Reading Abbot William’s autobiography, he presents interesting ideas on psychology, sternly placing caution upon interior examinations and the healing of the subconscious.  Through recovery efforts, I have experienced healthy psychological exploration as well as severely troubling efforts.  Dr. Nichta proves steady within continued consistency, a stabilizing influence of maturity and simplicity.  The serious endeavor of unraveling the psyche of another is predicated upon the one ministering having experienced the unraveling themselves.  Projection, the unintended consequence of spreading unresolved entanglements upon others is a dangerous reality.  One cannot give what one does not have.  Psychological healing on a profound spiritual level cannot be fostered by one psychologically in need.  Someone broken cannot fix others.  Moving past alcoholism, advancing recovery to greater spiritual growth, establishing a structured life within the realm of uncertainty, patience proving greater in application than proclamations and expectations, I am leery of psychological over-exposure.  St Teresa of Avila, while stressing the importance of self-knowledge, also warns that just as damaging as not knowing ourselves, is spending too much time in self-discovery and examination.  Self-absorption is destructive, an effort of one’s own doing never able to advance spiritual growth beyond an immature level.  In regards to knowing myself, I am content to concede to mystery, to bow to the majesty of God, humbled and accepting, exercising faith, hope, and charity.  Applying daily mass, the Eucharist, Catholicism, and prayer, I trust in God.  I place faith in the intercession of the Virgin Mary—Our Lady Undoer of Knots, based soundly upon a lifetime of devotion.  I am learning to place similar reliance upon her beloved husband St. Joseph.  St. Joseph teach me to be a man of simplicity, silence, and obedience.  I was going to comment more, yet I am exhausted.  A demanding work schedule, Hospice volunteering, and the refinement of the contemplative life abandons me to silence more and more.  Quiet prayer dominates my interior life.  Dissipation lacking impressiveness, I don’t want to be right.  Lacking the need to establish reputation, I don’t want to play at life.  Weary, I don’t want to live vicariously and within delusion.  I want to become holy.  I am going to simply put forth the words of Abbot William.  Reading his thoughts invigorated confirmations.

In the present era there is a penchant for the psychological expose.  Everyone who has read an author or two in psychology, or better still, taken a couple of courses at a local community college, has obtained the deepest diagnostic insight into human motivations and neurotic traits.  A twist, however, in this matter is that psychologist can’t help observing the “vagaries of character” and “neurotic traits” possessed by some “biographers and Ph.D. students” and historians who never seem to “rest in peace”.  We witness the projection of their own vagaries, prejudices, character moods, and neurotic traits in their investigation.  For the most part I hope to avoid the psychological approach and offer a merely straightforward presentation, which will itself evince sufficiently the psychological aspect of this account.…Each has his or her own story, so unique and so wonderful, that reveals the workings of God’s grace in their souls. 

The Hospice bedside vigil calls return with surprising charm, a thing I am learning to cherish, experiencing each one with expectation of something unexpected and delightful to occur. Arriving at the elegant nursing home in Shaker Heights, I realized I forgot the book ‘A Calling’ by Abbot William. The vigil would be over four hours so I felt I would conclude with spiritual reading. I accepted the mistake, discerning God wanted me to remain in prayer throughout my visit. Sitting with the patient, it was obvious time was going to be demanding. The poor ninety-two year old African-American woman snored and struggled for breath at such a high volume it was obvious it was not going to be a vigil of calm and peace. Less than two hours into the visit, talking and praying with my sleeping like a bear unresponsive patient, the room’s door opened and in walked an extremely stylish and sophisticated elderly attractive woman. It was the patient’s niece, Anita, a woman who would startle with conversation and companionship. She sported a Channel hat, fine outfit, and a stunning purse of remarkable quality and appearance. Her make-up was perfect. As I absorbed her precious visual cultured image, I grasped a remarkable woman sat down next to me. We would talk the next two hours about her aunt, life, and travel. I understood God was nurturing and caring for me. I learned Anita’s aunt married, yet divorced never having children. She lived vicariously through the lives of her only sister’s children. Anita handled her aunt’s affairs over the last ten years as she suffered from Alzheimer’s. Her mother and her older sister by ten years were inseparable throughout life. Her aunt would do things with the family, always accompanying them to events. Alzheimer’s plagued both sides of her family as her father was terribly affected by the disease. Her aunt supported and assisted the family as her father declined. She loved her father and it broke her heart because he fought the disease, becoming combative and violent. He was always a loving and caring father and husband, however once the disease took course he became a changed man. He rejected the fact he had a problem, refusing to seek professional help, arguing with his wife, blaming her for nagging him, becoming jealous, imagining she was having affairs. He only remained reasonable and calm when Anita and her sister were with him for he would also become combative with his wife’s sister who was only trying to help. He kept getting into automobile accidents so they were forced to take his keys from him. Being stripped of driving was a thing he could not abide so he countered with an attack. When he was alone with his wife, he struck her in the head with a bottle, opening a serious wound. Anita came to tears during the telling of the dramatic assault. It broke her heart to know her father conducted such a violent act. He was never a violent man. She kept insisting that it was not him, it was the disease. She also told me of her four brothers who all died young in their forties from alcohol abuse. She despised alcohol and the fact it also changed her brothers who loved and protected her for she was the baby of the family. She could only remember her brothers as the charming and handsome boys who filled her childhood with delight. The suffering and mistakes they made as grown men was not who they really were. Then during the end of our conversation, not really sure what led me there, I talked about God, forgiveness, mercy, forgiving others, cleansing our hearts of all the wrongs we have committed and the wrongs committed to us. My own words soothed me, startling me with their depth. Anita sat quiet and still, listening to all my words, appearing as a beautiful angel with perfect lipstick and an exquisite outfit. I parted, after speaking and saying goodbye to her aunt, with a compliment on her purse, commenting that I perceived she was a very good shopper. She took pleasure in the observation, remarking with a smile that she was a shopper of class and taste, admitting it was a bit of a vice to enjoy shopping as much as she did.

Anita’s favorite singer and song.