Biography

Sep142018

Friday night, and an early bedtime

In a recent post detailing the surrounding churches providing spiritual comfort in my new neighborhood, I left out a Catholic church approximately a half mile away.  St Francis de Sales is perched at the intersection of State and Snow Rd.  Two miles south waits the Holy Family Hospice and St Anthony of Padua Parrish.  The presence of faith in Parma is pervading.  St Charles of Borromeo has established itself as a home for daily Adoration and evening Mass.  I have started sitting on the St Joseph side of worship, frontal pews, becoming familiar and consoled by what are becoming friendly faces.  My routine will change with the coming week, a shift change landing me on third shift from Sunday evening to Thursday morning.  Routine and repetition are important to me. I am still putting together an itinerary for daily Mass, prayer, and AA meetings.  The French author J.K. Huysmans has captured me.  I discovered him from the novel ‘Submission’ by Michel Houellebecq.  I am fascinated that a turn of the century, Eighteenth to Nineteenth, French intellectual, after a life of wandering and decadent self-discovery—a life of sensual pleasure, ideological exoticism, respected artistic reputation, a life centered upon individualistic pursuits, would become so devoted to the Catholic faith, especially regarding the monastic life.  His authentic conversion is one of struggle and strife, penetrating into the realm of mysticism and a deeper calling of surrender and self-awareness. His accumulated knowledge, and insight, of Catholicism, Mary and the Saints is breathtaking. Who are You God?  And who am I?  It is not a feel good, sugar coated story, nor an intellectual reasoning into dogma and ideas.  I am still working through the first novel of the Durtal Trilogy, yet the sense the conversion detailed, and lived by Huysmans, is one of a profound and advanced awakening. “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light. (Ephesians 5:18)” It is pleasing to discover a new author of eternal meaning.

The Exaltation of the Holy Cross

J.K. Huysmans before the Crucifix.

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Sep082018

Good Time III

A Lake Erie cruise upon the Good Time III, venturing through the Flats upon the Cuyahoga River—my AA connection for the day. I was running late due to lengthy prayers after noon Mass at St Paul Shrine. The prayers are now led by Shirley, an oriental woman exercising a profound contemplative life. We are extending to over an hour and a half a session. Time flies within authentic immersion before the Eucharist. My schedule will change after this week. Unexpectedly, I am scheduled for third shift, starting at 9:00 PM and ending at 7:30 AM, working Sunday through Wednesday. I will have Thursday, Friday, and Saturday off, able to make the Saturday after-Mass Perpetual Adoration prayers routine. Due to the prolonged prayers, I barely made launch for the Good Time III cruise. I was unable to print out or attain a ticket, hoping phone information would be enough to provide entrance. I expressed my concern to the women waiting in line in front of me, three attractively and elegantly dressed elderly African-American women. They were prepared for a good time, excited, and spreading a joyous vibe. Upon hearing my nervous concern, one of them told me to think positive. Another smiled at me, reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a ticket. She told me not to sweat it. She handed me the ticket, explaining a woman in their circle canceled. It made everything easy. Once upon the ship, my isolationist nature took over. I knew no one, my sponsor having to work. None of Paul and his gang were in attendance. I just couldn’t get myself to socialize. Everyone was having so much fun, it was no problem to remain alone, observing the sights, taking photos with my phone. None of the photos were exceptional. Upon boarding the cruise ship, a woman, Mary, introduced herself, shaking my hand. I sat upon the second deck, exposed to the chilly breeze, cherishing the opportunity to contemplate a stormy sky and the breadth of the waters of Lake Erie. The lead spoke on the first floor, yet his words were broadcast to our floor. His message resonated. From nowhere a man approached, extending his hand, asking if I was OK. I smiled and responded “I am fine.” He said, “Your being very quiet.” We comfortably eased into conversation. The man was not in the program. His wife was. It seemed what he really wanted to talk about was his son. His twenty-one-year-old son was released from detox, drugs and alcohol, in August and was now staying at a sober house. He was not satisfied with their communication. His son only asked for money, remaining distant—aloof and mysterious. The man was a retired Willoughby fireman. After lengthy conversation we struck upon Catholicism. He and his wife were devoted to the Latin Mass, active with a Church in Bedford, St Pius X, that day coming from a Latin Mass at Immaculate Conception near St Paul Shrine. Departing the cruise, we met up with his wife. It was Mary, the woman who shook my hand. Then a moment, or two, startled. Lonnie, the conversationalist retired fireman, said to his wife, “You were right. He is Catholic.” Mary smiled at me, informing me she sent her husband over to talk with me. She did not like me sitting alone. Moments come, and moments go. Within their passing Lord, may I always comprehend Your call to eternal peace.

The close-up on the phone-camera could not pull off an auto-focus on the Cleveland downtown skyline. The produced image I found enticing; Impressionistic, accurate in the depiction of light and the hinting of things enigmatic.

Sky, water, and land.

Sky, water, and a runway.

Cuyahoga

 

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Sep072018

Friday reflecting

I have a new abode, a home, providing comfort and peace. The presence of the church surrounding is astounding. St Charles Borromeo, Perpetual Adoration chapel included, is approximately a mile southwest. St Charles conducts morning and evening Masses, functionally allowing Daily Mass to be an easy endeavor. To the east is the Jesuit Retreat House, less than a quarter mile away, attractively presenting walking paths for prayer and exercise. Their schedule of events, religious conferences and gatherings, offers interesting opportunities for exploring Catholicism. I intend a visit soon regarding a spiritual director. Within a block is St Josaphat, a Ukrainian Catholic Church. My first weekend residing, the church held a weekend festival; parades, music, and feasting celebrating faith and heritage. Architecturally, the church is imposing and majestic. To continue the mile surrounding of churches, directly to the west, off West 54th Street, is another Eastern Catholic Church, Holy Spirit, a Byzantine church catering to Carpathian Mountain cultures. To the south is St Paul Shrine, an easy driving excursion with connecting highways allowing a simple trip. I remember once, Father David Mary talking about a Polish Bishop, I believe—I could be wrong, yet the idea that the first thing the ecclesiastic would do in regard to spiritually fortifying an urban area was to establish a monastery to the north, south, east, and west of the city, surrounding the city with cloistered religious men and women devoted to prayer. Beyond the religious life, I have centered my life of recovery within Alcoholics Anonymous. My social life has expanded to a group of men who once assisted. The companionship, fellowship, is more than nice. It is necessary, fundamental for a life based upon sharing. For the first time in my life, it comes natural. The realization I cannot do this alone is concrete in a way it has never been before. I have also established a one-on-one relationship with a man who is taking me through the Big Book. Tonight, I ventured to a Big Book meeting, mostly young men attending. Being complex as I am, I initially found the maturity level of the young men annoying. I settled into peace as they determined to read chapter 3, More About Alcoholism. I had just read the chapter the previous night. The exercise proved profound as I assumed an attitude of relating rather than comparing. I comprehended there was purpose to reading the chapter two days in a row. Amongst the reality of powerlessness, a lack of power, the concentration upon the first drink and the fact self-knowledge—for that fact nothing done alone, including faith—would ever allow me to stay sober. Left to my own devices, no matter how well intended I was, sobriety would never be maintained if I remained isolated and unattending to the root causes of a lifetime of alcoholism. No matter how much I loved God, I had to do what needed to be done. I could not be a baby suckling on the breast of God, an immature being unable to remove himself from hiding from the world, devoted to God not as a psychologically sound adult, rather a broken individual afraid and unknowing how to become happy, joyous and free. The desire overwhelms to become the man God always intended me to be. His love and mercy which knows no bounds must become the inspiration for a life of unraveling, a social life of fellowship and healing. It is a we endeavor. Alone, I can do nothing. In unhealthy solitude, I will eventually kill myself. Dramatic words, yet it is a horrible fact. I do not feel like writing anymore. One more thing, I intended to touch upon. My employment is advancing me into management. I am convinced it is God demanding that I apply myself, to become active, responsible, and accountable. I need His help, yet I am confident. The running, hiding, and fear must become the ways of a life overcome. God is creating a new man. I am willing, surrendering to His demands.  Tomorrow is a new day, a day I will enjoy a cruise on Lake Erie and the Cuyahoga River with members of AA.

St Josaphat, Ukranian Catholic Church, a neighbor.

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Jul192018

Fellowship

Today, with a friend, returning from a week of training in Columbus, I encountered a young woman from the Ivory Coast. We ventured downtown to the St John Cathedral only to discover the evening Mass was cancelled due to a funeral. In the process of altering plans, figuring out another daily Mass to attend, the young lady from the Ivory Coast, Miriam, joined our conversation. The breathtaking beauty of the woman was sheer grace. Radiating, her dark skin pronounced purity, excellence, and refinement. Her voice introduced intelligence and holiness. She pronounced that a year ago she was Muslim, her childhood formed by the Islamic faith. With no pretense or dramatics, she told how Our Holy Mother converted her. She was reading the Koran, the chapter detailing the life of Mary, when Mary lifted her heart and showed her the truth of her Son. There were more words, explanations, and relating, yet suffice to say no more. Fellowship blesses, and a new friend has been revealed. Influenced by the recent World Cup, I asked her if she knew the name Drogba. She smiled knowingly, saying of course she knew the man for he was a national hero. She spoke of the love her country possessed for their soccer hero Didier Drogba. The dynamic goal scorer has always been a favorite of mine.

The conversion story centered upon Mary involving the Islamic faith reminded me of two things. First, Our Holy Mother at Fatima—a city named after a Muslim princess named after a favorite daughter of Muhammed—identified the most holy woman standing within the gathered crowd as a Muslim woman. Second is a favorite movie, a Muslim movie on Mary.

 

 

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Jan102018

Thoughts

Lyrics from a song penetrated. The ‘you’ should not be attached to an individual, rather the world in general.

“I have been to Hell and back so many times you bore me.”

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Dec222017

Christmas approaches

A new schedule at work promises extended free time, an intentional reduction in overtime.  The new year will bring changes.  Hopefully, the grace providing free time will allow growth in the pursuit of God.  I have ideas, yet silence, prayer, and the exercising of the moment presents a greater immersion into the sacred heart through a divine mother.  Words playing to music as I type:

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves
There’s no need for rain, it’s our own parade
Let’s not be afraid of our reflections
It’s not only you you’re looking at now

Jack Johnson ‘No Good With Faces’ from the album ‘To The Sea’

For if things are to go well with a man, one of two things must always happen to him. Either he must find and learn to possess God in works, or he must abandon all works. But since a man cannot in this life be without works, which are proper to humans and are of so many kinds, therefore he must learn to possess his God in all things and to remain unimpeded, whatever he may be doing, wherever he may be. And therefore if a man who is beginning must do something with other people, he ought first to make a powerful petition to God for His help, and put Him immovably in his heart, and unite all his intentions, thoughts, will and power to God, so that nothing else than God can take shape in that man.  Meister Eckhart 

St John of the Cross was known during his time for converting secular songs into religious themed excursions.  There is a term for such an exercise that I cannot think of right now. I like the idea of observing, adoring secular activities and artistic efforts, trusting in man and God, while centering everything within one’s religious efforts. It is an endeavor of humility, the avoiding of using religion as a hammer, the immature reduction of religion merely to a means of elevating one’s self–complexly through delusion seeking one’s self.

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