiness, or jealousy rule your life?  Does a sense of entitlement, lacking gratitude, rot your being?

“Wealth is not to be envied, nor is power to be glorified.  They are matters that bring complication and responsibility.  They must not be sought after by whomever develops evil inclinations.  Nobility is passed from generation to generation.  The Gospels demonstrate once again.  Jesus descends from Abraham and the patriarchs.  He is within the line of David.  The favored of God carry on through generations until God himself enters the birth line.  It is not haphazard.  Randomness, chaos, and egotistical ambitions do not play a part in an active God’s participation in the world.  The living God is one of order.  God did not randomly appear.  God embraced being human not in order to overthrow and dismantle worldly powers.  His magnificence honored greater things, while respecting, allowing properly engaged free will, to play out its role in governing.

“I hope you are able to comprehend, through a proper understanding of Christ, the evil that is being engaged in our world today.  What is poverty today?  It is the parent of revolution and crime.  Men of lower rank are stripping all dignity from the very state God himself adopted.  They shun rendered wisdom.  Their every waking moment is concentrated upon materialistic wealth and power, the distorting of the divine order, a perennial rebellion.  If they have managed to attain wealth, all they think about is attaining more.  If they still wallow in squalor they peer about at others scheming ways to steal their riches, living a life of jealousy and envy, conniving in companionship based upon gain.  They go to churches, yet they are missing the vital message.  Their obsession with worldly concerns dominate their minds.  Their behavior is becoming so corrupt they will bring war against the nobles, those who through generations and generations have refined the manner of living.  We noblemen have crushed notions of individual grandness, comprehending the vitality of serving others.  Being cultured is not about material wealth, it is the refinement of the disposition, thoughts, and behavior.  Perceiving the bigger picture, the wholeness of community living, the truly wealthy in spirit strive to do what is best for everyone.  The Beatitudes define spiritually poverty as that of the Kingdom of God, and thus the wealthy must therefore become poor in spirit.  It is difficult, demanding intense responsibility, understanding, and wisdom.  There are those amongst our ranks who have strayed, denigrating the ideal, yet the ideal is beyond the desolation of an individual.  There are no easy solutions.  Still, time and space is the world of man.  Yet within its structure is the ideal of order based upon the wisdom of God.  A generation must not raise itself above all that came before it.  That is the inflicting of chaos.  We rest upon the shoulders of giants.  Our wise ancestors, learning, praying for humility and wisdom, strived similar to Solomon.  Above all things Solomon respected wisdom.  The men of the commune are fools.  It is destruction for the weak man to attempt to imitate the powerful.  

“Some lay in darkness and in gloom, prisoners in misery and chains, having defied the words of God and spurned the counsels of the Most High.  He crushed their spirit with toil; they stumbled; there was no one to help.

“The peasant possesses the cruelest of natures.  Suffering, lacking in the necessities of survival and sheltering, inflicts wrath upon the disposition.  I will tell you a story of a time I toured Germania with men from the court of Emperor Fredrick I, Barbarossa.  The experience etched upon my soul the depravity man can descend here upon the earth.  What I saw was an outrage against nature.  A clandestine village, more of a gathering of criminal outcasts, profited from the most grotesque of practices.  With purchased infants or those of their own, the men and women were creating monsters.  The babies would have their lips and/or noses slit, their tongues cut out, their ears removed, their skulls compressed.  They would be confined to boxes day and night in order to prevent proper growth.  Ever perverting, the adults of the village devised ever new manners to turn babies into monsters, allowing them to grow into their deformations in order to increase their effect.  The deformed monsters proved profitable.  Villages would purchase the human monsters, allowing them to live amongst them.  The monster became the village idiot, a novelty to be witnessed.  The trade proved popular.  The peasants prized the opportunity of having such an ignorant lowly human being amongst them.  They mocked, scorned, beat, and humiliated the manmade monsters, only showing tenderness every now and then in order to convince themselves they were kind hearted.  A God created life was manipulated, perverted, into a prop for entertainment.  Festivals and drunkenness proved dreadful for the freaks.  The killing of a freak was not so severe.  Another could be purchased even more perverted and handicapped in growth.  The practice broke my heart to a degree, I thought not possible.

“I purchased one of the freaks, bringing him home with me.  The young man as an infant had his eyes removed.  Also, his arms so severely broken to the point they were rendered useless.  Until the age of six years, he was confined to a prison cell.  As a boy, he was offered to the world for sale as a freak.  Mocked, tormented throughout his life, his existence shamed me into action.  I brought the boy to my home, enduring kindness upon him.  My efforts reaped immense reward, startling beyond conception. Through prayer and diligence, I showered attention onto the boy, demanding all under my command take pride in teaching and caring for the boy.  That which man attempted to destroy, I tried to return to fullness.  The boy managed to develop a means of broken speech, and to the wonder of all we discovered he possessed a blessed gift.  Animals adored the child.  Horses naturally calmed in his presence.  Dogs gathered around him.  Everywhere he went it seemed animals came from nowhere to be with him.  Blind and crippled, he still managed to become useful with horses.  My best horse handler insisted the boy be given complete access to the stables.  His presence soothed the horses to a degree that could not be denied.  Unfortunately, his life was not long for the world, yet in the time that he spent under my domain, his life became one unified with the Beatitudes.  The cruelty waged upon him as an infant did not impose temporal or eternal damnation.

“The peasant not only examines nobility with disdain.  It is not just his superior he hates.  Those he perceives as inferior also receive his wrath.  It is vital for the peasant in his ignorance to establish the fact there are those lower than him.  When he finds such an illegitimate human being, there is no mercy.  The contempt of his ways compels him towards severity.  God have mercy upon the one judged by the peasant as inferior.  If the peasant has his way that one will have no peace, and his days will be cut short.  I watched the peasant closely.  I do not care how much wealth they have attained.  They are born into a role and that role they must play out in honor of God’s will.  Superior skills and intelligence, congenital abilities, allow a man to offer the world greater service, yet ambition must not rule.  Once again, what worth is a victory that destroys the soul?  It is a perversion of the fact that all things come from God.  God must receive all praise and honor.  Innate gifts from God must be cherished, however the achievements of one man must not be allowed to overturn social order.  One’s God given talents must not destroy.  If such were the case chaos would reign, every man competing for himself, his advancement placed above all else.  The nonsense Rome was all too willing to embrace; instability, paranoia, betrayal, aggressiveness, and manipulation characterizing civilization.  Families would be destroyed, a wife and child only a detriment, as gangs would prevail.  Mobs ruling, thugs would wander the courts, streets, and markets seeking their own ends.

“I want to change the subject, providing insight into the noble thinking of a humble, contrite nobleman: myself.  Is it possible to be humble speaking about one’s self?  I will attempt such a difficult task.  I noticed the way you looked at me regarding my young lovelies.  My two sweethearts I cherish with all my heart.  You think I am a fool.  Knowing the pretty young ones only use me.  You are convinced I must be blind, lacking discernment into human nature, unable to detect a lie.  I met the two during one of my escapades.  I find it intellectually profitable to wander cities dressed as a beggar.  One night exploring in such a manner, I came across my two girls.  Tavern tramps at their worst, lovely souls at their best.  I watched them.  My heart filled with such pity and compassion.  They were beautiful singers, especially when they sang of heart break; within sorrow, wine, and song they lift their hearts splendidly.  It wasn’t just their soulful voices.  Their impure behavior, completely lacking dignity, produced a powerful sadness.  The young ladies lived so far below the intentions of God.  I determined I would save the young ones, assist them in any manner I could.  It has been a strange exploit.  I found the thing that brought them the greatest satisfaction was the idea that they were duping me to the extreme.  I know they tell me lies.  I consume the lies wholeheartedly.  It makes their self-esteem grow.  I give them what they want.  I had two sons and a daughter who all died before the age of twenty.  My wife, I loved tremendously.  She passed away shortly after our youngest son, the last of our children to die.  I could not marry, nor could I bear any more children.  I have nobody to pass my life unto.  Montaninus and his coalition will profit from my estate, yet while I am alive I enjoy showering these young ones with gifts.  In exchange, I converse with them, subtly influencing them to change their ways.  I have my spies.  I know already both of them have abandoned their loose ways.  They no longer exchange sexual favors.  They are both purifying their bodies.  They do not tell me, still opting for lies, yet I have a certain gift for extrasensory perception.  They have plenty of room for growth, yet I see progress.  Treating their beauty and bodies with dignity and respect was a huge step forward.  That means so much to me.

“I have so much fun playing the fool for them.  If you desire penetrating insight learn to play the fool.  It disarms others.  Stumble, bumble, and mumble about, while stealthily witnessing.  Say things that easily get you disregarded as a person of substance.  Your reputation is not so important.  Once you know who you are, the opinions of others really mean nothing.  Don’t be so sensitive you allow others to live in your head, influencing and possibly even dominating your thoughts and desires.  Be like a lion within, roaring at the presence of others defiling the inner sanctity of your being.  Others have no place between you and God.  Without argument or debate, roar them away.  Be the fool in company.  Incorrectly pronounce words.  Misidentify objects and ideas.  Say things you know to be wrong—waiting for correction, become vulnerable and unsure.  As Our Lord advises become like a child.  It is good for the soul.  Do not play the childish fool out of cleverness.  Allow humility to govern your efforts.  The fool is able to distance himself from the norms determined by society, from the standards established by fools who do not know they are fools.  Recognizing yourself to be a fool, presenting yourself as a fool, people no longer fear you, feeling safe to lower their guard, exposing their truest inner feelings and intentions, or even better they simply disregard you, leaving you alone.  These young ladies see me as an old fool.  It proves so much the better for me.  I am not saying it is such a clever arrangement, yet it came about naturally enough and it pleases this old fool.

“For you Alberto, I want you to understand that things are not always as you conclude.  It is best to converse, to trust in others, open to advice and guidance.  That is the mind of a child.  Leave judgment and authority for God.  When you entrust properly, you may make enemies, however some men are good only as enemies.  If men laugh consider it a blessing for this means they are not speaking to you; their words damage more than their chuckling.  It is better to fight the proper fight amidst honorable companions rather than squandering about depending upon yourself.”

“Thou wast the seal of resemblance, full of wisdom, and perfect in beauty. Thou wast in the pleasures of the paradise of God: every precious stone was thy covering: the sardius, the topaz, and the jasper, the chrysolite, and the onyx, and the beryl, the sapphire, and the carbuncle, and the emerald: gold the work of thy beauty: and thy pipes were prepared in the day that thou wast created. Thou a cherub stretched out, and protecting, and I set thee in the holy mountain of God, thou hast walked in the midst of the stones of fire. Thou wast perfect in thy ways from the day of thy creation, until iniquity was found in thee. By the multitude of thy merchandise, thy inner parts were filled with iniquity, and thou hast sinned: and I cast thee out from the mountain of God, and destroyed thee, O covering cherub, out of the midst of the stones of fire. And thy heart was lifted up with thy beauty: thou hast lost thy wisdom in thy beauty, I have cast thee to the ground”

The lengthy words, there were more, of Enzio rang throughout Alberto’s head as he put himself to bed.  Enzio provided a comfortable guest room for his convenience.  The sparsely decorated room contained only a barren cross upon its eastern wall.  The large comfortable bed suited his simple needs.  The controversies of the inevitable civil war, no matter how hard each side pursued him, were of no concern.  He admired Enzio for the life he led, yet the man’s convictions missed the mark.  The noble men were not the romanticized men he envisaged them to be.  Firm in his sentiment, Alberto felt no need to argue.  He would not join the cause of the nobles.  A cultured man’s convincing voice was not enough to overcome the intuition resting within his heart.  His duty and destiny was to remain removed from the conflict between the nobles and the commune.

While never coming close to be swayed by the attempted veracity of Enzio’s words, he recognized the accumulated intelligence, the supremely convincing nature for one of advanced years.  There was something supernatural regarding the extremely elderly one’s abilities.  Most men lost their minds with advanced age.  Enzio lost nothing in sharpness of thought, and the articulation of words.  The fact disturbed Alberto, hinting toward evil principalities.  Feeling nothing threatening, he allowed the warning disposition to settle, yet not convince regarding action.  A conviction overruled, one attained through interactions with hermits, holy men he saw advancing in unification with God.  A couple of the hermits possessed a presence announcing ultimate reality louder than all of the combined words and possessions of Enzio.  In silence, they out spoke Enzio.  Detachment Alberto held to as a true sign of trusting in God.  Allowing one’s mind to become feeble with the onslaught of weakness to the body was the way of the supernatural normalcy Enzio embraced with words, while avoiding in life.  Enzio was a man of severe attachment, just clever enough in thoughts and words, to speak and think his way around the fact.  The ascendency of life Enzio impressively displayed fell far short of the hermits, the truly holy men of recluse and renunciation, he encountered within hidden alcoves of the world.  True men able to pronounce the glories of poverty, detachment, and therefore Christ.

Avoiding sentimentalization, exaggeration, Alberto contemplated the various witnessed hermits.  Only two of the vast numbers encountered did he identify as superior in growth than Enzio.  The majority appeared insane, invoking compassion, possessing holiness, yet their minds were shattered and their bodies in tatters.  Even worse, absolutely despicable, Alberto recognized a trend of effeminate men demented in their seclusion, wasting away in aberration.  The abhorrent weakness of the men offset by obstinate minds intent upon control and dominating those they encountered in their isolation.  A womanly mischievousness and arrogance dominating their wicked disposition.  Their eremite condition did not humble and lower, rather their minds became tainted by a delusional corruption that they reigned supreme over the world.  Alberto contained his wrath when encountering such men.  Men, who in reality would serve as wives in the world, he spared from the sword based upon his determination the enduring of their insanity more punishing than death.

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Man Tower meets Enzio

Towers

Towers

Coming forth from the wagon, Alberto noticed a huge flock of birds descending upon the surrounding mountain trees. Vast and dark in flock, the winged ones alighted upon branches, disappearing amongst leaves; silent, an unseen legion of unknowing witnesses. The diminutive castle, ancient in appearance, harmonized with its surrounding, appearing as if the creator of the mountain created the castle itself. ‘Quaint’, Alberto thought, ‘he has his own castle and tower’. An admirer of no homes, entering, he admired the miniature Mount Subasio fortress. Blindfolds removed, the young women stood within. They did not appear disturbed, yet they would not speak. They knew the disdain Montaninus possessed for them. The man would sink a blade into their heart as soon as look at them. The wicked knew well the ways of evil intent, sensing wicked presence precisely.

“Montaninus you gratuitously bring Man Tower to my humble maternal tower, the mother of my elderly years—I think of my home as my mother. I draw to a close my life through a concentration upon birth. A proper birth needs a mother. My home provides, a father in waiting divides. The comfort of the creator enticing within. The seeker follows. The Lord is God, the mighty God, the great king over all the gods. He holds in his hands the depths of the earth and the highest mountains as well. He made the sea; it belongs to him, the dry land, to, for it was formed by his hands. The birds egress from their northern lairs. I am sure you noticed them. They find rest once more in the mountain forest I call home. It is a good sign. They perched as you arrived. They watch, intending protection for our meeting. My guardian angel is with them, lifting their wings. Your guardian angel is amongst them also Man Tower. She is a cherub, barely able to perceive due to the burden of many tears and her attention constantly affixed upon the Almighty. You should take greater heed of your little protector knight of no mercy. Tell me what is happening, Man Tower, for I feel a child is born, a baby you observed being baptized. You saw something. You saw a gifted baby for all. The days immediately following the Epiphany octave; the day of Our Lord’s baptism in the River Jordan by the saintly John—one who would dare to identify him as the sacrificial lamb of the Old Testament, the visitation of the magi—kings of the gentile world knowing and honoring. There was a terrible three day wind storm after the baptism of the baby you observed. The forces were so strong trees were uprooted throughout our homeland; men and animals killed in the obliteration. All things are a sign unto themselves and the world enveloping them. I have been meditating upon all this, contemplating deeply the mysteries you present, and the mysteries presented to you. Totality includes individual welfare within the greater battle and your battles are so intense. The Benedictines at Mount Cassino communicated to me the entirety of events through a winged messenger. We share an affinity for messenger doves. God is screaming and we share the news a thousand years after the death of his son. God has placed amongst us one to renew the spirit, one to enflame the heart, one to open ancient doors while closing contemporaries, a thousand years is too long. One is here to bolster the collapsed church, lifting it from the muck and mire of centuries of waywardness. A thousand years have passed and still we are left wanting, longing for love. No one needs to declare it has been over a thousand years since Our Lord’s departing and resurrection, since the news is so startling in silence, conspicuous in the absence of a second coming. His return waits, patience perseveres, while temptations assault. The ways of God are stern; similar to yours, mighty killer of the battlefield. The gift God sends displays his power. The baby will parch the earth, burning from it foulness. Immediately years of famine will result, suffering for over five years, struggling to feed one another families will be ripped asunder. Many will die. The elderly crossing over before their allotted time, the children crying to the distress of their mothers, the sick being consumed by their illness due to a lack of strength, all suffering as they self-righteously convince themselves they should not suffer. Suffering will become a means of rebellion, discernment is poor amongst the rabble. It always has been thus the need for prophets and the crucifying of a Divine Son. There will be five plus years of cleansing through famine.”

The overwhelming prodigious words of the old man descended, seemingly coming from the castle itself. The elderly man and his space were as one, his words coming forth from his surroundings. All at once, slowly intense, in the manner of casting a spell, the old man spoke his words as if he drew them from his creation, his home. Wearing the black and white vestments of a Cistercian monk, he circled Alberto, placing his right hand upon his back, rubbing to create friendliness, the easing of tension. Alberto slipped into a battle trance, absorbing the assault of words, the immensity of profound ideas rapidly rained upon him. Clearing his mind of distractions, as he would upon the battlefield, his awareness focused into acute perception, holding not to ideas, rather opting for intuition.

“So here is Man Tower. Much is spoken of you. It is good I do not honor words, words are for those who desire to manipulate. I have grown into an aged man who understands the heart. For where a man’s heart rests, there rests his treasure. The mysteries of life intrigue me more than the gossip and scheming of man. The sight of many is limited. The sight of one alone, amidst the ancient, solely answering to Christ, discerning proper advice, can penetrate piercingly. We will spend time together. There is more. Now though I must spend time with my beloveds, my sweethearts who fill my life with joy.”

The two young ladies, giggled, one of them walking to Enzio the Wise with a limp that previously did not exist.

“Papa it is so good to see you. Your little sunshine has been miserable, overwhelmed by sadness. My heart rejoices in your presence. In such a cruel world, you are a refuge of the greatest kindness and giving.”

“We missed you so much.”

“Your leg my darling, what has happen to you?”

“It is nothing my honor. You must not think of it. You are older, in need of greater comfort than me. How is your health? Are you feeling fine? It is you who should receive caring attention.”

“No. It is not about me. Your leg? It is awful the way you walk. I must know, tell me young pretty one. If I could, I would reach up to the sky and bring the clouds down for you. Mountains I would smash, if they dared to present themselves as an obstacle. Waters I would divide in order to allow your passing. Anything I could do, I would do for you. You are my sunshine and without your rays of exquisiteness I wallow in sorrow.”

“I hurt my leg servicing my family. My mother is sick and now her sister and her children live with us. I have to care for all of them. Cleaning, cooking, bathing the old and young, male and female, I must care for them all. You know my father was killed in war. I try my best kind noble sir, yet I stepped in a hole while carrying water and damaged my leg. It is nothing. I will suffer through it. It is enough to see your kind face and know in the world goodness lives.”

“You give me too much credit. It is you that brings joy. You work so hard for your family. You give so much for others. If I could only do more for you, ease all of your burdens. Yet it is not for me darling. Thy will be done. Only one purpose exists for you. Becoming a saint is your calling in life, the attainment of heaven your sole concern. The underprivileged have nothing more to do than focus upon salvation. It is a rite of passage. The nobly wealthy carry responsibility, yet all are burdened with accountability.”

The other young lady approached the staunchly posed Enzio.

“Sir it is good we came to you at this time for I also have troubles. My husband to be, the man I have told you so much about, has run off with a woman of ill repute, a wench of drunkenness and ill begotten ways. I loved him since childhood. I thought he would be a good husband, yet he could not refrain from evil ways. I am embarrassed to tell you the news. I am a fool. Too easily, I give my heart away. The wretched man robbed my father before leaving for unknown lands with the trull. I know not what to do. My errors have cost my family their reputation. I considered suicide, convinced it is the only solution. I prepared to throw myself from a bridge into the Chiagio when my sweet friend, in all the pain she suffers, persuaded me to seek your wisdom. And my father, my lord, I could not bring the shame of leaving him to the wicked tongues of neighbors. Even enduring the harshest of cruelties, a daughter breaks her father’s heart by the taking of her own life. Cowardly escaping into death only means further misery due to the reality I would be betraying those who cared for me as an infant. In your company, once again, I find comfort, yet left to my own devices I allow terror to seize my life.”

“Oh my sweet children. Both of you, my lovelies, endure pain that reaches deep into the depths of your souls. Never underestimate the malice of the wicked one. He thrills in your demise. He wants to see you tormented. God only desires happiness for you. Come let us go inside and sit by the fire, consoling one another. We are together. We have one another to inspire joy, to lift each other’s heart to Our Lord. I will read you some scripture, poetry, and tell you stories of my youth. I can tell you how I was able to overcome obstacles placed in my path. You can tell me stories of your childhood. I love stories of animals and discovery. Possibly, I can inspire you, lead you closer to God. It is my heart’s sole intent. Through the realization of my heart may you find the strength and solace necessary to manage the travesties of life. Inside, there is hope. Inside, there is charity. Inside, there is faith.”

“My kind dignified sir your words always arouse faith, hope and charity, however at this time I also need other assistance.”

“Why of course angel. Treasures I can and will supply. Both of you must know I will always be there for you.” Enzio addressed Alberto. “Man Tower explore my land. It prepares for glorious bloom. It will also prepare your soul for our words together. I must care for these sweet children of God. I will ring the bell in time, calling you to come for food and conversation. Montaninus show our esteemed guest about.”

The elderly one escorted the two pretty young women into his home. It seemed the two were trying to outdo each other in the amount of tears they could shed. Alberto watched in amazement. Damning Enzio earlier in the day, the young ladies now expertly portrayed innocent victims confronted by heartrending experiences. Within the tavern it was obvious what the two were. They were harlots; women of song, wine, men and nights of excess, entertaining at the tavern, leading bawdy drinking songs and dancing for the drunkards. Boyfriends multiplied.

“It is best not to judge Alberto. It only confounds to consider his behavior with those young ladies. The younger one has a hateful heart, which grows harder with every visit. I watch her closely, fearing she will explode in violent behavior. I have warned Enzio, yet he says I worry too much. He is truly one of wisdom. It is a strange game he plays with them. I will show you his water garden. You can witness his brilliance. This matter regarding the two young ladies I cannot understand. I have tried to convince him of their true nature. He will not listen, declaring them to be blessed children of God.” Montaninus strode to the entryway. “Let us see if we can find the wolf pack. I think you will enjoy observing them. Never have I seen wolves the size of those that stalk the lands of Enzio.”

Alberto could hear the water falling before he was able to see the magnificent site. The old man managed to divert a stream, forcing the water to flow over self-created rocky formations. The cascading series of step-down waterfalls, shimmering with whiteness in its plummeting, emptied into standing water, a pond. Disregarding his clothing and footing, Alberto walked amidst the water, admiring the lovely sound and beautiful images. Birds gathered as trout swam in the crystal clear pond water. Plant life flourished, providing a canopy over various spaces. A woodchuck slept in one of the rocky cubby holes; a bevy of lotuses blossoming a top their leaves sunning beneath. Squirrels pranced within the trees and upon the ground. Alberto made his way to the center waterfall, the largest. Pouring over accumulated slab rock, uproariously, the water fell. Gravity pulling, the descending water showered a life-size crucifix carved from stone. Alberto penetrated the water, placing himself before Jesus’ dead body continuously washed. He realized up close, details of the statue were not highly defined. Shoreline viewing presented a blurred, vibrating, crucifix, hydrolysis shrouding. Up close, nothing more defining could be attained. Alberto moved completely underneath the water, running his hand over the crucifix. He wished Riccio could witness the wonderful chiseling. His squire taught himself to be a skillful carver. He would appreciate the old man’s artwork. Alberto thoroughly soaked himself, cleansing himself underneath the water. The water was cold, increasing in flow the past several days due to an increase in higher elevation snow melting. Feeling the bite of the bitterly cold water, he was thinking of Ricco. The young man, he no longer thought of as a boy. The killing of the bull made him proud.

The time with his mother and training Ricco lifted Alberto from the alienation he so deeply entrenched during his time under Barbarossa, throughout his whole life. Amongst many, he was alone. Amidst his armor, violent extremes became a sheltering reality. Establishing a beastly state, he manically pursued status as the cruelest of knights. Constraints lifted, lucidity intact, he freed himself to do evil, placing the mask of victimhood over his soul. He opened doors his deranged childish mind feared not in the least. Death meant nothing. Once open, doors that should have never been opened would not close. There were consequences. Negative energy, forces of evil, poured through. The wounded child became an authentic wicked man; the innocent one attaining the inhuman through time and hate. The innocence that allowed him to give birth to his wounded thoughts and actions was eradicated in the aftermath. Communication never a strong characteristic for Alberto as a child, it became impossible as he transformed into the Man Tower, or the Fierceness of Silence as Montaninus called him. There were other names: the Ravager, the Vanquisher, as well as Polyphemus.

Underneath the manmade waterfall, resting against the crucifix lacking detail, Alberto bathed under the falling water, giving no consideration to the souls in purgatory burning through coldness in God’s presence. He stripped himself of all clothing. The cold water soothed. Moments amassed to this moment. Peace managed to emerge. Stripped down in clothing, lacking armor for years, teaching one dependent upon him, easing a mother into death, malleability emerged. Now he cleansed in the old man’s waterfall. Montaninus watched, understanding to a certain degree. Here was the extreme knight he knew from warring days, an unpredictable man prone to abnormal behavior, seeking a loftier existence, a temporal warhound mystic.

Slightly annoyed, Montaninus realized he would have to attain clothing for the giant. He wanted to search out the wolves and Man Tower could not go naked, or in soaked clothing. He made his way into Enzio’s home, remarkably able to find an oversized monk’s robe similar to the style Enzio wore. In various sizes, the strange old man stocked over twelve of the robes. Montaninus never noticed the fact before. Returning to the water garden, he found Alberto still soaking underneath the falling water, positioned at the feet of the crucifix

“Let’s be off wild man. I want to find the wolves. You have to be freezing. Come now remove yourself from the water.”

Alberto obeyed, dressing himself in the robe.

“A monk’s habit?”

“It is all the old eccentric possesses.”

“I would like to see the wolves.”

“You are speaking? Did the cold water loosen your brain?”

Montaninus, also having adorned a monk’s robe, led the way as the men left the water garden and made their way into the forest. Hidden atop a cliff, Montaninus explained the excellence of the vantage point. He knew the forest from the days of his youth. His parents would send him to spend time with Enzio, learning scripture, and the ways of the old recluse. Within the hour, the two spotted something moving. Moving stealthy, they positioned themselves above the motion and in front of the advancement. The clearing they spied upon soon greeted the slow moving animal they tracked. It was an old horse, stumbling more than walking. Out of its right mind, the beast walked as if it was bound for its own funeral. As the feeble horse made its way toward the center of the clearing, a rushing noise followed by a chorus of growling burst upon the scene. The wolves made their appearance. Circumambulating before assuming attack positions, the wolves lowered their heads, bearing teeth in unison. The horse halted. Conceding to death, it hopelessly waited. The largest of the wolves, the size of a pony, moved forward.

Mesmerized by its raised lips and exposed savage teeth, Alberto marveled at the idea of being accompanied in battle by such a beast. He recalled the Roman Falvious Aetius, a general who led a remarkable halting of the advancement of Atilla the Hun in Gaul—superior numbers of horseback warriors staunched by a smaller number of riderless soldiers—engineering, siege engines, weaponry, proving the equal of the amassing of men and horses, Falvious rode with a wolf. The downing of the horse was over quickly, the tired beast never resisting, conceding to death before the first attack. The killing completed, Montaninus and Alberto watched throughout the feasting. The wolves fought ferociously amongst one another for prime feeding spots. Bloodied and sullied, they rested near the corpse once satisfied. The leader of the pack sat panting, looking about. His wandering eyes, passing by Montaninus and Alberto, paused. Standing, retracing his vision, sniffing the air, he studied the location of their hiding.

“Those are the wolves of Enzio. You witnessed them at their best. Their leader senses our watching. His stomach is full, he will do nothing. If he was hungry he would behave differently. He would wander in the opposite direction with the intention of circling back behind us. Enzio claims the wolves know him, leaving him alone. I know he walks through the forest with his walking stick unconcerned. Never has he encountered trouble. However, I say, with beasts like that calling the forest home, I would not be so brave. Let us be off. By now, the crazy old man should be through with the immature company. He is excellent with food. He will have something made, most likely a tasty stew and bread. Watching the wolves feast must have made you hungry. For a warrior, such is the case. The wolves remind me of you in battle: focused, thorough, and efficient.” Montaninus laughed at his own humor.

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