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Friday Adoration

Maturity on a grand scale tonight, an evening of piercing adoration. I returned to St Andrews Benedictine Abbey for a Friday evening weekly Eucharistic exposition. It is a must from here on out when my schedule allows. It appears I will be working first shift on Fridays so all glory goes to God. A brother invited me to the adoration when I toured the abbey as a part of the diocese’s superb concentration upon the consecrated life a month or so back. The experience was much more than anticipated. Adoration starts at seven with the entire community gathered. I missed the opening prayers, although I was summoned into the presence of the silent community, seating myself alone amongst the empty congregational chairs. I thought it would be a public service. I was alone seated. The intimacy of the moment humbled, making me feel small. Before taking my seat, I knelt before the Eucharist, head bowed, hands held forward in praise, the community and a handful of discerning younger men holding silence. A cough and unseen yet heard movement, moved me into my chair, Rosary beads wrapped around my hand, no Rosary was prayed, awed silence my offering. There is something pungently tangible amidst a religious community in silent prayer before the Eucharist–a presence to behold. St Andrew’s community is something special. The communal Holy Hour ended with an uplifting song of praise, Salve Regina sung as the religious men rose from the choir stalls standing together in harmony with words of wonder for Our Blessed Holy Mother—exactly as we ended our evening Holy Hour at the friary. Underneath everything was the awareness of a Benedictine community in North Dakota. After the community and their discerning guest dispersed, a single brother (possibly a Father) remained. I lingered, now praying a silent Rosary, sitting content with an unknown, barely visible, brother for the hour.

Driving to evening mass, I had time to kill so I decided to explore Dodd’s Camera downtown. I have been intending to buy a camera, and a recent email greatly stirred my interest. The store proved excellent in adventure. A saleswoman edified, while displaying various purchasing options, showing me the exact Nikon DSLR 3300 series my email offered. The staff at the store are friendly and fun, intelligent and approachable. As she educated me, a younger man walked by mentioning there is a pristine used one still in the box she should show me. I would leave with the camera, a 55-200 mm lens, and an amazing used bag all for just over four hundred dollars. I also left with a hunger for an amazing zoom lens, a Tamron B016, 16-300 mm. The speed of the focus while zooming in and out is stunning. It is a must, yet that lens alone cost over six hundred dollars. A tripod is also a must, although I felt Dodd’s were high in price, hovering around two hundred dollars. I am confident I can find an excellent quality tripod online in the hundred dollar range.

Photographic goals ground within the contemplative. I want my own images to become an expression of my interior life and my exploration of the world. My cellphone presents an image from St Andrew Abbey.  I admire the presence of circles, perfection symbolized amidst the holy setting.

A minimalist Benedictine house of worship, choir stalls a plenty.

A minimalist Benedictine house of worship, choir stalls a plenty.

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Knowing myself is the beginning of all wisdom

We shall never succeed in knowing ourselves unless we seek to know God: let us think of his greatness and then come back to our own baseness; by looking at his purity we shall see our foulness; by meditating upon his humility, we shall see how far we are from being humble.

If we turn from self towards God, our understanding and our will become nobler and readier to embrace all that is good: if we never rise above the slough of our own miseries we do ourselves a great disservice.  –Teresa of Avila ‘Interior Castle’

Getting to know myself, it is good to return to routine and schedule, allowing my focus to effectively return to God.  Yesterday marvelous, extending myself socially exhausts me.  A wonderful day, it is good to return to that which brings the greatest depth to life: the Eucharist, prayer and meditation, mass with the Poor Clares.  Routine: morning coffee and today a cinnamon roll gifted from Carter’s girlfriend upon visiting a Toledo bakery we discussed; reflection upon my life, avoiding self-absorption, exercise—walk/jog in Cain Park and onto St Paul’s for mass and adoration.  It is good to return to that which provides structure, the establishing of closure.  Dr. Nichta defines my effective mode of living…primary mode of living is focused internally, where you take things in via your five senses in a literal, concrete fashion. Your secondary mode is external, where you deal with things rationally and logically.

The negative aspect of my personality must be realized.  I am not naturally in tune with my feelings, nor the feelings of others.  Too much social activity reinforces unconstructive tendencies.  I lose a bit of focus upon propriety if I spend too much time with others. At St Paul’s, a celebration of baptism occurred after mass. There was a group of attractive proper young women attending, all in fine dresses, appearing exquisite. I was overwhelmed by the experience, distracted, uncomfortable, made weary by the women. Later at the Cathedral, a woman wearing yoga pants assisted the young man selling olive wood finery from Bethlehem. It took a serious effort not to stare at the assistant. For all the spiritual progress I make, concentrating my Lady Undoer of Knots novena upon loneliness and lust, a warfare still takes place. I should add these struggles occurred while thoroughly enjoying the companionship of Carol, whose trust, admiration, support and friendship grows with every encounter. Prayer, quiet time, reading, writing allows my natural tendencies to center myself upon God.  There is a delicate balance establishing healthy mental effectiveness.  I feel blessed to have discovered the retreat, a week focused upon reflection and prayer—religious pursuits; study, writing and prayer, while centered amidst a structured Catholic environment: scheduled meals, daily activities, mass with the sisters, overall a healthy large social gathering, including group meals.  My expectations are low, demanding only seclusion and Catholic structure: a balancing between isolation and community.  Anything beyond and above, I am considering a bonus.

The title Our Lady of the Pines originates from a fifteenth century Mary apparition on the Canary Islands, located between Morocco and Spain.   A link to the Basilica del Pino official website.

Our Lady of the Pines from the basilica

Our Lady of the Pines from the basilica

Basilica del Pino

Basilica del Pino

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Corpus Christi procession leaving the Basilica Santa Maria del Mar of Barcelona

Ramon_Casas_-_The_Corpus_Christi_Procession_Leaving_the_Church_of_Santa_Maria_del_Mar_-_Google_Art_ProjectTaking the Eucharist out to the public in turn of the century Barcelona, exiting the Basilica Santa Maria del Mar.  The oil painting done by Barcelona native Ramon Casas displays the splendor of a Corpus Christi procession.  My mother, born and raised in Zaragoza, family in Barcelona, tells of the wonder and magnitude of the Basilica, yet its quaint association with the common fishermen, dock labors, and seafaring men.  In 1936 the Basilica would be set on fire during the calamitous Spanish Civil War, a conflict of intense aggression against the Church.

I posted and realized, I am showing my fifty years. I assume turn-of-the-century means the eighteen hundreds on into the nineteen hundreds. The industrial revolution, Pope Leo XIII, Modern thought: Nietzsche, Marx, existentialist, and the theater of the absurd, the reinvigoration of faith through Our Lady of Lourdes and the declaring of Mary’s Immaculate Conception sprouting wondrous fruit, and the precursor to two horrible world wars. Now we have an even more modern turn of the century, the twentieth on into the twenty-first, future shock accelerating at such a rapid pace who dares foresee coming days. How can one not turn to the hope of Divine Intervention, beyond the splendor of an inspiring, warning, Marian apparition; all knowable and possible worldly solutions extinguished. May trust in the Lord be strong during trying and difficult days.

Let us take pleasure in the celebration of the coming Solemn Feast of Corpus Christ. I am grateful for a procession to partake in, a church becoming a home, a chance to be in community, sharing in the taking of the Eucharist to the streets of Cleveland.

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Recovery reflection

Reflective day. I want to sort through my thoughts by writing them down. I was supposed to move today, yet I just simply did not have the physical or emotional energy. Work has been difficult the past week, hot and physically demanding—long hours and hard dirty work. I was exhausted punching out today. Adhering to routine, I headed for downtown: immediately to the Eucharist for adoration, then mass, and exploring Cleveland streets. During adoration, with no serious sadness, I erupted in tears before the Eucharist, crying whole hearted, contemplatively and cleansing. One of the Poor Clares was moving about as a ghost, passing between the order’s cloistered pews and into what I speculate is a private chapel for communal prayer. Father Roger, one of the extern sisters, along with a gentleman blossoming into a friend were speaking softly as I entered. All eyes cast my way. I said nothing. They said nothing. I nodded my head. Sister Clare Marie waved and Father Roger smiled. I commenced into prayer. I am not sure how and when, yet they all departed, leaving me alone with the Eucharist and one of the sisters stealthily moving about. The Poor Clares home has become my home, peace comes, and yet today so did strong tears. I am not sure if Dennis took note, yet after some time he came out casually making his way to me. Conversation with him is strenuous, awkward, due to his speech impediment. I know he finds it uncomfortable to speak, preferring silence. He wanted to discuss the offer I made to supply food for the after Sunday mass gathering, outlining possibilities, asking me not to bring anything this week as they had plenty, and the fact Father Sam had a birthday celebration the twenty-fourth. His suggestion was that would be a good day for something special. Earlier in the week, Sister Clare Marie touched me by the fact she has no knowledge of Brie cheese. Being from India, she never tried, nor even heard of the cheese. I want her to try the cheese with respect to its monastic origins, and association with the court of King Charlemagne. I am positive a well arraigned serving tray centered round French bread, brie cheese, assorted vegetables: English cucumbers, sliced avocadoes, red bell peppers, mini-carrots, and green onions; along with a quality pasta and potato salad would be proper and light fare for the fifteen or so people who gather, possibly more for Father Sam’s birthday. The conversation soothed my melancholy as the sisters launched into their mid-afternoon prayers behind sanctuary walls. On into mass at the cathedral, where something of note should be registered. During mass, melancholy returned. During the extending of peace, a stout teenage girl turned to shake my hand. Her family all turned to greet me, however once she faced me the twelve years old’s bright spirit and strong, serious, genuine square face caught me off guard. Rosy cheeked, she beamed, radiating sheer joy and enthusiasm, absolute beauty and innocence. Uncontrollably, yet subtly, I broke into tears, casting my eyes downward. Embarrassed, doing everything to avoid dramatics, knowing what was happening was authentic, I continued on, and gracefully everything surrounding advanced appropriately for me to gather myself and remain hidden. Moving on to Cleveland streets, the flocking crowd held nothing for me today. There were no clever words for the Romanian waitress working at the Vietnamese restaurant. I departed downtown quickly, heading for the suburbs and Mother’s Day shopping. Staying only two months at my latest residence, it is more difficult to leave than I anticipated. I know I am doing the right thing. Confidence and proper discretion guide, yet there are so many changes occurring. Turning the focus to recovery–recognizing a year of sobriety approaches, arriving in June—an integral part of the changes involves being asked to give a lead at a special monthly AA meeting, Calix, in July, the month of my birthday. Overall, the role of AA in my life is being examined. I have determined I will turn the offer to tell my story down. I will not share my experience, strength, and hope. I spoke with my therapist/spiritual director yesterday, and realized I should have discussed the matter with him. I will before officially negating the request. It is an honor to lead the meeting. I am surprised they asked, yet I am not comfortable with the spiritual aspects. I did discuss with my therapist the fact I will be curtailing my activities with AA. There are many reasons and it is well thought out. Everything written before points to this. I have been intimately involved with AA for over ten years, and I am, confident in comprehending, embracing, and admiring AA’s message. I will also make the statement, and I made it to my therapist who closely examined and questioned my words, that a concrete awareness has centered in my being that I will never drink again. I will never take another drink of alcohol. I cannot. It is a vow I extend to Christ, pleading with the Holy Spirit to guide, bowing to God the Father in silence, knowing under all circumstances Mary watches over me, guiding and instructing my guardian angel. The reality grows more acute daily. There is no need for justification, criticism, announcements, proclamations, or over-explanations. A huge part of the changes in my life will be breaking from the group of people I have worked with four times a week for well over six months. It is a wonderful locale, in the quaint small town of Olmsted Falls. This evening I even walked around the historic railroad depot, shopping, ice cream, and riverside park. Pleasant and quiet time of walking prayer. With thorough gratitude, it is time to move forward. I am conformable with my changing involvement in AA, discerning proper signs, lacking definitude.  Yet I also felt the need to postpone the move for a week. I will board with a gentleman, and his future son-in-law, involved in the program for decades, intelligent and interesting, having giving up the insurance business in order to return to his call as a Presbyterian minister, employed with a local hospice. I will allow the Holy Spirit to guide regarding my new role in AA. My housing host supports me, also providing respectful space, while declaring that my living there is predicated upon absolute abstinence. I know exactly what I seek from AA: fellowship, a clear unadulterated message, and vivid reminders of the devastation alcohol plays in the lives of those unable to successfully imbibe. AA is practical, touching on the spiritual and psychological, while remaining distant from personal spiritual guidance. Friends are essential. My weekly basketball games are huge, vital to my sanity. My prayers are filled with hope for an expanding social life. Acquiescing to divine will, I allow patience to shape my coming days. I post the first reading from Sunday, the sixth Sunday of Easter. The words from Acts chapter 10 correlate to a discussion with a friend before the Eucharist at St Paul’s:

Then Peter (first Pope) proceeded to speak and said, “In truth, I see that God shows no partiality. Rather, in every nation whoever fears him and acts uprightly is acceptable to him.” While Peter was still speaking these things, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who were listening to the word. The circumcised believers who had accompanied Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit should have been poured out on the Gentiles also, for they could hear them speaking in tongues and glorifying God. Then Peter responded, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people, who have received the Holy Spirit even as we have?” He ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ.

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The Finding –Henry Suso poetry

Now have I seen Thee and found Thee,
For Thou hast found Thy sheep;
I fled, but Thy love would follow–
I strayed, but Thy grace would keep.
Thou hast granted my heart’s desire–
Most blest of the blessed is he
Who findeth no rest and no sweetness
Till he rests, O Lord, in Thee.

O Lord, Thou seest, Thou knowest,
That to none my heart can tell
The joy and the love and the sorrow,
The tale that my heart knows well.
But to Thee, O my God, I can tell it–
To Thee, and to Thee, Lord, alone;
For Thy heart my heart hath a language,
For other hearts it hath none.

In the wide world, speechless and lonely,
For me is no heart but Thine;
Lord, since I must love Thee only,
Oh reveal Thy heart to mine.
“Wouldst thou know My glory, beloved?
Know Me, the great I AM?
First must thine eyes behold Me,
The slain and the stricken Lamb.

“My visage so marred more than any,
My form than the sons of men;
Yet to the heart I have won Me,
I am the fairest then.
Thou knowest the sun by his glory–
Thou knowest the rose by her breath,
Thou knowest the fire by its glowing–
Thou knowest My love by death.

“Wouldst thou know in My great creation
Where the rays of My glory meet?
Where to My awful righteousness
The kiss of My peace is sweet?
Where shine forth the wisdom and wonder
Of God’s everlasting plan?
Behold on the cross of dishonour
A cursed and a dying Man.

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Christ the Shepherd

christ-the-good-shepherd

Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants,
beyond my fears, from death into life.

God is my shepherd, so nothing I shall want,
I rest in the meadows of faithfulness and love,
I walk by the quiet waters of peace.

Shepherd me, O God, beyond my wants,
beyond my fears, from death into life.

I recall in the friary reading the prophet Ezekiel for what seemed like endless days. There was something strange about the reading. Intent upon completing the book, words began to drag, sentence after sentence meaningless in interpretation. Holy Hours went by with nothing happening, my efforts seemingly futile. I persevered, moving forward with or without consolations. Then I came to chapter thirty-four. Lights turned on, everything became profound, self-consciousness disappeared, awareness emerged. The idea of God being the shepherd, the ultimate necessity of Jesus expanded. The words took on life, protecting and sheltering, bringing forth tears of relief.

Thus says the Lord GOD…shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the fatlings; but you do not feed the sheep. The weak you have not strengthened, the sick you have not healed, the crippled you have not bound up, the strayed you have not brought back, the lost you have not sought, and with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered, because there was no shepherd; and they became food for all the wild beasts. My sheep were scattered, they wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill; my sheep were scattered over all the face of the earth, with none to search or seek for them. “Therefore, you shepherds, hear the word of the LORD: As I live, says the Lord GOD, because my sheep have become a prey, and my sheep have become food for all the wild beasts, since there was no shepherd; and because my shepherds have not searched for my sheep, but the shepherds have fed themselves, and have not fed my sheep; therefore, you shepherds, hear the word of the LORD: Thus says the Lord GOD, Behold, I am against the shepherds; and I will require my sheep at their hand, and put a stop to their feeding the sheep; no longer shall the shepherds feed themselves. I will rescue my sheep from their mouths, that they may not be food for them. “For thus says the Lord GOD: Behold, I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. As a shepherd seeks out his flock…I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord GOD. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the crippled, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will watch over;…

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Holy Week and Easter reflections

Now during the octave of Easter, the time of the resurrected Christ, in remembrance of the time before the assumption of Christ, I want to reflect upon the previous week.  I have a holiday from work, enjoying a day of leisure.

My personal life has undergone drastic changes, the exhuming of what I once recognized as my spiritual partner included. The differences between us became conflicting to the point of absolute abrasiveness.  My mind went to a story that shaped me as a young man, Herman Hesse’s ‘Demain’.  In the turn of the century novel, the idea of outgrowing someone spiritually is tenderly dealt with when Sinclair becomes aware it is proper to leave his scholarly, musically skilled, instructor/confidant Pistorius behind.  Overcoming sentimentality, overcoming the urge to devalue himself for the sake of protecting another, he realizes in order to mature he must leave behind one who no longer can supplement growth.

Identifying the coarse faults of another, with a nonjudgmental calm cool compassionate heart and mind, consequences must be rendered.  Paths must be divided and God must remain forefront.  I think of my time leaving the friary.  I undertook matters in an improper manner, simply and stealthily slipping out through a back door, yet there was consultation with a spiritual guide before the abrupt act.  A time of parting, detaching is necessary when spiritual intimacy creates stagnation and corruption.  When temporal brokenness supersedes holiness matters must be confronted.

I am a passionate man.  I embrace the fact, aspiring for my violent nature to strengthen my resolve to grow spiritually.  I have lost all concern for justification, parting from another with a mind of righteousness means nothing.  I remember speaking to a friar after leaving the friary, the sincere brother attempting to figure out exactly what happen.  I imparted the message for the brother not to concern himself, to think of me as a bad guy.  If resolution existed within making me a bad guy, I was willing to assume the role.  I cared nothing for advancing matters to the point I needed to walk about as if everything meant nothing to me due to the fact I was so righteous.  I understood the ignorance of being immersed within a conflict and not to assume personal responsibility and accountability.  To distance myself from a conflict while subtly portraying a clear conscience is an abomination, selfish and shallow, unembracing, lacking the penetrating vision of Christ.  I advance embracing the emptiness of offering sorrow to God, pleading for discernment, offering myself as an unworthy servant.  Scripture speaks, beckoning truth, Ecclesiastes: But all this I laid to heart, examining it all, how the righteous and the wise and their deeds are in the hand of God; whether it is love or hate man does not know. Everything before them is vanity,

The Hesse novel ‘Demian’ was important to my formation as a young man.  Words and sentences in the novel etched themselves in my consciousness, at the time of reading seemingly alive as absorbed.  Yet Hesse was an author I learned to move past.  There was a self-consciousness to his writing, a lack of interior self-effacing truth that did not allow me to view him as enduring.  Lacking profound humility, he was a man always in his own way.  Important, essential, I had to move through him to penetrate Christ.  Overall, Hesse increased myself, thus not allowing an increase in Christ.  Older, I find influences that properly decrease myself through strengthening and confidence produce the cleansing of the vessel necessary for the filling of God.

Pistorius stagnated for several reasons, one of them being his attachment to scholarly learning simply for the thrill of accumulating knowledge, the ‘sweet consolation’ of being a learned man meant everything to him.  The increasing of himself took priority.  My former spiritual partner lost her way in pop psychology.  The concentrating upon childhood, previous, experiences to a point of accumulated years and obsessive mental warping.  Never establishing the discipline of an authentic prayer life, she attempted to vanquish demons through psychological introspection.  A woman of remarkable intellect and strength, she never really stood a chance of going further with the implementation of inferior ways.  Unable to open her heart and mind through prayer, never nurturing charity, she has been abandoned to a life dominated by self-will, arrogance and delusion desperately sheltering the core of her being.  Today, I felt her in mass, determined to form and shape everything into victory for herself, enduring mass lacking the ability to commune with God, a soul existing impurely through self-will.   She never stood a chance of truly turning her life and will over to the care of God by attempting to do everything herself, unable to surrender through, with, and in prayer.

God is unique.  During mass today, a couple sat directly behind me.  Their presence prayerfully joining me in participating, Christian fellowship, no agendas existing, self-consciousness and self-awareness humbled.  The previous week they sat next to me as we were asked to represent disciples for the celebratory washing of feet.  I ran into the woman at an Italian deli also the previous week, waving to her husband as he sat in the car waiting for his bride.  Sincerely surrendering to faith, hope, and charity, God provides people of like minds.  It is the fundamental structure of the Church.  We do not go about our spiritual life alone.  We do not shun those of the Church, while embracing secular individuals for entertainment.  We must treat one another through the example of Christ: Father, I honor the Sacred Heart of Your Son, brutally corrupted by my deeds, yet symbol of love’s triumph, pledge to all that I am called to be.  Teach me to see Christ in all the lives that I touch, offering to My Lord living worship through love-filled service to my brothers and sisters.

Herman Hesse’s “Demian’

We were lying before the fire…he was holding forth about mysteries and forms of religion, which he was studying, and whose potentialities for the future preoccupied him. All this seemed to me odd and eclectic and not of vital importance; there was something vaguely pedagogical about it; it sounded like tedious research among the ruins of former worlds. And all at once I felt a repugnance for his whole manner, for this cult of mythologies, this game of mosaics he was playing with secondhand modes of belief. “Pistorius, ” I said suddenly in a fit of malice that both surprised and frightened me. “You ought to tell me one of your dreams again sometime, a real dream, one that you’ve had at night. What you’re telling me there is all so–so damned antiquarian”.  He had never heard me speak like that before and at the same moment I realized with a flash of shame and horror that the arrow I had shot at him, that had pierced his heart, had come from his own armory: I was now flinging back at him reproaches that on occasion he had directed against himself… He fell silent at once. I looked at him with dread in my heart and saw him turning terribly pale. After a long pregnant pause he placed fresh wood on the fire and said in a quiet voice: “You’re right, Sinclair, you’re a clever boy. I’ll spare you the antiquarian stuff from now on”.  He spoke very calmly but it was obvious he was hurt. What had I done? I wanted to say something encouraging to him, implore his forgiveness, assure him of my love and my deep gratitude. Touching words came to mind–but I could not utter them. I just lay there gazing into the fire and kept silent. He, too, kept silent and so we lay while the fire dwindled, and with each dying flame I felt something beautiful, intimate irrevocably burn low and become evanescent. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me”.  I said finally with a very forced and clipped voice. The stupid, meaningless words fell mechanically from my lips as if I were reading from a magazine serial. “I quite understand”.  Pistorius said softly. “You’re right”.  I waited. Then he went on slowly: “Inasmuch as one person can be right against another”.  No, no! I’m wrong, a voice screamed inside me–but I could not say anything. I knew that with my few words I had put my finger on his essential weakness, his affliction and wound. I had touched the spot where he most mistrusted himself. His ideal way “antiquarian”, he was seeking in the past, he was a romantic. And suddenly I realized deeply within me: what Pistorius had been and given to me was precisely what he could not be and give to himself. He had led me along a path that would transcend and leave even him, the leader, behind. God knows how one happens to say something like that. I had not meant it all that maliciously, had had no idea of the havoc I would create. I had uttered something the implications of which I had been unaware of at the moment of speaking. I had succumbed to a weak, rather witty but malicious impulse and it had become fate. I had committed a trivial and careless act of brutality which he regarded as a judgment. How much I wished then that he become enraged, defend himself, and berate me! He did nothing of the kind–I had to do all of that myself. He would have smiled if he could have, and the fact that he found it impossible was the surest proof of how deeply I had wounded him. By accepting this blow so quietly, from me, his impudent and ungrateful pupil, by keeping silent and admitting that I had been right, by acknowledging my words as his fate, he made me detest myself and increased my indiscretion even more. When I had hit out I had thought I would strike a tough, well-armed man–he turned out to be a quiet, passive, defenseless creature who surrendered without protest. For a long time we stayed in front of the dying fire, in which each glowing shape, each writhing twig reminded me of our rich hours and increased the guilty awareness of my indebtedness to Pistorius. Finally I could bear it no longer. I got up and left. I stood a long time in front of the door to his room, a long time on the dark stairway, and even longer outside his house waiting to hear if he would follow me.

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