Physicality
The celebration of mass
Five senses alert

Abandonment now
Careening serene worship
Heartbeat tuned silent

Focus acute time
Vessels altar reposing
Emptiness filling

Standing and kneeling
Refined breathing immersion
The mind undisturbed

Images singing
Ascending the incense burning
Taste the Host Divine

I have always been intrigued by the physical nature of mass, experiencing a sensuality to Catholic worship.  A delightful experience of corporeal arousal.  It is never better then when olfactory participation includes a head full of incense.  The smell of the burning accentuating consciousness, coalescing with the sounds, sights, and participation of an individual within the body of the Church, the tabernacle forefront, lording supreme.  It is metaphysical and transcending.  St Paul Shrine has added another dimension, one multiplying through attending.  Singing with the Poor Clares, tuning myself with their voices, absorbing myself within their consecrated life quiets my mind, opens me to grace, the Holy Spirit caressing so smooth.   Bonding, the sisters have become blissful in sharing, human interaction of sublime exchange.  Sister Mary Joseph leading hymns and responses, studious in her regard for preciseness, detail oriented in skill and performance.  My prayerful graceful awareness, one-on-one acknowledgement, from one of the Bangladesh sisters.  The past week has been rough, a period I must keep forefront, seeking accusatory while looking in the mirror,  supernatural in terror.  It is obvious where my strength arises: St Paul Shrine a source of wonder and nurturing, the home of the Eucharist standing perpetually.  Yesterday, while sitting and talking softly with the holy woman, mother of fourteen, grandmother of forty-two, joined by a Filipino woman leading Saturday prayers, the thought of the passing of Roger upon Wednesday, silent fellowship, watching ‘Mary of Nazareth’ with the extern sisters—a treasured experience to watch movies with the sisters, Father Roger walking past, smiling and waving, Sister Mary Thomas, the world renowned artist, came feebly walking out into the parlor.  After our one-on-one meeting, the sight of the bent woman, suffering abnormal curvature of the spine, poured graces into my heart, an actual physical delight tickling the hairs of my spine.  A smile today was all we shared.  The exchange of holy people within my life has become profound, appreciated, diving deep during my involvement at St Paul Shrine.  There are others attending.  The last week, I am convinced Satan unleashed a horrid attack, yet I quickly pull forth the wisdom of Dr Nichta: ‘maybe I am right and maybe I am wrong in my conviction, what does it matter?’  It matters in the sense that I must look in the mirror, comprehending I am culpable, contrite in compassion.  My strength comes from St Paul Shrine, the source and summit of my faith on display, I wandered away, allowing chatty conversation based in entertainment, exterior dallying replacing devout practice, distraction, and a shallowness to overtake my attention.  I am to blame.  Satan took advantage, working through a specific individual I care too much for.  It was dangerous and should have never been employed without the intercession of the Church, a direct meeting with Father Roger involved and officiating.  I did not flee from the wrath of Satan even when a blatant sign was given.  St Alphonsus Liguori marked me with the simple direction that one must flee from sin.  I must not think, presumption that my spiritual life has become strong, losing a fear of evil, curious, brave, bored, and seeking satisfaction ruling my better judgement in pursuing that which I should never come near.  St Teresa of Avila, the extraordinary one, writes of those weak in practice, aberrations, corrupt in delusion, authentic only in self-perception and socializing, interiorly a mess, as being weapons for Satan within the church, the means for evil to wage internal warfare through intimate or casual human interaction.  I am convinced Satan made a serious frontal assault under such conditions.  The table was set and he dined ravenously.  This is the second holy season, the previous Lent exact, this individual has wrecked havoc, tainting and soiling to the extreme portions of the year that have been set aside by the Church as devout in concentrated worship.  It is unbelievable, a harsh and penetrating reality of diseased proportion.  The matter must be tendered its proper grave respect, understood for its severity.  I am still exhausted.  I am even going to shut down from looking back, simply content in knowing where my strength exists, aware that I must hold myself accountable.