The point of this blog I feel needs to be identified.  I perceive eyes discovering.  I am no religious expert.  I am a man called to the contemplative life.  Humbly, I state I do it well, able to allow God to elevate, chosen in a certain simple anonymous way.  I am trying my best, convinced brutal honesty surpasses a delusional façade of religious piety. I am who I am, advancing knowing myself, working within my state of imperfection.  I abhor delusion.  It is prevalent, too easy to center upon once one becomes sensitive to religious peculiarities.  It is no place to place attention, yet too often I do.

My recoveries efforts from severe alcohol abuse, a battle fought and finished, now embraces the living of life.  Oddly enough, the spiritual life comes easy to me, prayer a solace I could maintain for hours if allowed.  There is no place I would rather be than in front of the Eucharist, simple and still.  The spiritual life has always been instinctual and a charm, yet that is not enough.  The trouble for me is perseverance within the mundane ritual of being a small man, a simple responsible man, establishing a life of security and stability.  Since my entrance into adulthood, I perceived myself as an artist, an existential identity of being different, unique in perception more than brilliant in skill or intellect.  It never served me well on the natural level.  It is one of the reasons I am so strong on smashing the idea of identity, the desperation of approaching life based upon being someone.  I am tired of trying to be someone.  Now, I live to allow Christ to be alive in me.  I fall immensely short, yet the longing endures.

An important part of this blog is assisting me in establishing permanency, living a life that really works on all levels.  I work stuff out in this blog, expressing, using names.  There is a point.  Life is difficult for me.  The reason this extraordinary effort, being small and stable is so important is the fact I am determined to live a life of sound contemplative practice.  I need a life of stability and normalcy in order to love God greater.  I am not called to be a mendicant, or a wandering fool, or a holy roller of highways, or a desert hermit, or a mountaintop wise man.  I am a man of the world my father endured.  My path is to prove I can be nothing special, a humble good man of the world, one who loves God, and my fellow man.  For me that is the whole reason for living, for making myself small in identity, need, and deed.  It is all to love God greater.

My contemplative efforts are being taken to a higher level as I am convinced it is God’s will.  His grace guiding, alighting upon my efforts, tickling my every endeavor, even those I falter within.  The weight of Divine scrutiny and assistance overpowers my life anymore.  Still, I struggle.

Regarding the establishing of stability, the natural life being conquered, an announcement regarding work must pour forth.  I am being permanently hired, a strange incident announcing the event.  Others have spoken to me regarding the event, however tonight prominence pronounced itself through the mouth of a man strangely emerging as a supporter.  The man follows me on third shift, busting my balls, redoing my work, absolutely a bear upon my every effort.  Tonight over the radios we carry, he called my name in his intimidating manner.  He starts his shift a half hour early, overlapping our shift.  Having just about enough of him, I snapped immediately back, informing him I would be right over to speak face to face.  I felt I knew what he wanted to confront me with.  I was ready for him.  We have already argued several times.  Once reaching him, he handed me a piece of paper clearly detailing a job I performed earlier in the day, assisting me greatly in understanding the task I completed.  I thanked him, humbled a bit.  He congratulated me on being hired, informing me he starts his day checking my log, and inspecting my work.  I said ‘no kidding, it drives me crazy’.  He told me I do good work.  It made me feel huge.  He went on, telling me he would still be inspecting everything I do, giving me a year before he would back off.  His work is good.  I respect him.  I could only laugh at his words.  I discussed several jobs I had performed recently, asking for advice.  Not only am I being hired into a position lucrative for me, placing me in the $70-80,000 range, I am finding friends, soldiers in battle, men I would walk into the line of fire with.  It all builds, igniting my spiritual life, giving me greater confidence that with time I will be able to have sound income, the means to retire, a path to love God greater.  Every breath I take is focused upon the contemplative life.  Even with the monastic life lingering in delight, I must establish I am a man capable and secure, a man of stability.  It allows me to satisfy the spiritual demand that I am able to humble myself to the world, content and contrite to be just another soul toiling away in the dirt.  I do not live in delusion, nor do I force the world to accept my delusions, imposing self-will, inflicting upon others a man of shortcomings.  I am simple and sound.  I am not noisy and demanding.  I am not forcing everyone to see me as a holy man or a church authority.  I understand it means a lot to God.  It is part of my path, my blue collar roots, homage to my father, his father, and his father….I do not have to think I am greater than everything that came before me.

God my love for you is a love of a simple life, a love of my father, a love of my mother, a of love my brothers and sisters, an example for my son, a love of my family down through the ages and beyond into future generations.  I am not a world onto myself.

In sweet quiet….”the will alone is captivated” by the living light that manifests the sweet presence of God in us and His goodness. At this moment the gift of piety, which is in the will itself, disposes it to an entirely filial affection toward God…..We experience the greatest peace, calm, and sweetness in the inmost depths of our being….The whole physical part of our nature shares in this delight and sweetness….Then, says St. Teresa, the will should “take no more notice of the understanding (or imagination) than it would of an idiot.”

This sweet quiet, called also the prayer of divine tastes or of silence, is, moreover, often interrupted by the aridities and trials of the night of the senses, by temptations which oblige the soul to a salutary reaction. The effects of the prayer of quiet are greater virtue, especially greater love of God and ineffable peace, at least in the higher part of the soul.
The prayer of quiet described by St. Teresa in the fourth mansion has three distinct phases: (1) passive recollection, which is a sweet and loving absorption of the will in God by a special grace; (2) quiet, properly so called, in which the will is captivated by God, whether it remains silent or prays with a sort of spiritual transport; (3) the sleep of the powers, when, the will remaining captive, the understanding ceases to discourse and is itself seized by God, although the imagination and the memory continue to be disturbed.

The conduct to be observed in the prayer of quiet is that of humble abandonment in the hands of God. No effort should be made to place oneself in this state, which can come only from a special grace of the Holy Ghost, who at times inclines the soul to a loving silence, at others to affections which gush forth as from a spring. If the understanding and imagination wander, the soul must not be disturbed about it, or go in search of them; the will should remain and enjoy the favor it receives, like a wise bee in the depths of its retreat. –Father Reginald Garrigou-LaGrange

I would like to focus on prayer. The writing of Father Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange on Teresa of Avila’s prayer of quiet fits in nicely with my rambling imagination during prayer today. My prayer life has taken a bit of a hit as I took to the life of a teenager, occupying my time with lunches and socializing after mass, talking about the spiritual life and having fun becoming a focus. I do not see the spiritual life as entertainment, a source of socializing and amusement. There is joy, yet something solemn, serious, and mature; a strict prayer life demanded if one has been called to an advanced life. It is not a matter of superiority rather a chore, accountability a severity. If one is to advance it is not through conversation. I embrace fellowship, loving brother and sister, yet spiritually I am a mature Contemplative, working hard at my vocation. My spiritual life is not lived out in the life of others. I am detached from having others hear my religious thoughts and opinions. There are few I find who nurture through conversation. I have been enjoying a wonderful balancing of devout worship and fellowship at St Paul Shrine. After mass and adoration, I have been sitting with the extern sisters watching religious movies in the lobby, ‘The Reluctant Saint’ the latest. There have been numerous wonderful healthy individuals sharing the joy of the season, while also touching on the passing of Roger. It all comes together to heighten and deepen faith, hope, and charity. I understand the last frontal assault by Satan was conducted due to my opening of myself to a life of chatter, shallowness, and mediocrity. During the completion of Advent, I determinedly intend to return to a spiritual life of prayer. I will not give my Advent season away to fickleness and a lack of direction and the boredom of others. I am not playing at life. I interpret my week of no Hospice activity as a serious breach in my spiritual life. I wandered into frivolity and nonsense.

My thoughts driving to work, reflecting upon the Holy Hour, centered upon an extensive interior cave, marveling at the wonder of the Rosary and other prayers to create a centering for my imagination and memory, occupying the two with activity, interior stillness created. Ironically, the words are the essence of a quieting, their manifestations an eliminating, their repetition and holiness soothing, their guidance a sheltering and protection, their reality a transcendence of concepts and intellectualizing, their exercising a revealing of faith, hope, and charity–a sublime adoration and trust in God.  Symbolically, thy are Mary taking me behind the hand, guiding me to the Trinity. This is important for those developing a prayer life, a description of what to aspire toward. Take in the commentary of Father Reginald on St Teresa of Avila’s prayer of quiet above, reread the words two or three times, than consider what I am describing closely. It is merely descriptive, nothing to be learned, a predilection pointed toward, practice the mastering, the fulfilling absolutely divine: God, the Creator, exercising Divine Will. Before the Eucharist, the verbal prayer becomes only a part of consciousness, something greater exist, an interior space created, surrounding and enveloping the mental reciting of words. My being, individual consciousness is beyond the silent or spoken verbal words. The Eucharist fills. The Eucharist becomes forefront and center, tangible and effervescent. It is why I am absolutely enamored with the vessels the sisters have decorated the altar with, a filling artistically and beautifully represented, interior emptiness and space symbolically identified. I have been trying to get a photo of the purple vessels, yet complications have arisen the past two days. Today, I will get one. Let’s review, sitting still before the Eucharist, comfortable, no stirring, holding a single position, I recite Rosaries, prayerfully mouthing the words, the instinctual and practiced words flowing forward, roses tossed at the feet of the Immaculate Mary. Yet now something greater emerges. There is space, emptiness surrounding the interiorly sounded words. Once again, the prayed words are only a backdrop, sounds within a cave, echoing, bouncing around consciousness before falling at the feet of Mary. As the space surrounding the words becomes larger, ever moving outward it becomes obvious a cave, which once seemed the proper interpretation by the imagination, is no longer defining. Everything is greater. The emptiness is expansive, unable to be filled by my being. Everything goes on and on and on. Everything progresses slowly, motion imperceptible. Sensual perception, acute attention, is turned off, highly aware, open and effective nothing is beholden. Vision blurs, things coming and going in focus. The Eucharist is held firm in sight, gazed upon, quieted by the words of the Rosary. The words of the Rosary are only a part, emptiness envelopes the words. Beads held and passing through fingers, rolled circular round tips, are rhythmically stimulating, slow in advancing. The Cross, the Crucifixion, the head of the Rosary beads is grasped firmly in the other hand, held steady and strong–the death of Jesus prominent and proud, his sacrifice soothing digging into the palm, the cross squeezed extreme during moments of fleshly irritation. It is the best I can do in honoring and calling out to the Queen of Heaven, while the presence of her Divine Son, the Eucharist hovers in magnificence, omnipotence and omnipresence granted their undefinable glorious grandeur within simplicity as an edible Host. More defining to Mary is the space she is elevated within. Mary, Queen of Heaven, is who she is by all that surrounds her. The space within being filled by the Eucharist, the expanding dimensions existing within my being, a flowing out of myself occurs with the filling of myself by the Eucharist, unification is hinted at yet seems far out of reach, a future to come. I know I am called to be here, right now at this moment, sitting at St Paul Shrine, adoring the Eucharist.  Calm joy arouses the interior expansion, the word rapture enticing, yet it sounds too dramatic, there is no drama involved. God loses all proportion and identity during infusion, everything is being swallowed by the emptiness, a roar silently bellowing, words of prayer ceased, complete, everything moving outward, a beckoning on into……

Supernatural
The natural life of Christ
Unadulterated, radiating pure
On in to transcendence
Faith…Hope…Charity…
A solitary life lived, a solitary death endured
Beyond the sublime image and likeness
Through a simple birth mystical
Unknown secrets whispered into the soul
Angels appearing, prophecy portending, never hearing
The gifts of wonder blessed upon the earth
No need any more to consummate follies
Emptiness illuminating, lacking prevailing, longing eternal
A presence expands, shining forth,
Unafraid of death, loving life, fearing the Lord

The necessity of the gifts of the Holy Ghost…springs from the imperfect mode of even lofty Christian virtues in our souls. Consequently the more the soul advances toward perfection, the more the gifts must intervene; so much so indeed that their superhuman mode must end by prevailing, in an order superior not only to the processes of casuistry, but also to those of asceticism and to methods of prayer. This is the very foundation of our doctrine.

St Thomas teaches that the gifts of the Holy Ghost are necessary to salvation. “Of all the gifts,” he says, “wisdom seems to be the highest, and fear the lowest. Each of these is necessary to salvation: since of wisdom it is written: ‘God loveth none but him that dwelleth with wisdom’ (Wisdom 7:28): and of fear: ‘He that is without fear cannot be justified’ (Eccles 1:28). Because our Lord knew the profound needs of our souls, He promised us to the Holy Ghost, from whom we have received the sevenfold gift. –Father Reginald Garrigou Lagrange ‘Christian Perfection and Contemplation According to St Thomas Aquinas and St John of the Cross’

It is very important to know that St John of the Cross had brought together his Collected Works in their written form after he, by the grace and love of God, had attained to the highest spiritual state of perfection possible here on earth, referred to variously as “The Spiritual Union of Love”, or the spiritual state of Mystical Theology (Secret Wisdom, Secret Understanding, or Secret Knowledge of God).  It is termed “Secret” because it is experienced without knowing it.  St John of the Cross affirmed that if anyone were to go through the experience, and were asked to describe it, such a person would be compelled to say as he did, “I don’t know what it is.”  –‘Spiritual Direction Spiritual Directors: St Francis de Sales, St Teresa of Avila, Thomas Kempis, and St John of the Cross’.  Joseph Paul Kozlowski

The Living Flame Of Love

St John of the Cross

O living flame of love
that tenderly wounds my soul
in its deepest center! Since
now you are not oppressive,
now consummate! if it be your will:
tear through the veil of this sweet encounter!

O sweet cautery,
O delightful wound!
O gentle hand! O delicate touch
that tastes of eternal life
and pays every debt!
In killing you changed death to life.

O lamps of fire!
in whose splendors
the deep caverns of feeling,
once obscure and blind,
now give forth, so rarely, so exquisitely,
both warmth and light to their Beloved.

How gently and lovingly
you wake in my heart,
where in secret you dwell alone;
and in your sweet breathing,
filled with good and glory,
how tenderly you swell my heart with love.

Something coalesces within everything happening to me right now demanding absolute acquiescing to mystery, vulnerability, and the presence of God actively working upon me.  I am awestruck by the look of dementia patients when they stare deeply into my eyes.  Their bewilderment with their surroundings, their helplessness, their lack of understanding, all within in a sense of peace, a grace, an awareness beyond understanding.  Last night after observing the woman peacefully asleep, being told she is hours away from passing, at the most days, knowing she was consumed with cancer, suffering from severe dementia, I found her beautiful, a veil of splendor adorning her space.  Her white hair, thinned, sparsely populating her skull appeared refined, immaculately clean.  I wanted to brush her hair, to more than bring comfort to her, to be with her and experience the grace she was receiving.  Her life had culminated into a helpless, indescribable, and unsharable state of receiving.  She was a broken vessel being filled.  There was no sign of pain.  Within a horrible physical condition, she seemed absolutely absorbed within grace.  It reminds me of when I was younger my fascination with the eyes of babies, staring into their eyes every chance I could, just holding their gaze, wondering the state of their thoughts and mind.  I remember a Marvel comic book I read when younger, I think it was the X-men or something similar.  A superhero woman possessed the power to read minds, transposing herself into the minds of others.  A fellow superhero playfully asked her to enter the mind of her infant child, to experience the mind of the baby and tell everyone what it was like. The superhero woman transferred her consciousness to the baby’s and after bringing herself back to her adult superhero body she broke into tears.  Those gathered around her demanded to know what happen.  Amidst tears the woman stammered, ‘Don’t make me talk.  Please do not make me talk.  Everyone go away, leave me alone.  I cannot do that again.  It was too wonderful.  It hurt.’  Last night, when I awoke from my Rosary, finding the woman who I assumed would never open her eyes, staring at me I felt dumbfounded, only able to apologize to her for falling asleep while praying for her, self-consciously worried about snoring for I knew I fell deeply into sleep.  She simply stared, observing a stranger sitting next to her bed.  I have no idea or speculation what her thoughts were, or whether I could even comprehend her state of consciousness.  Grace appeared to hold her captive, spellbound, and beyond understanding.  I love the St John of the Cross poem, a poem from his final years, the fruition and completion of his vocation as a Carmelite priest.  It seems accurately descriptive, poetically embracing the unknown.  I think it is important to keep in mind that beyond the superhero reputation he now possesses as a mystical saint the huge pesona does an injustice to his reality as a natural man.  He was a diminutive man, small in stature, a man of unremarkable appearance, one who went unnoticed.  His life was a hidden life for the most part.  He drew as little attention to himself as he could.  St Teresa of Avila and others placed him in prominent positions amidst monasteries and the Carmelite order, going against his tendency to disappear into anonymity, seeking the companionship of those who abhorred him.  His final years may have been his most favorable for they were spent with a religious authority who did not like him, perceiving him as arrogant.  It was the years of the inquisition, an intense time of spiritual scrutiny, heresy, or better still others determining you spiritual ways were heretical, brought torture and death.  St John of the Cross welcomed the scrutiny over praise.

O living flame of love, that tenderly wounds my soul in its deepest center!  The line is powerful, apropos for several other things coalescing, coming together without my approval or effort.  One is my complete absorption in mass: that tenderly wounds my soul in its deepest center!  My experience in mass is best left alone, bonding with the Poor Clares apart, receiving the Eucharist within a spiritual home, has become all absorbing—nothing else matters during mass, I am consumed, yet within exists a serious negativity.  Mass makes everything else seem inconsequential, life appears as a joke, a hilarious illusion, unessential and to be toyed with.  Yet that is a dangerous and false interpretation, a serious error waiting to be inflicted upon my natural life, a source of drinking in years past.  Then the reappearance of Ann in my life comes into play.  It is the very thing she attacks, losing myself to the spiritual.  I am so overwhelmed by her I absolutely become rendered to frustration and helplessness; consumed with passion (positive/negative), emotion (love/hate), and an absolute conviction we belong together.  It is so hurtful, and it is not codependent as she insist upon defining it.  I just want to scream at her, to do something dramatic, to hold her…  It is awful and horrible.  I pray God would just make her disappear.  I would love to walk away from her, to abandon everything about her.  Nothing would make me happier than to spit in her face and tell her to fuck off, to hurt her deeply and be done with everything, yet I cannot do it. I know I should not, and that God wants me to continue to come at her, to continue to be frustrated and dumbfounded by her ways.  There is something deeply divine in my helplessness before her.  All she has to do is speak and I am made obedient.  I hate it.  I hoped with all my heart Ramona would save me from her, however our intelligent and insightful conversation on the state of both of our lives clearly demonstrates that an intimate relationship is not ethically feasible.  Ramona and I can share spiritual fellowship, yet respect and distance must be applied in regards to male/female properness.  She will not serve as an escape from Ann, and it was disrespectful to selfishly place her in such a position.  My overwhelming desire to be rid of Ann is not a proper start to a relationship with another woman.  Ramona has her own story, her own unique life with its private and precious wonders and woes.  She is a married woman of depth and must be prayed for, allowed to find her own peace, to be assisted in her struggle forward in pursuit of God without further complications from me.

St John of the Cross. Euclid, Ohio.

My heart is warmed, placed into a call for peace.  Lord be with me, give me strength within weakness, give my life meaning in order to share, transform me into a vestibule guiding to your grace.  Another bedside vigil calls this evening at midnight.  God is good and all giving.

There was something more to Mr Nagle’s Thomas Merton performance last night, a message from God I decipher. The St Ignatius group celebrating an annual awards ceremony was a national recovery based institution, focusing upon homelessness, removing individuals from the streets by assisting them with substance abuse through the AA twelve step program and spiritual retreats. A man and a woman told their stories of recovery, focusing upon finding God. I was moved by their stories. This is the second time in less than two weeks that I have become scattered, a nervous wreck. Friday meeting with Dr Nichta, he said, ‘Jim, you realize you are talking a mile a minute, and you are all over the place? I cannot keep up with you’. I scheduled an appointment for next Friday. I will continue to see him. Ann, I owe you an apology. I focused on you. Work has me stressed out, and I turned my anxiety upon you. I want your voice back in my life, assist me through my probationary, discernment period, at work please. The Hospice starts this week, and I am going to look into at least one AA meeting a week. My session with Dr Nicola demonstrated I need people to unload upon, my social world needs expanded, an outlet focused upon recovery and releasing. There is not a chance in Hell, I will drink, yet last night and recent experience clearly shows there is more to recovery than not drinking. Please except my apology, consider my plea. I would appreciate your voice to return as an influence. Consider matters deeply as you always do. I am off at eleven.