Moments of understanding

The novel by Remy Rougeau ‘All We Know of Heaven’ swept softly upon a utilitarian path of perfection with the ending of a chapter in which the main character, Antoine, concludes his solemn vows. After six years as a Cistercian monk, a vow of permanency is performed. He chooses his mother’s birthday as the date of the ceremony. She never accepted his religious choice. Grandchildren her imagined perfection, emotionally, she suffered tremendous angst over her only child giving himself to the cloistered life. During celebrations, Antoine’s mother’s mother, his grandmother takes center stage,weeping in gratitude, endlessly praising and hugging Antoine, stating how she suffered since none of her numerous sons entered the priesthood. His mother makes a grand speech, expressing her displeasure within her acknowledgment she was proud of her son. Within her overwhelming sorrow, she identifies joy. Aunts and uncles, cousins, many attend the ceremony. Antoine’s quiet farming father loses himself during the boisterous gathering after formalities. Antoine finds him in an alcove under a stairway with one of his brothers, the monk in charge of the cattle. The two men are talking of cows as if they have known each other all of their life. Antoine realizes his father would be content within the monastery walls, and not as a slight to his mother. Everything comes together to allow God to grace him with the understanding his discernment is divinely pleasing.

He knew he was not responsible for the day; how could he accept credit for having come from a good French-Canadian family? And he knew that it was not for his intelligence or virtue that the Cistercian monks had taken him in. Even after he swallowed several times, his tears stubbornly flowed.

The emotion Antoine felt was broader than gratitude. He was appreciative, yes, but he also wanted to be better than he was: more virtuous, more sympathetic, more responsible to the world. He had an idea about what holiness meant–something the size and shape of Brother Bernard–and he struggled toward it. He wanted to make that shape his own somehow. He wanted to wish that shape upon the world.

Jun292015

God’s Will: where I am, is exactly where I need to be.

The victory of suffering from ‘All We Know of Heaven’, wisdom within bedtime reading—the ultimate story of the Son of God: the Triumph of Weakness, the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. Antoine observes a visiting Tibetan abbess smash crabapples with her heel into the earth. She, the Venerable Cello–spiritual mother to over six thousand nuns, feeds herself with the dirty created mush. The simple religious woman entered the Cistercian monastery with a group of visiting Tibetan monks. The Trappist were unaware she was a woman until her nickname, Cello, was explained. The holy woman, saying over a thousand rosaries a day, is an immense survivor. When the Chinese occupied Tibet she fled through the Himalayas with thirty of her religious sisters. Only three would survive the mountainous trek. With respect to her gender, she was removed from the Catholic monastery, placed in the guesthouse. Antoine worried she would be insulted. The other Tibetan monks laughed at his concern, expressing the fact Cello would contently sleep upon the sidewalk if asked.

As sunlight drew away from the orchard, it came to him (Antoine), the thread that bound their lives together. Cello was abandoned by society. She was marginal. The abbess was as defenseless and as irrelevant to the world as an orphan. And as a monk, so was he.

The experience of many days clicked into a clear order in his head. Antoine saw before him a Cello who had survived immense suffering in the Himalayas to offer a living witness to anyone interested: nothing less than the reversal of world order. As weak as she was—as weak as all humans are—Cello was fully awake. The wisdom of peace was hers, an old woman grounded in “suchness,” her smile shining through all things and meeting no opposition.

He (Antoine) saw that his own behavior was to blame for his sour discontent. His growth as a monk had been checked by his own longing for a better place to live, better people to live with.

Marginalized, yet dignified–magnificence within poverty and worldly exile.

Our Lady of the Pines retreat

Sometimes God is quick to the call. This morning amidst sunshine, my secret garden providing pleasure upon a walk, a call from Our Lady of Pines in Fremont, Ohio established a retreat for my off week following the celebration of a nation’s independence on July the 4^th. The conversation effused from surrounding ambiance, men thinning out neighboring trees–deconstructing a small forest, attention to individual trees fallen, a toddler following the example of his sister exploring spraying fountains of water wonder, dogs leashed and walking, children enjoying tennis lessons, and for me a religious sister edifying, informing me there was a week of spiritual direction scheduled for the week I inquired upon. I love when within conversation words pour forth. The task being the containing rather than the thinking. She tells she is going to set-up a special dormitory room for me. She promises I will love it. The week of spiritual direction has been planned for some time, all sisters conducting the directing. The week will be a focus upon individuals revealing God’s plans for them through silence, reflection, and counsel. There seems to be a concentration upon feminine spirituality, although the sister says not to fear, recognizing a difference between men and woman pursuing faith. We determined spiritual direction for me will be conducted upon exploration. The idea of me exploring a private retreat amongst the conductors of the spiritual directing week concretized. That week there is a priest conducting a private retreat. She is going to speak to him about spending time with me. Thy will be done. I am excited. Speculating, I anticipate a near dozen sisters with thirty-two retreatants. Walking at Cain Park, excitement blossomed. Hopefully sounding strange, an artist whose work I have been viewing online inspired a vision, a visualization, colorful flowers bursting forth in a river from my heart was the expression of joy I felt upon a week of spiritual concentration. The writing, ‘Man Tower’, picked up this morning. Possibly, properly, alignment allowing, serious work can be conducted during my week at Our Lady of the Pines. Some images I provide, allowing imaginative touching upon the story, black and whites from Ingmar Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’, a cherished movie in my realm of influences. The photos of the traveling carnival family paying tribute to a vacationing Romanian family very dear and close to my heart.

The wonderful circus family, inspiration to Gabriel, Calin, and Lavinia. Acrobat Jof, holding his son, is a dreamer, a lover of life, a circus performer, a writer of songs and poems, a tumbler extraordinaire, a man who is so in love with the idea of visions he is continually making them up. The only problem is when he finally does have a vision of Our Holy Mother, his wife only laughs, loving him even more for all the visions he details. Acrobat Jof is not dismayed, only desiring to sing an unfinished song and enjoy his son. The world-weary squire, Jons, demonstrating his humor and penetrating insight, comments upon one who turned out to be a corpse. Antonius Block, the Templar Knight, chess combatant to the grim reaper, sent his quick-witted squire to question a man seated upon the beach. Encountering the seated one, the squire confronted a skeleton.
A wonderful medieval song and dance performance by Acrobat Jof and his wife Mia is interrupted in this video clip by a doomsday procession singing Dies Irea (coincidentally enough a poem credited to Thomas of Celano). In the opening of ‘Man Tower’, the procession following the debauchery of the child bishop being marched through the streets of Assisi, an actual medieval tradition of drunken excess the church would eventually ban, is based upon the procession in Bergman’s film. I wish there were subtitles for the fire and brimstone sermon–the fiery words point to the Black Plague as a curse from God for the wicked ways of man. Repent NOW the message. I am intrigued by Bergman’s cinematic effect of having the end times spiritual marauders vanishing from the earth, their chanting continuing.

May092015

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.

Apr262015

Christ the 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;…

Apr232015

Prayer guidance and inspiration from Suso

Form the suffering of Christ crucified within oneself, His sweet teachings, His gentle conduct, and His pure life, which He led as an example for us to follow, and thus through Him press further within. Afterward, as exterior preoccupations disappear, one should sit in the stillness of one’s spirit in vigorous detachment, as though one is dead to one self, never leading to oneself or being one’s own goal, but having Christ alone and the honor and glory of the heavenly Father as one’s goal. Toward others, both friends and enemies, one should act humbly and friendly.

Now when the spirit, unconscious of itself, really begins to dwell in this transfigured resplendent darkness, it becomes free of all obstacles and all that is its own, as St Bernard says….This losing of self is something divine that somehow becomes all things for him….the spirit withdraws, but not completely. It takes on certain qualities of the Godhead…it does not become God….What happens…happens by grace…something created out of nothing that remains forever…as the soul is taken in, it is freed from doubt as it becomes lost when it is separated from its individuality and is joined to what is divine while being unconscious of itself….the power of resplendent divine being, the spirit is pulled upward beyond its natural capacities into the nakedness of this nothing because it is bare of creatures of any kind….The spirit loses its own knowledge because it loses itself, lacking any awareness of self and forgetting all things. And this happened when the spirit in itself turned away from the created nature of its self and all things toward the naked uncreatedness of nothingness. –Henry Suso

Apr112015

The Essence of Prayer Perfected

This divine knowledge of God never deals with particular things. This sublime knowledge can be received only by a person who has arrived at union with God, for it is itself that very union. It consists in a certain touch of the divinity produced in the soul, and thus it is God Himself who is experienced and tasted there… –John of the Cross

St John of the Cross Adoring

Catholic Contemplative Life

A journey of recovery within Christ and His Church

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