St Stanislaus Cleveland

Driving to Mass this morning through the Cleveland inner-city, an overwhelming sense of compassion for the world worked upon me.  I opted for Mass at St Stanislaus.  The noon Mass and powerful Saturday afternoon Holy Hour, communal prayer, at St Paul Shrine lovingly missed as a call to enjoy ice skating with the significant other and her niece beckoned forth.  I slept in too late for Mass at St Dominic, another wonderful weekly Holy Hour conducted afterwards, and also the very early Mass at Sacred Heart, followed by the men’s meeting.  I have not made the men’s meeting since Easter, vowing a return, while keeping the men in my prayers.  With England’s vote to secede from the European Union settling within consciousness, aware of such tumultuous change gradually overtaking the world, I felt helpless, reposing into the confirmation to avoid opinions while being a very opinionated man.  I will say I was proud of my adopted city of Cleveland in regards to the celebration of the NBA championship brought home by the Cavaliers.  An estimated 1.3 million people gathered downtown to cheer on the sports victory and the spontaneous event went off virtually without incident.  I was close to the festivities, never witnessing the parade, yet a sense of joy filled the eastside of Cleveland. That morning I assisted an inner-city woman struggling with mobility and health install an air conditioner in her home.  She had her large screen television broadcasting the revelry happening downtown.  Her elderly gentleman friend stopped by and the three of us talked basketball and sports while I managed to get her air conditioner mounted and working.  It was then onto Mass at St Paul Shrine and more witnessing of people everywhere celebrating the Cavs championship.  The public transportation system was free that day—a buzz filled the air.  The significant other lives along the rapid transit train line and the crowd of people gathered at the picturesque train stations were plentiful, joyful, and peaceful.  It truly was a ‘lovefest’ as a coworker of mine called the happening.  She took the day off, taking photos with her phone as she was positioned at the Indians baseball stadium, experiencing everything intimately.  The city will host the Republican National Convention in the upcoming weeks.  Let’s pray the event also proves peaceful.  During my after-Mass prayers at St Stanislaus, the image of Jesus resting in the tomb, the photo posted many months ago, played upon my mind.  My post title, pointing toward Modern thought, today arises from the meditations.  During the Easter season of 2015, the statue of ‘Jesus buried’ served as a Holy Week focus of meditation.  Lord we truly need your resurrected and glorified presence pronouncedly evident. In a frenzied, self-conscious, chaotic world surpressed by noise how are lost ones ever going to hear your soft gentle voice. Please do not let the world think You are dead.  Have mercy on us Lord. Please do not abandon those who abandon You. Change ever present, surroundings driving madly and bitterly away from the historic church, observing the once proud Polish neighborhood suffering dilapidation, struck by the fact there were only a handful of elderly worshippers at Mass, recalling a comment regarding Europe’s huge magnificent Cathedrals and churches all being empty, a vacant sadness revealed itself, the reality the world would never acquiesce to the will of God mercilessly touched my mind.  My heart resolved upon fortitude, perseverance, and strength.  Tomorrow will be a special day free from work, eventful and focused.  This weekend is the two year anniversary of the Rescuerer retrieving me from that brutal hotel room in Toledo.  Tomorrow the event will be honored by attending a Calix meeting at St Vincent Medical Center in downtown Cleveland, reacquainting myself with the high profile lawyer and his gang of plenty who did so much for me.  I truly have been looking forward to the morning mass, breakfast, and lead meeting for some time.  I will be proud to introduce the significant other.  After the eventful morning, the two of us will venture to the Rocky River Reservation in order to participate in recreational kayaking, able to paddle out to Lake Erie.  The nature excursion will be followed by a short drive to Bellevue, Ohio in order to attend a healing Mass at the Sorrowful Mother Shrine, an event honoring Ephphatha Sunday.  Then ending everything with a dinner at a favorite Italian restaurant, Buca de Beppo, a national chain establishment on the west side.  I love the conglomeration of black and white Italian images posted on every inch of the walls.  There is nowhere you can look that you are not assaulted by photos of Italian life.  It is fun.  The relaxing tone inspires me to post a song from Toco, a Brazilian guitar player now residing in Italy. The man has me mesmerized with his music, causing me to listen to his recording over and over.

“Memoria” is an album about my memories, my hometown, the scent and flavours of my childhood, things Iʼve read, movies Iʼve watched at the cinema and my love for music. Itʼs about going back home, re-establishing a link with the past and recalling cheerful and happy memories. “Memoria” refers specifically to the regions of Minais Gerais and the Brazilian northeast, its hot climate, the religiousness of the people and its faith in miracles, calling to mind images of mysterious and surreal popular tales, where time flows slowly in an intimate dimension.

I am going to intentionally go out on a limb in this post, presenting a video from a profound mindset away from the Catholic faith.  When I was younger, intellectually exploring, fueled by Carl Jung and Hermann Hesse, I enjoyed entertaining foreign philosophical and religious thought.  I credit My Holy Mother in anchoring, always knowing I was expanding, yet never doubting my obedience and loyalty to Catholicism.  The rootedness and conviction I must give credit to God.  I wandered freely, loose in morality and thought, yet never did my devotion to Catholicism waver.  God is good and all giving.  The reason I post this video is multi-faceted.  The man, Khrisnamurti, held me captive from the first time listening to him. As a young man, I would pursue his audio books, taking in his message specifically from listening to him speak.  I have no doubt he is a spiritual master beyond the perception of the majority.  The totality of the man mesmerized my attention from first contact, soothing the core of my being.  I am positive his message of deconstruction, stripping the pursuit of faith from all forms of pleasure is essential to those advanced in the prayer life—similar in regard to St John of the Cross, exact in magnitude. I adore the foundation of his message that he is a speaker merely speaking.  His words mean nothing, holding nothing special unless the listener is able to absorb them openly, able to allow, perceiving what is happening inside himself.  The speaker does not need to speak, nor does he need to be perceived as a spiritual master.  He is happy and content to be left alone, yet something deeper calls forth the speaker to utter words.  The words can be accepted, debated, rejected, or placed on a pedestal as advanced, admired immensely, yet this is really nothing, simply the pursuit of pleasure when concentrated upon through reflection.  When going deeper through the practice of prayer, experience exercising over and over a devotion to ways and means, the fullness of the Catholic faith taken off in order to allow a rearming, it is important to strip one’s self of securities and pleasure.  The stripping is not done for austerities sake, not performed because pleasure is bad, it is not just another exercise or entertainment, yet something greater exists, something more serious, a potentiality waiting to implode.  Without rejection or acceptance, as the Blessed Henry Suso states matters: when one is able to let go of concepts of God in order to grow closer to God, one becomes more present in the present, free from obstacles and baggage.  The deconstruction attains purpose due to the existence of God, the fullness of the Catholic faith able to construct in essence rather than dogma and formality—Christ allowed to fulfill the law—Ideology usurped by Wisdom; the Trinity allowed to work its omnipotence, to reveal its omnipresence, a loving mother receiving, a lover in repose awaiting, infusion inoculating.  I am convinced it is the heart of the message of Pope Francis.  I also relate matters to my relationship with the significant other.  I am being drawn away from those perceiving themselves as Catholic bigshots, while not distancing individuals, avoiding mental confrontation, energy wasting bitter fighting or debating, lovingly moving into love.  It is difficult for me, an area calling forth painful healing, the book ‘Healing the Eight Stages of Life’ assisting, something soothing on all levels transforms.  The reception and sharing of love through an intimate one-on-one encounter enriches, presenting the demand for patience, trust, and self-examination.  Delusion, insensitive assumptions, the need to be right (mastery), apathy, an antagonistic nature, ingrained habitual singular behavior, the comfort of not answering to anyone, many things call forth a separation, yet a deeper calling, one beyond pleasure arises. I am captivated by Krishnamurti’s insistence that love is beyond the pursuit of pleasure.  It is not sensual and emotional, while being affected by these powerful elements of thought.  Within pleasure is fear and pain.  Love on the deepest levels transforms eternally beyond woundedness.  Richard Rohr’s statement that relationships are a preparation for the deepest of loves existing within eternity appoints serious relevancy.  The significant other astounds with her reception of love.  She receives as well as gives.  She is able to receive love.  In kindness and gentleness…she provided the appropriate words in a quote she supplied: ‘Chaff and grain together; Certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, Keep what is worth keeping, And then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away’.  In receiving love, making herself vulnerable, she becomes spiritually powerful, an intelligence awaiting, an interesting individual sharing in experience, a presence penetrating, allowing the mutual alleviating of fear—while inducing a proper, deeper, awareness of responsibility—both on a natural and spiritual level.  Anyway, the video is long, yet not too long at a half hour.  God is good and all giving.  It is not for everyone, yet the speaker speaks and now it is recorded and accessible through Youtube.

A baby in the womb, drawn to love. Unknowing, venturing forth, in movement reposing upon a tender touch, receiving, fulfilling in return, cuddling in peace, dreaming of bliss. Today after a St Paul Shrine Mass, cutting short Holy Hour prayers, I was able to meet the significant other at a skating rink. The heat and humidity of the afternoon was sublimely soothed by coolness. The significant other was ice skating with her grand-niece, a child quickly ascending in endearment. I walked into the arena humbled, believing the significant other was eagerly watching the door for my appearance. My heart smiled, taken aback that it would mean so much for someone to see me enter, someone waiting with immense anticipation for me–really, especially one who has known me for awhile for I can be difficult. V, her little niece was skating in the middle of the rink, leaning on an orange safety cone for balance. It was a huge advancement. Learning with the cone, last week she needed to stay close to the wall. The wall provided security, the realization she could reach for the wall if feeling unsteady. Conspicuous, she was the easiest to spot on the ice. Pushing the bright orange cone while wearing a colorfully pink safety helmet decorated with feline ears, my eyes went directly to her. The spright one is adorable, quick minded, confident, while generous, humble, and kind. She tagged me with the nickname Mister. I forget exact circumstances, yet she wanted to make an impression so she blurted out with the words, ‘Hey Mister’, in an innocent retort to grab my attention. There were others skating. The significant other is a graceful skater, skilled and at ease upon the ice.  Memories in formation, an athletic young father raced around the rink. Amazingly, between his legs, holding his hands for balance, his toddler daughter, still in diapers, glided along. The look on the one fresh to walking flying around the rink was sheer elation. Rosy chubby cheeks shining, she seem to really grasp the event, leaning into the turns, the slightest sign of fear absent. Another skated in a fluorescent pink safety helmet, sporting a mini-skirt and tights. Obviously attractive, I ignored her, convinced it was improper to admire the beauty of one so young. I was pleasantly surprised when she skated by to realize she was a senior citizen in impressive physical shape. The point of the observation was the attraction of those things calling forth love. It’s a wonderful life. The infant in the womb responding to gestures of affection. The significant other provides gentleness and kindness. Experience builds stoutly, molding and shaping. I have been truly alone for the entirety of my adult years.  Mass contained elements of early recovery world in Cleveland. A lunatic fringe element taints. An actor out of sorts, a clown in career, shook hands before the communal Rosary. I adore the man. One stood next to me receiving communion, before drinking the blood of Christ. There will never be anything less than adoration.  The significant other will accompany tomorrow for a Father’s Day trip to Toledo. We will leave early enough to attend an 8:30 AM Mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Temperance, Michigan, a Mass dedicated to my father. Signifigance amassing and surmounting.  We will then share brunch with my son, his girlfriend, and my mother before heading back to Cleveland since I have to work in the afternoon. Seven days a week this week. No rest for the weary. Settling firmly underneath the worldly conglomeration, a profoundness blesses, grace embraced. God is good and all giving.

A favorite patient, a friend, someone I have been visiting with since November, is now in the By-Your-Side program.  She is actively dying.  I drove to her directly after work, meeting three of her nieces, finding a scapular wrapped lovingly around her neck.  Last Rites have been conducted.  In prayer, I stayed until one in the morning.  She is the first patient I kissed upon the forehead, holding her hand for a lengthy period of time.  I receive immensely from her.  God is good and all giving.  I will spend the morning and afternoon with her, attending Mass at the elderly care facility tended to by the Sisters of the Holy Spirit.  Time is short today with respect to duty and the loving reception of God’s love.

Jennings Chapel’s tabernacle, taken with my phone.

A reflection upon an idea from an unknown novel graced thoughts during Mass today.  The fictional story, written by an author I forget, titled with a title I forget, detailed the imprisonment of an alcoholic.  The man caused a heinous multi-fatality car crash while severely impaired.  He possessed no memory of the accident.  An educated functioning alcoholic, a professional success, although suffering a wretched personal life—divorce, detachment from family, and a financial dissipation, the fragmented man found himself enduring a lengthy prison sentence.  Inside the prison, an encounter with a prison gang leader marked my memory with relevance.  The alcoholic, experiencing forced sobriety, found himself developing a keen clarity, a spiritual awakening, his mind experiencing a lucidity he had not known since childhood.  With his advanced background, he attained a clerical prison job allowing him as much isolation as possible.  His peace would come to an end once the gangs determined to force him to declare an alliance.  Reasoning, one of the prison bosses explained his quandary.  He told the man that he was going to experience extreme strife because he was still thinking ‘outside in’.  The boss complimented his intelligence, his manners, his dedication to spiritual pursuits, all his admirable efforts in the prison AA meetings and religious life, however all these worthy attributes were not enough because he was still not recognizing he was in prison.  Delusion still plagued consciousness.  The prison interior life ruled.  The gangs ascending to mastery.  The man was not giving into powerlessness enough.  The professional alcoholic was making a grave mistake by thinking like he was outside prison.  The brutal reality was he was in prison, and the fact there were powers greater than him.  The prison boss explained, “Bad things, very bad things are going to start happening to you if you do not experience a ‘psyche change’.  You have to start thinking ‘inside-out’.  You must realize your survival on the inside means everything.  Everything you do must be centered upon this horrible reality. Everybody has given you a chance to settle into your cushy job, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.  You have been watched since the moment you walked through those doors.  The pouncing has commenced.  That job you enjoy, allowing you to receive unmonitored mail, was arraigned by those living fully on the inside.  You have to change the very way you think about things if you want to get out of here alive.”  In my way, I have taken liberties in recalling the idea, the exact details of the story toyed with.  The point is the idea of thinking ‘inside-out’ in regards to faith.  The reality my contemplative life calls for the living of inside-out.  My interior life is the center of my being, that interior being defined as weakness, brokenness and unmanageability placing me in my current position.  Scripture through St Paul the Apostle makes clear: “My (the Lord’s) grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  Building upon faith, hope, and charity, I stand proudly upon my interior, knowing and nurturing, seeking the revealing of the gifts of the Holy Spirit.  Through this center, I interact with the exterior, the outside, allowing God to point out areas in need of healing and attention.  I move away from the thoughts, realizing I did not explain so well reflections during prayer, allowing a lingering, passing on into the experiential.  The significant other has proposed a vacation in mid-July to Mystic, Connecticut.  I am enthralled and enraptured by the idea.  We will be staying in a small cabin with an Atlantic Ocean view.  It will be a photographic bonanza.  We will swim in the ocean, canoe down the Mystic River, possibly take a steam train and river-boat cruise, allowing the days to present action and adventure.  She grew up in the town so familiarity will aid us in maximizing efforts.  It is good and exciting.  I am humbled with the thought of prayer, especially Rosaries, while looking out over the ocean.  Thinking ‘inside-out’, I am positive it is going to be monumental in the advancement of our relationship.  God is good and all giving.

Many psychologist have studied pathology (disease and abnormality defining)…we cannot really understand human nature when we look at it in a fragmented state; only a healthy integrated person can give us a true picture of what it means to be human (Jesus, divine in nature, provides the greatest example of humanity lived fully—His mother providing the example of the closes a human can follow in imitation and intimacy)…emphasis on the healthy person allows a focus on human possibilities, including the development of virtues, with its implications of spiritual development…“the Romans meant by virtue what made a man a man, and Christianity added spirit to men and soulfulness to women”…(to) begin with health rather than illness, he echoes our Christian belief that good is prior to evil, that human beings are created good and are meant to develop into the fullness of Christ (Eph. 3:14-21, 4:13-16).  As I have prayed with Linda (a wife) and become her friend, I’ve learned the single most important thing I do for her is to see the goodness and potential for health within her.  As I see her in this way—something I believe I can do because Jesus has helped me to see my wife as He sees her—she becomes more and more the person I see (the person with, through, and in Christ).  –Healing the Eight Stages of Life.

For this reason I bow my knees before the Father,
From whom every family in heaven and on earth is named,
That according to the riches of his glory
He may grant you to be strengthened with might through his Spirit in the inner man,
And that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith;
That you, being rooted and grounded in love, 
May have power to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth,
And to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge,
That you may be filled with all the fullness of God. 
Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think,
To him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations,
For ever and ever. Amen.

Letter to the Ephesians from St Paul the Apostle

A morning of beauty, porch sitting at Carter’s. It has been a while since I sat on the Cleveland Height’s porch writing, enjoying the splendor of being reflective.  I have not seen Carter in months, not sure how he is doing, assuming all is good in Virginia with his sister.  I have been concentrating on a recent tantrum, exploding while stuck in an awful traffic jam trying to get to work.  I left late, occupied with the significant other in cuddling and kissing, not ready in the least for the monstrosity of chaos and inconvenience awaiting me at the intersecting of Chagrin and interstate 271.  I should have known since I have been greeted twice with the unpleasantry in the last three days.  I assume it is the coming Republican National Convention causing all the road construction issues.  Driving home the same tribulation inflicted itself as the highway presented a mess of cones, misdirection, and overall conflagration due to the massive line painting being conducted.  Yet I have control only over myself.  I failed miserably in this regard.  Being late to work troubles me greatly, fear inducing extreme expression.  I was speaking lovingly to the significant other on my car-speaker phone as the construction presented itself.  I instantly recognized the severity and reality of the life intrusion.  I stood no chance of being on time.  Immensely irritated, I blew-up, exploding in wrath, screaming vindictives, swearing I had it with city-life, yelling with all my might, unable to stop myself.  The ubiquitous construction, the endless dealing with traffic, I could no longer stand.  Declarations, determinations, and conclusions were violently shouted from my mouth, my mind overwhelmed with impossibilities and insanity.  I allowed myself to go, continuing on the phone, allowing the significant other a glimpse into the worst of me.  I recall staying with the Rescuerer in Middleburg Heights, becoming so angry and upset with her that I would scream at her endlessly, giving myself a headache.  I would be absolutely consumed with wrath, anger vomiting from the core of my being, spewing neurotic psychosis about all over my existence.  I recall my father, the son of an alcoholic, an abandoned and fought over child witnessing the death of a mother before the age of five—torn away from tendering grandparents, removed from an idyllic farm-life to live with a battering drinking father and new mother.  My father would throw tantrums throughout his life.  Fathering sober, with complete love and attention, he could not control his temper.  Family events would always start with him throwing fits assembling everyone together properly.  It was insane.  He would make tremendous plans, purchasing proper supplies, tending to matters with great detail and intention of supplying something wonderful for his family, only to put everything together with the upmost anxiety and anger.  As a child it was funny, yet also scary.  So now I am an adult and I know how to throw an extreme exterior implosion myself.  The slightest annoyance of convenience brings forth intense consternation.  The significant other provided the sweetest, kindest, and gentlest companionship, a friend troubled, wanting to comfort and help, while believing and trusting in me.  She is authentic and sincere.  I showed her my worst, letting myself go and she still nurtures.  I am touched.  I am a deep man of prayer, graced with the wonder of losing myself in prayer–God is good and all giving. It provides proper confidence and direction, spiritual discernment. That is a part of me.  Being an all or nothing type of recovering alcoholic, I recognize the blessed aspects of my life as well as the shattered, pleading with my Lord to help bring me together in health and sanity, to allow me to become a whole being, allow me to allow the proper healing to occur, imploring My Lady Undoer of Knots to be so kind as to ceaselessly tender her healing compassion and love.  It is now wonderfully and efficaciously being enacted within my relationship with my significant other.  Painfully, I am surrendering, allowing myself to grow above fear on a deeper social level.  I am a loved child of God, and within such a reality I want to love.  A significant other, others always about, and me a man stumbling through life, desiring to be socially responsible.  A tear in one eye, a crutch propped under my right shoulder, looking up wearily, I can only do my best.  I accept companionship, simply and openly receiving love–it is hard for me.  Fortitude, perseverance, patience, all supporting and building upon my conviction to faith, hope, and charity.

Music listened to while preparing and writing, the sixties NYC counter-culture pop band The Velvet Underground.

Yesterday, I wrote a post, losing it while transferring between phone apps and a battery draining. I interpret it as the will of God. Maybe I am right and maybe I am wrong. The day proved eventful as I called off work in order to visit with my family in Toledo. My sister conducted a cookout in order to celebrate visiting family members from Spain, newlyweds. The lost post centered upon morning activities and personal reflections at that time. Relevancy persists, yet I will now, a day later, recreate in a different frame of mind. I celebrated Mass at the Jennings Center, the attending philosophical Indian priest conducting Mass. Afterwards the retired priest I visit with extended a personal blessing. During Mass, the interconnectedness of all souls emerged as a reality. We are not in this alone. God’s tapestry is a unified coalescing of beauty, wonder, mystery, and suffering. I made my way to the second floor in order to meet with a special friend who has taken a severe turn for the worst. Following a nurse changing dressings, the friend tried to acknowledge me, yet I told her to be at peace, to forgo the effort and simply repose. It was a matter of seconds before she fell into sleep. Leaving the Jennings Center, a bedside vigil presented itself. The patient passed away during the visit. The visit was a bit awkward as the man shared a room with another. The other watched a classical TV station, blaring the western shows from the fifties: ‘Bonanza’ and ‘Gunsmoke’. The loudness was disconcerting. An attendant with the man passing away informed me the daughter’s wish was the man did not pass away alone. He was not alone, and now in prayer he resides for the strengthening of my own soul. It is an honor and a gift of receiving to be placed by God in such a blessed situation. The unraveling, the deconstruction of my spiritual life continues. A significant other persists in becoming an embodiment of love, an internal longing stripping back layers, revealing personal inadequacies and deficiencies. The areas I need to strengthen become pronounced, making aware the reality I am human. I embrace the sidestepping of spiritual arrogance, the need to be perceived as a spiritual authority after years of dedication and pursuit. I am simply a broken man, recovering, trying to learn to love another. The significant other refines in ways that are painful, allowing God’s scalpel to cut away at the unconscious. I have hidden behind religion. I have hidden behind the façade of being a writer. Private personal fantasies have blinded, forcing me into crevices and corners, reducing me to delusion and dependency upon prayer not for the glorification of God, rather the need to overcome a lowered self-esteem. Further healing is necessary in order to advance. I am convinced a significant other is presented to commence in a restorative unified sharing. Soothingly, while a bit abrasive, a new challenge presents itself. I am enamored with the ease in which the significant other shares in socializing. Together we are natural, at ease amongst others. Already, my family requests her presence. Friends from St Paul Shrine made a point to call me over to them during Sunday’s post-Mass coffee and donuts, imploring to know where she was. We attended the family cookout with another friend from St Paul Shrine, a woman from El Salvador who just returned from a trip to Portugal, Spain, and France. It was a simple, unpretentious, enjoyable endeavor. During the drive home, at night enduring a downpour driving on the Ohio Turnpike, the three of us prayed a Rosary together. The Hispanic woman reciting portions in Spanish. Marvelous, melodic, and efficacious, it proved beautiful.