A full day at the abbey. Reposing into my time, entertaining permanency, I identify maturity within the community. In regards to the friary, it is vastly more suited to my needs. Avoiding distinctions, sidestepping the defining of one thing through the negation of another, I am comfortable with this Benedictine community. There is advanced age, men seasoned in the religious life, pleasant in disposition, many priests, brothers able to present themselves absence the need to impress. I have always been confident in my spiritual life, while never able to come to rest, nor find an environment in which to thrive, and if not to thrive at lease to find a home. I do not like being a malcontent, yet I will embrace the role of a malcontent when frustrated in expression, confronted with lesser ways demanding ascension. From a distance, afar, my Cleveland life seems childish. A miracle in becoming, I can push the envelope further. An aspect appealing is the fact I easily recognize religious men advanced beyond my practice. In Cleveland, admiring Father Roger, endeared to the Poor Clares, I still look about too much, feeling distracted, drained, irritated with delusion and immaturity, too many desiring to be rather than becoming, or feeling entitled for whatever the reason—longevity of attendance, belief in superior intellect, scrupulosity, impressive connections, a renowned reputation, a voice of authority, able to command attention. The lack of attentiveness to transformation, daily practice focused upon contemplation, a calling beyond the efforts of self-imposed operation. It is unfulfilling. I really do not like being disgruntled. It is not the state of my interior life. It drains to block everything out. I relate the matter to work, a coworker who is absolutely beside himself in discontent, constantly badgering and hammering upon reality, insistently demanding supremacy, rationalizing, manipulating, persistently concentrating upon undermining. I am convinced his mindset has brought upon mental illness, paranoia and schizophrenic tendencies. It is not pleasant to be around. Moving beyond Cleveland, I feel I am being removed from mental illness in so many regards. Cleveland is such a vast improvement, unbelievable in achievement, yet I must not rest upon my laurels. Ann is there within it all. She I become convinced is succumbing to mental illness. It was always there. A confidant stresses that I must be honest in appraisement, easily able to look back and see the signs. They were always there. In fact, I found them attractive, quirky and unique, defining a distinct peculiar personality. I look in the mirror, honest in perception of failings and weaknesses, yet an individual able to send me into a fury with the slightest of ease is one I must beware of–leery and afraid of. With each passing day, my commitment to respond positively to the calling of God grows stronger. Humbly, I know I am a man dedicated to God. Her insistence I make her nauseous, I make her want to vomit, I am the complete opposite of God borders on mental illness. It is not the truth. The romantic relationship she pursues pushes toward mental illness. I use to see it all as brokenness, however I have become convinced that brokenness given free reign, turned loose and undaunted, allows free will to devolve a mind into mental illness. Whether I stay in Cleveland or move forward to North Dakota, I must protect my religious life, moving into a nurturing environment, moving past the identity of a broken-hearted malcontent. I comprehend the strength my experience with Ann produced within my spiritual life. The adversity empowered. I am inspired to utilize my love for her to advance into the religious life. My experience with Ann was immensely intense on so many levels. I can never forget that car ride when she picked me up in Toledo. My love for her is pure and authentic. I am at peace allowing it to never simmer. Tucked carefully within my heart, I see the embracing of the religious life as the proper continuation of my love. There is no bitterness. It is all centered within love. A broken-heart bolsters my fortitude, confidence and strength. All attention upon God, all energy intelligently aligned, perfection pursued within wise obedient practice, acquiescing my life and will to the Church, I hold solidly in my heart my affection for Ann to the grave. Her inability to love fertilizes my pursuit of divine love. I truly am that kind of romantic. I am confident God understands and approves.
WIDE OPEN SPACES
Comprehend the horizon line is over twenty-five miles away.
