Assumption Abbey

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.

I have arrived at a solid and prospering monastery. If there is a religious calling to be discerned I am in the right place. The ambiance and community of Assumption Abbey presents comfortably. Two prayer sessions, the routine of the Divine Office brought back into view, adoration with fifty college students–Catholic studies majors spending the weekend in the guest quarters, settled me into a contemplative mood. No trying, no attempts at approaching God. Naturally, with ease, profoundness has emerged. Brother Michael, I assume for he is the only one I told, placed a Rosary upon my doorknob. I informed him as we toured the Bismarck cultural center I forgot to bring a Rosary. Finding the Rosary hanging upon the doorknob after breakfast accelerated the beating of my heart. I will be taking photos. The cafeteria view will astound, absolutely amazing. Interestingly a heavy haze hangs over North Dakota due to extreme fires in the state of Washington. I am told it is actually dissipating, the locals eager to have clear skies once again. Brother Michael and I picked up a young man twenty-two, entering the order this week. Interestingly, he flew out of the Toledo airport, living in Michigan. Overall, the community presents impressive men. I do not see the unhealthy mental deterioration of men stagnating in the religious life. I have visited monasteries, witnessing such sadness. There are approximately ten priests amongst the thirty plus Benedictines. An older priest engaged me in a spirited conversation covering the upcoming college football season, informing me I could not watch the Notre Dame football game with him as he would be watching it in the monastery. I am staying in the visitor dormitory, a wonderful room with my own shower and bathroom. I can watch the game in the guest lobby. God is good. He blessed me with a splendid vacation. I did find it interesting that the remote community is right in the middle of Richardton, a vital part of the small town. Driving into town, towns are sparsely set apart–nothing but large farms and ranches between, an attractive woman waved to us enthusiastically. Brother Michael responded with a wave, calling out his window to the woman by name. She is the postmaster. I realized everyone knows everyone in this town and the monks are a part of the friendly community. Homes are gathered around the center of town, to the northern edge the monastery sits amongst them. This will be a good week.