Monthly Archives: April 2015

Love

I am going to insistent upon exploring to the minutest detail the complications with my former spiritual partner.  It all has to do with love.  The further I go the more convinced I am correct in everything I do with her. She has been hard and demanding on me and now in return, through absolute love, I return the favor.  The love she offered, indifference actually, she defines as Godly, a love away from the perverted love my mother offered.  Her indifference is a love on the level God loves. God is pure love, above the emotional, selfish, sappy, crap I approach her with.  I have no idea how to love, thus it was her spiritual responsibility to reshape my distorted opinions on love.  Lacking emotion, getting absolutely nothing from me, in fact not even liking me as a person, at times stating she despised me, she was confident in her approach as a spiritual superior that she was capable of battering me with a higher love, pummeling me with harsh conditions, conversation, and ideas in order to reshape my understanding of a deeper love.  She would scream how if I wanted to leave her there were others who would receive her graces.  She views her interactions with others as an opportunity for those she chooses to encounter to receive blessings.  Those fortunate to receive her attention are capable of garnering special favors from God.  Where in scripture Matthew tells us that where two or three of us are gathered in His name, there He is, she discerns that due to her spiritual superiority she is the one bringing the graces to holy gatherings.  Disrespecting me, screaming at me, intentionally hurting me when she sensed romantic feelings flowering within me, stating to me she was in love romantically with various other men, telling me she was dating, she did everything she could to rattle me.  Hurting me allowed me opportunity for growth and graces.  I had to accept and endure.  She believed in me, while feeling absolutely nothing for me.  My love for her only grew.  This must read dramatic, insane even, yet it is truth, a lived reality.  It must be understood the woman is remarkably intelligent, spiritually insightful, responsible in every regard, detail oriented in life, positive attributes flow from her.  Miracles occurred in my life during my interaction with her.  Her positive attributes, my love for her, and above all God’s blessings produced phenomenal results.  However now that maturity has been firmly established within my life a new playing field is presented.  New ways dictate further growth.  Love needs further defining, and I am positive my concept of love is the correct one.   I want her to know my love.  Her concept of love is her spiritual downfall.  The more I saw it, the more signs poured in that her accepting of a romantic love between us was fundamental to her spiritual growth, the deeper in love I fell.  I am in love with her as I comprehend that love is healing for both of us.  It is not a selfish endeavor.  The love I offer is Godly in the sense it provides healing for both of us, while guiding toward a greater mutual unification in Christ.  Three in one—through, with, and in as a couple we merge with Christ, the sacrament of marriage approached on the deepest level.  I saw all this.  I knew all of this.  However she had to accept all of this.  I will never cease in my love.  Everything is too clearly laid out before me.  Where she turns to self-will and self-defense in protecting herself from a deeper love, I open my heart, becoming vulnerable, becoming weak, allowing God to witness me offering my heart in faith, hope, and charity to another.  Where she shuns emotion and passion, I point to the Song of Songs and observe God embrace these very powerful ideas.  I know cloistered men and women, St Bernard of Clairvaux leading, adore the poem of passion play between lovers.  Love is all about emotion and passion.  Her sense of indifference and scoffing at emotion is not a higher love, but a lesser love of defense and manipulation. Self-will crushing Divine Will.  All these truths are so apparent, yet if she rejects them what am I to do?  Heartbroken, I move forward the best I can.  Overwhelmed, sadness becomes a reality.  To love on the highest level does not allow you to walk away as if nothing matters, turning to others, moving away as if nothing of consequence happened.  Everything happened.  The passion play God desires to enrapture our lives within has been extinguished before it could ever truly be started.  Everything must mean something, for if it does not then where is the hope and love?  If indifference and hardness rule at its best shallowness and superficiality are achieved.  At its worst frustration, fear, hatred and other psychological dilemmas are created.  Disorder builds upon disorder.  Spiritual masters may become so immersed within such a powerful and overwhelming love for God that indifference becomes their predisposition toward all things worldly, however for those of us who are not spiritual masters I think indifference is a sign of brokenness.  I am confident that throughout my life, I have not encountered a single lay person who is a spiritual master.  Any lay person who offers indifference to their brothers and sisters under the guise of a higher love must be treated kindly, yet with great caution.  Odds are astronomical that is a person who has wreaked havoc in the lives of others throughout his or her life.

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Quick hit for the skies and a dedicated clip from Song of Songs

Return flight home lots of turbulence landing and flying over Lake Erie.  Loved it.  What have I been missing all of these years never flying.  I want to fly over the Rockies.  A west coast pilgrimage will be sought. The Cistercian monastery Abbey of Our Lady of the Holy Trinity in Huntsville, Utah comes quickly to mind.  Another is the Colordado mountain Trappist retreat provided by St Benedict’s Monastery, the home of Father Thomas Keating.  My immediate and intense attraction to flying makes me think I should have considered being a pilot.  My mother would have never let it happen.

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Song of Songs for Ann Marie Najjar, for everything she has done for me.

Come with me from Lebanon, my bride; come with me from Lebanon.
…from the dens of lions, from the mountains of leopards.
You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride,
You have ravished my heart with a glance of your eyes,
With one jewel of your necklace
(rosary).
How sweet is your love, my sister, my bride!
How much better is your love than wine,

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An airplane flight and important words from Henry Suso

I discovered a new passion today. Flying is wonderful. At fifty, I have never flown. I found the experience exhilarating. Wonderful.

10 - 10 You could ride an endless sea of clouds with a window seat

I want to preface this quote from Henry Suso’s ‘The Exemplar: The Life of the Servant’ with the comment it is important, words to consider deeply.  Take them slow.

…Brother John, showed him in a vision the delightful beauty by which his soul had been transfigured.  From him also the servant begged for the answer to a question.  This was: Which of all the exercises was the one that caused a person the most hardship and was most useful?  He received the answer that nothing was more painful and profitable for a person that for him, with an attitude of detachment, to go out from God with patience toward himself and thus leave God for the sake of God.

Let’s repeat that ending. leave God for the sake of God. 

For the sake of internal cleansing, a feat complex in proper doing, can I forget about God and focus upon myself.  Avoiding selfishness and self-absorption, concentrating upon weaknesses, psychological frailties, personal shortcomings, character defects can I abandon self-righteous conduct and thoughts focused upon God and look sternly in the mirror?  With the assistance of qualified others can I conduct painful insightful self-examination?  Is a personal inventory more important than personal glorification in God?

Humbly and honestly, I feel gifted with a strong prayer life, yet I realize psychological conditions, worldly matters cannot be left behind during prayer.  I cannot escape into God in order to ignore myself.  It is not proper to pray devotedly while not growing as a man.  My former spiritual partner stressed to me Aquinas thought that grace builds upon nature.  I am going through an intensely emotional and troubling time with that former spiritual partner.  As much as she has done for me, we are absolutely destroying each other right now.  It was so difficult to go into prayer today. During the plane ride, I observed the marvel of seeing the skies for the first time from above.  The sights filled me with awe and wonder, intensifying my love for God.  I love flying.  However through the splendor of high flying, while praying the Rosary, Divine Mercy, and holding silence, my head felt like it was going to split from the stress and pressure that overwhelms my life.  Lack of sleep troubling horribly today.  Necessary actions hurt.  My eyes had trouble focusing, my whole sense of being is discombobulated, disjointed, and off kilter.  I despise it, however it must be endured, passed through and properly dealt with.  Aggressive, I seek solutions.  I love on a deep and passionate level, taking the Song of Songs serious.  I remember leaving the friary how intensely Father David Mary and myself fought.  Like lions fighting over a fresh kill, we tore at each other.  I am not saying it is right.  It is human and the way we encountered.  Neither of us being truly a bad guy.  We were two men of God absolutely in collusion–I use that word specifically  Collusion defined:a secret agreement, especially for fraudulent or treacherous purposes; conspiracy and Law. a secret understanding between two or more persons to gain something illegally, to defraud another of his or her rights, or to appear as adversaries though in agreement: example collusion of husband and wife to obtain a divorce.  There is so much more to it than just circumstances with Father David Mary, myself and the former spiritual partner: Subconscious issues from individual lives.  Mine: a life of severe alcoholism, parental issues, and intimate relationship issues.  Father David Mary a volatile blue collar New York City upbringing.  We must be so careful when interacting with each other in a deeply spiritual manner.  I saw it in the friary so piercingly.  We are vulnerable in a brutally damaging way when we open ourselves spiritually to one another.  I am positive the majority of people trying to guide others do as much damage as good.  Unfortunately, the damage usurps the good. True teachers are few and far between. That includes myself!!!  Be careful, kind and tender with one another’s souls.  This is no game.  Can we leave God in order to allow others to move closer to God?  I remember homily words from a priest: be careful when you are crowding around the tabernacle that your greatest achievement is not blocking others from the Eucharist.

Can I abandon evangelizing in order to grow interiorly?  Can I forsake being a Bible scholar, a recognized knowledgeable man of scripture, in order to allow scripture to penetrate those things that block me from Christ?  Can I detach from my religious reputation in order to strengthen humility and understand myself better?  Do I cling to the idea of being a spiritual superior over reducing my pride in order to draw closer to God?  Do I see myself as a provider of graces for others, rather than an honest sharing equal to my brother and sisters in Christ?  Can I disown seeing myself as a spiritual director in order to cleanse my fleshly vessel?  Can I quit the idea of giving others advice how to properly follow Christ in order to purify the temple of my body?  Can I stay silent when others ramble about spiritual matters?  Do I see myself as a teacher amongst others rather than servant of Christ?  Do I judge and use God as a weapon to bolster myself? Can I remain hidden, focusing upon my devotion to Mary, relying upon Her assistance in approaching Her Son, rather than being a clanging gong?  Do I allow Mary to dispense graces?  Do I use religion to elevate my self-esteem?  Can I quietly receive communion, absolutely absorbed within the presence entering my body, avoiding self-consciousness, thoughts of God and Holy matters?  Can I sit before the Eucharist quiet and still.

…leave God for the sake of God.

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More St John of the Cross and an overcast Sunday

Extinguish these miseries,
since no one else can stamp them out;
and may my eyes behold you,
because you are their light,
and I would open them to you alone.

Reveal your presence,
and may the vision of your beauty be my death;
for the sickness of love
is not cured except
by your very presence and image.

Today I am shell shocked. The evening of entertainment psychically affected me more than I considered. The loud music, entertaining for the evening, in totality was sensory overload. Mass this morning, followed by a Bible study left me still rattled. The Bible study needs explored in the sense that good people administered and attended, yet overall it left me hollow. Clever insights into scripture have become superfluous, meaningless in the sense that a deeper way has become etched into my soul. Humble participation, not being critical, not needing to provide astounding insight, not needing in anyway, just simple fellowship is what God graced upon the experience. Benediction with Poor Clares, a communal Rosary, and adoration finally restored a sense of order. It is firmly becoming apparent that prayer, silent and communal, is my path toward perfection. I am content and accomplishing the most in silence, acquiescence and divine adulation. In terms of recovery from alcoholism and spiritual fitness, discursive thinking and conversation are healthy in regards to constructive social interaction, gracefully wasting time, however something deeper occurs when I open myself in prayer. God is working upon me in ways I cannot share with others. A spiritual director is abiding, constructive in understanding and advice, yet intimacy does not exist. It is dangerous territory, yet profound. Patience and the understanding that a sense of grieving is necessary right now in order for proper cleansing is his message. Novel writing is flourishing and for this I am grateful. My former spiritual partner I have been encountering. It is difficult, yet I place it in proper perspective. I have entered into a phase that demands leaving her behind, yet I am so convinced I have so much to offer her. I properly love her. My heart and mind yearns for her. She will never feel the same. She will never truly see me for who I am. She needs to see me in alignment with her delusions and within her brokenness. As one moves forward in spiritual maturity, I am convinced there becomes a detachment with others on the deepest levels. Loving, still able to connect socially, few will be able to match the intensity of growth for those immersed within a deep prayer life. For the chosen, God speaks the loudest in stillness and silence, and that message does not translate to worldly affairs. Presence is the only visible consolation. People will be able to see it, yet comprehension on a deeper level will evade. My former spiritual partner will be among them. She will witness me in mass, knowing in her heart something is happening to me, yet she will never properly understand. Her distance is monumental. I grow stronger, confident in identity, accepting of myself, spiritually prospering, while sadness dominates my disposition. People come at me in waves. I feel them, loving, embracing, however internally I recognize a greater longing. I will not replace her simply for the sake of covering over the pain. I accept the pain, offering my heart, authenticity, and tears to God. I loved her in a way God understands. I am confident He approves, even if my passion became verbally unruly. I knew I had something on the deepest level to offer, yet she could not receive. It hurts, and to see her now only screams of brokenness, an inability to interact in a profoundly spiritual manner. During the Bible study, healthy camaraderie transpired. My social world within the church expands. A Vietnamese woman showered photo album after photo album upon me. The intriguing photos documenting her friend in Houston experiencing the Eucharist in marvelous supernatural ways. The photos display hallucinatory Hosts floating through the air, light rays beaming in extraordinary ways, talk of angels visually descending and ascending, three days of darkness, earthquakes and thunderstorms, Our Holy Mother and Christ’s face appearing within the Eucharist—all of it tremendous and animated conversation. The photos must be seen to be appreciated, yet still it all just makes me smile lovingly. The woman’s enthusiasm I cannot share, while her attention and company I cherish. The supernatural just makes me chuckle quietly, not scoffing just finding it ridiculous in need. She is a splendid woman and I am happy we will be friends, however a deeper spiritual connection will never take place. My former spiritual partner and I will no longer be connected.  There is nothing I can do yet continue forward upon my path of prayer, never once questioning the wisdom of God, working only towards internal cleansing.

St John of the Cross Adoring

St John of the Cross Adoring

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St John of the Cross after a House of Blues reggae night on the town

…the tranquil night
at the time of the rising dawn,
silent music,
sounding solitude,
the supper that refreshes, and deepens love….

Spent a day and evening of leisure exploring Cleveland downtown after an afternoon of mass, Eucharistic adoration, and communal prayer. Beautiful weather, I enjoyed being a part of a bustling crowd alone. In solitude, I enjoy encountering large secular crowds, a part yet distant. The thought occurred that through immense and intense love, God allows freedom and the spiritual wildness of free will to run riot through time and space. God is the one heartbroken. Mary weeps as souls are lost. All that is good in the spiritual realm is silent in profound sadness regarding the misery we children of God bring upon ourselves.  The angels keep vigilant unceasing focus upon God. Father Rodger, my favorite Capuchin Tanzanian priest, spoke in his homily today about the resurrected Christ still possessing the wounds of the Cross. The glorified body not completely assumed to the Father, the resurrection wounds Thomas stuck his fingers in declare the unending brokenness of mankind. Christ’s victory over death would not be victory upon the earth for man. Man could accept Christ, be saved, yet still he would struggle, immersed within lives of sin.

Holy Mother pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death. Amen

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Consider suffering

I am immensely enjoying Henry Suso’s ‘The Life of The Servant’. Spiritually directing, the work also possesses an entertaining value I associate to a finely written novel. The adventures, or better yet the misadventures, of the eternal servant insightfully remind me of two classic novels Voltaire’s ‘Candide’ and Jerzy Kosinski’s ‘The Painted Bird’.  Ideas on suffering are the bonding element. Suso’s servant of eternal wisdom, the fourteenth century German Dominican preaching friar, should never wander away from his friary. Every time he parts from the protection of the religious order calamities of every and all kinds assail him: accused of being a well poisoner, arrested for being a wax thief, religious superiors attacking him, a shameful sister, tribulation during travel with an infamous murderer, a near fatal winter plunge into an icy river—the disasters never cease. I think of St Francis’ idea of perfect joy from the Fioretti or Little Flowers:

“Father, I pray thee teach me wherein is perfect joy.” St Francis answered: “If, when we shall arrive at St Mary of the Angels, all drenched with rain and trembling with cold, all covered with mud and exhausted from hunger; if, when we knock at the convent-gate, the porter should come angrily and ask us who we are; if, after we have told him, ‘We are two of the brethren’, he should answer angrily, ‘What ye say is not the truth; ye are but two impostors going about to deceive the world, and take away the alms of the poor; begone I say’; if then he refuse to open to us, and leave us outside, exposed to the snow and rain, suffering from cold and hunger till nightfall – then, if we accept such injustice, such cruelty and such contempt with patience, without being ruffled and without murmuring, believing with humility and charity that the porter really knows us, and that it is God who maketh him to speak thus against us, write down, O Brother Leo, that this is perfect joy. And if we knock again, and the porter come out in anger to drive us away with oaths and blows, as if we were vile impostors, saying, ‘Begone, miserable robbers! to the hospital, for here you shall neither eat nor sleep!’ – and if we accept all this with patience, with joy, and with charity, O Brother Leo, write that this indeed is perfect joy. And if, urged by cold and hunger, we knock again, calling to the porter and entreating him with many tears to open to us and give us shelter, for the love of God, and if he come out more angry than before, exclaiming, ‘These are but importunate rascals, I will deal with them as they deserve’; and taking a knotted stick, he seize us by the hood, throwing us on the ground, rolling us in the snow, and shall beat and wound us with the knots in the stick – if we bear all these injuries with patience and joy, thinking of the sufferings of our Blessed Lord, which we would share out of love for him, write, O Brother Leo, that here, finally, is perfect joy.

The medieval concept of earning Divine unification through the acceptance of suffering is spiritually uplifting. Henri Suso, as the servant, similar to St Francis, innocently embraces suffering in this whimsical manner. The words melt my heart, forcing me to bust out with cheerful laughter

God had gotten him (the servant) use to this: Whenever one affliction was over, another one soon took its place. God dealt with him thus constantly, but once he granted him a period of relief, though it did not last long. During this period of relief he came to a nuns’ convent, and his spiritual children asked him how things were going for him. He said, “I am afraid things are going quite badly for me, and this is why. It has been four weeks now since I have been attacked by anyone, either physically or with regard to my reputation, and this is quite unusual for me. And so I am afraid God has forgotten about me”.

Now compare the embracing of suffering for spiritual growth to the satirical enlightened approach of Voltaire. Voltaire mocks suffering, therefore attacking Church teaching and philosophical optimism. He opens the door for a Utopian society based upon enlightened human intellectual achievements, reform of authority and the equality of individuals, the stripping of the Church from governing authority. It is absurd for man to seek profoundness through suffering. The Age of Enlightenment, or Age of Reason, introduces cultural influences: philosophical, scientific, and political thought, which are determined to alleviate man’s suffering and produce equality amongst men through the achievements of great educated men. Proper government by an enlightened elite and technological advancements can bring about ultimate societal solutions. According to Voltaire, Candide and his companion Cacambo discover a utopian kingdom of advancement and equality in El Dorado.

…Cacambo asked one of the officers in what manner they were to pay their obeisance to His Majesty (El Dorado king); whether it was the custom to fall upon their knees, or to prostrate themselves upon the ground; whether they were to put their hands upon their heads, or behind their backs; whether they were to lick the dust off the floor; in short, what was the ceremony usual on such occasions.

“The custom,” said the great officer, “is to embrace the King and kiss him on each cheek.”

Candide and Cacambo accordingly threw their arms round His Majesty’s neck, who received them in the most gracious manner imaginable…

While supper was preparing, orders were given to show them the city, where they saw public structures that reared their lofty heads to the clouds; the marketplaces decorated with a thousand columns; fountains of spring water, besides others of rose water, and of liquors drawn from the sugarcane, incessantly flowing in the great squares, which were paved with a kind of precious stones that emitted an odor like that of cloves and cinnamon.

Candide asked to see the High Court of justice, the Parliament; but was answered that they had none in that country, being utter strangers to lawsuits. He then inquired if they had any prisons; they replied none. But what gave him at once the greatest surprise and pleasure was the Palace of Sciences, where he saw a gallery two thousand feet long, filled with the various apparatus in mathematics and natural philosophy.

A more modern approach to suffering is presented through the horrors of the Jewish experience during World War II in Jerzy Kosinski’s ‘The Painted Bird’ . Where Suso’ servant experiences spiritual growth through suffering, Kosinski’s child protagonist finds nothing amdist suffering.  Surviving is the immense and vital challenge, the only thing that matters. The child, desperately clinging to life, encounters sheer mindless cruelty during his Polish village to village wandering. Existential in nature, survival amongst the meaningless cruelty of mankind speaks through the work. Man is a broken hard and cruel creature. Horror is the scream of mankind. Hopeless survival wrestles supreme. The extreme violence within the novel ranks like no other novel I have encountered, aside from a Cormac McCarthy effort.

One day he trapped a large raven, whose wings he painted red, the breast green, and the tail blue. When a flock of ravens appeared over our hut, Lekh freed the painted bird. As soon as it joined the flock a desperate battle began. The changeling was attacked from all sides. Black, red, green, blue feathers began to drop at our feet. The ravens ran amuck in the skies, and suddenly the painted raven plummeted to the freshly-plowed soil. It was still alive, opening its beak and vainly trying to move its wings. Its eyes had been pecked out, and fresh blood streamed over its painted feathers. It made yet another attempt to flutter up from the sticky earth, but its strength was gone.”  —Kosinski: ‘The Painted Bird’

Overall quick thoughts on medieval Church teachings on suffering contrasted with more modern secular interpretations. Thy Will be done!!!

Finally, I decided to add more, building upon the idea of hopelessness and despair, suffering to the extreme.  We all have our horrors. No need to compare and contrast. Overcoming, truly accepting suffering is essential to spiritual growth. To process and draw close to God through grief is difficult, yet few growth is greater, abstinence from a habitual vice also producing monumental maturity. The understanding of a lack of hope produces an invigoration for hope. To understand the extreme of Godless creation is important in loving the Creator.  There is more to life than surviving. Nobody creates a more profound sense of hopeless survival than Cormac McCarthy.  I attach a video monologue from ‘The Road’. Notice the piano playing, it’s Nick Cave once again.  Notice also the ending.words: All I know is the child is my world and if he (the son) is not the word of God then God never spoke.

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Daphne

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The butterfly, black with iridescent green bands running lengthwise across it wings, fluttered about, just out of reach of Daphne. The young girl of twelve summers marveled at the beauty of the flying wonder, attempting to follow, singing as she did. Like flying eyes, she envisioned. She thought not to capture, instead simply pursuing.

She sang words as she thought them into being. “Come to me my love, come to me. You can dance around my head and I’ll sing to thee. Life is full of sorrow, and everywhere we turn, nothing but misfortune, nothing but dread. Although today the sun is shining and we have one another. Let us play in amazement. Let us dance for joy. You fly about and I’ll twirl upon my feet.”

The young girl ran out of words as she fell to the ground laughing. The butterfly was attracted. It hovered above her. The girl, a bit blinded by the sun, reached out her hand, her finger extending, a perching point. The butterfly responded, resting from its flight. Daphne grew silent, awed the butterfly chose to land upon her finger.

“Oh my sweet flying one you honor me so. It is so wonderful you grace me with your presence. I do not mean to bother you yet your beauty is so grand. I could not help but want you to share in life with me. Here you are and forever my heart is touched.”

The butterfly launched itself, sailing directly into Daphne’s face, causing an eruption of great laughter.

“Now you tease me silly one.”

The butterfly flittered about as Daphne rose to a sitting position. A loud plopping came from the lake she loved to play and gather flowers aside. She thought of the large ugly eyes she had seen for the last several weeks. Their appearance was sporadic, yet they were there in the water. Something strange and large was observing. Now, she realized attached to the eyes was a body emerging from the water.

Covered in mud and slime, the body was difficult to distinguish. Weeds hung everywhere about, although with emergence came distinguishing, the body was four legged. It was a frog of immense proportion, plodding to shore like a toad, rather than hopping. In no hurry, the frog ponderously ambled to Daphne.

Daphne felt no fear by the supernatural beast approaching. In fact, it brought more laughter as the butterfly landed upon its head.

“My friend the beautiful butterfly who appears as eyes flying finds you suitable for landing my friend the frog who has been watching for days.”

The frog stopped in advance. It reviewed the butterfly, before wickedly letting out with a sting from its killing tongue. The butterfly easily avoided the attack.

“Why you would eat my friend?”

“No. I would just kill it. I would not eat it. However as usual it is too crafty and fast. I should not have wasted my time.”

“I hope you have not been watching me with such cruel intent. I have seen your eyes above the water observing.”

“It is due to your horrendous singing. I had to see who was making such a racket.”

“My voice offends you.”

“Greatly. It bothers me tremendously. I came to speak to you about going away from here. I do not want you coming around that which I now claim as my home. If worse comes to worst, I will take drastic measures.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I only speak the truth.”

The frog lazily made its way next to Daphne. The two sat observing the lake as they spoke to one another.

“You make me sad.”

“I cannot help how you choose to be. That butterfly has been coming around to hear you sing for days. I am getting tired of all this nonsense.”

“How can you say such a thing? Do you speak with the butterfly?”

“I know things. I was once very powerful, although in current days, I have fallen upon hard times. You do know there are others near just to hear your voice?”

“What do you mean?”

“Over there, underneath that shrubbery, is a fox. She has come for days just to hear you sing. She lost her pups to sickness and now only your singing brings comfort to her heart.”

“The poor thing!” Daphne stood, speaking with a loud voice. “Hello Mrs. Fox. My heart is crushed by the news of your children. Life is sorrowful and you have shared in the dignity of suffering. My heart is close to you because I too have suffered.”

From out of the shrubbery emerged a fox. The fox galloped across the field, stopping before disappearing to look in the direction of Daphne.

“You are a silly girl. You know nothing about suffering. Why do you spread lies? You think it is appropriate to lie to the fox in order to appease her?”

“I know of suffering. You speak as if you know all things, yet already I see that many things you say are not truth. You claim to speak truth, yet I fear you do not embrace such a noble way.”

“Ohhh, you of so little years, dare to stand in judgment. I have existed for many, many, years.” The frog spit out his wicked tongue, nabbing a water bug as it raced by. The frog turned his grotesque eyes toward Daphne. “Suffering, please? You know nothing of it.”

“”You are wrong. I have lost my father and my village was attacked.” The young girl could not hold back tears. “I have memories of my father. He loved me so much and my mother, my brothers, and sisters, we, hold him so dear in our hearts. He is gone, yet will never be forgotten. Our love only grows stronger with time for there is nothing in life I could desire more than to see my father again.”

“What happen to your father? He grew tired of you and ran off to war and was killed?”

Daphne sat up, staring hard at the frog. “You are cruel. My father loved me. He never grew tired of me. He was killed when he went with the other men of our village to protect us against a terrible dragon that haunts our people. That terrible dragon killed my father. He killed both my grandfathers.”

“I know of this dragon you speak of. You must hate him severely for all the suffering he has inflicted upon your life.”

“I do not care about the dragon. He has made himself a deadly enemy to those I love. All I know is the love for those who love me.”

The frog stared hard into the distance, the eye furthest away from Daphne filling with a tear.

“So if you know of so much sorrow why do you sing so damned much?”

“I sing because of those who love me, the sun and the beauty of life. I cannot let the dragon win for if he curses hatred and doom into my life then he has won the eternal battle.”

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