Contemplation

Sep262015

Mary’s Viaticum

I am intrigued by the Hospice of Western Reserve volunteer training. It will be all day training, allowing a full social endeavor. I did a satellite view of their property, pleasantly surprised to discover the facility residing lakeside. I have been wanting photos of Lake Erie, convinced the wide open spaces of the immense fresh lake will complement photos of North Dakota landscapes. The Sorrowful Mother Shrine added splendid wooded forest to my photo assemblage. I would like to get back to Our Lady of the Pines, capturing the amazing array of flourishing pine trees. I will spend Sunday with Carol, returning to the Sorrowful Mother Shrine. I have not done anything with Carol in weeks, and the opportunity to spend a day with her provides pleasantry. I am hoping Mary will come along, however she is not committing to plans. Joseph, the Hungarian, has been missing in action lately, and rumors abound that Juanita is plying him into a marriage proposal. I look forward to hearing the story straight from Joseph.  His stories are always filled with adventure and a zest for life. It is pleasant to have social friends centered upon the Church. Mary is the only one I truly elevate to a contemplative comrade, although in value that means nothing. In sharing, it provides someone to discuss spiritual direction, a give and take exchange. She appears a bit crazy, homeless and neglecting, yet in one-on-one discussion she is profound, and most important in prayer she absolutely disappears. Her prayer life is stout, exercised through adoration, allowing stillness and quietness to color her disposition and soul. There is nowhere Mary would rather be than sitting before the Eucharist. Sunday, she spoke to me of being upset due to the fact several women during coffee at St Paul Shrine were laughing at her expense, whispering in her presence. I assured her within the Church she should never feel insecure, amongst those shallow in pursuit she owed no credence. She is a woman who answers to God, and though the words are easy to say, I know it is upsetting for her to feel she is being mocked. Strong in faith, fearless in spiritual direction, she is still sensitive to the tongue of others. The more confidence I attain, through humility and the reaping of spiritual succors, aligned with the devastation of a wounded heart, unrequited solaces directed toward proper consolation, structure and sense, an ending with dignity allied with the Church absent, the more capable I become in regards to conflict, the protection of my spiritual life. Mary need fear nothing in my presence. During this six month discernment, she is essential as a spiritual comrade.

During the last phase of her life, not only was Mary’s charity fully developed, but her faith also had its supreme exercise. She had to believe not only in the divinity of Jesus, as when he was physically present, but also in his humanity in the Eucharist. Moreover, there was a painful gap between her faith and her charity. Mary loved Jesus, her God, with a mother’s love. “The Divine Mother”, the saints have dared to call her. And her motherhood did not end on earth; she was predestined to remain his mother in glory. Deprived of the physical presence of Jesus, she was plunged more deeply than ever before into the darkness of faith. This made her the poorest, the most mendicant of all the saints. Her need for Jesus and the Eucharist was almost physical; the Eucharist was a true viaticum enabling her to go on living. –Father Thomas Philippe ‘The Contemplative Life’

mary-and-eucharist

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Sep252015

Passing beyond one’s efforts

I have noticed my reading has centered upon a French spirituality. Father Thomas Philippe amazes, stunning in relevancy, broadening and deepening contemplative ideas. I am also completing a St Paschal Baylon Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament priest’s biography on St Peter Julian Eymard. Then there is the comical desert tramp Charles de Foucald, always ripe for the pleasing. Another Frenchman, another Sahara desert dweller, I also discovered while in North Dakota, Father Albert Peyriguere, a devotee of Foucauld. Father Peyriguere’s writing is in the tradition of two French religious, St Francis de Sales and St Jane de Chantal, that is spiritual direction through the exchanging of letters. The poignancy of Father Peyriguere’s writing is his ability, similar to Father Philippe, in advancing contemplative ideals beyond the idealistic. He pulverizes concepts while actively pursuing his individual path through the directing of another. Demonstrating the contemplative life is not a matter of knowledge, nor a silly self-consumed game of superior and inferior, a need to surround one’s self with weakness in order to feel comfortable in spiritual preeminence. The contemplative life is not a game, an intellectual pursuit, nor a social activity. The only way properly done, it is not of our doing. A deeper introspective spiritual life is more than learning concepts espoused by saints. It is more than articulating phenomenal spiritual acumen. I will quote my own writing, words from a young man: Damn this random effort and too many books. It is time to throw away your books, and all your puerile words you thrust at others as if they were daggers, sharpened for stabbing, victory for attaining. Quit vomiting all over yourself, and leave others alone. And what about the writing you do manage to accomplish, you treat every word with such a reverence…it’s disgusting…and the truths you do manage to conclude through reasoning…well, I never. I do not understand this behavior, as a matter of fact I find it despicable. You are an intellectual old man while not advancing and that is a stagnating state. Let go, unlearn, release and unwind, slowdown in order to be like a child. I’ll tell you what to do, interiorly evolve to the point you are able to smash your conclusions, affirm a reality, a truth if you need to call it that, and then be done with it and throw it aside. Avoid dwelling upon your conclusions for you will only warp reality into your personal perversion. Through the centuries, the world has been polluted enough. Ideas like the dark night of the soul, detachment, abandonment, contemplation, meditation become absurd in spiritual fantasy, minds scheming and dreaming attain an absurd status within imaginary perfection. Father Peyriguere, advising a seasoned nun, is acute in penetrating through a dedicated spiritual life failing in regards to advancement exceeding decades of practice.

What pleasure you gave me when you wrote that your life is “simplified”, calmed and illumined.” It was so complicated, so involved, so tense and tormented, so befogged with book learning. But we cannot stop struggling when deep within us there remains a bit of ourselves; or, to put it another way, since we must never look at ourselves even to deny ourselves, as long as we are not solely Christ. But you may still be looking for Christ outside of yourself, far from you, as for someone you want to draw towards you.

You are still trying to go to Christ in two stages: 1) You leave yourself, displeased with self, disapproving of and denying self. 2) You try to bring Christ in.

Proper means of unification: 1) You empty yourself. 2) You let Christ fill the void.

This is still too complicated. The trouble with this system is that in the long run, by being continually confronted with our faults and failings, we may grow tired and depressed and, at the same time we may minimize the part played by Christ in us, it is our doing, when really we had nothing to do with it.

Christ is not captured, is not conquered. We allow Him to come in and expose ourselves to Him. We do not take possession of Him, He he takes possession of us. –Father Albert Peyriguere ‘Voice from the Desert’

AlbertPeyriguere

Final note. Speaking of not doing things myself, I am recognizing it as a good thing, yet my new employment does not allow internet access while working, plus we stay constantly busy. I love being challenged at work, continually on the go or learning. Labor makes for a prosperous spiritual life, humbling and demanding accountability. My telephone service is minimal while in the building, internet accessibility nulled. I will only be making post first thing in the morning during work days. Tomorrow, a slow time in coming—to me a sign of the workings of God, I will finally attend training for the Hospice of Western Reserve, eight hours in commencing. Something within the happening soothes interiorly.

 

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Sep022015

Adding to identity

I am somebody. I am special, unique and proud. I have an identity that possesses meaning. A Jacob Riis turn of the century photo.

I am somebody. I am special, unique and proud. I have an identity that possesses meaning beyond my daily reality.  A Jacob Riis turn of the century photo.

 

Avoiding a reactionary mindset, comprehending the identifying of lesser ways puts forth the tendency of judgment–serving no deeper purpose such as silence beholds, I cannot help yet notice the self-empowerment the internet provides in promoting identity.  A caution to self, the ease of becoming someone, celebrating myself to excess, is a breeze upon the world wide web.  A Facebook page is something grand in attachment to identity, being something centered in a life ostracized from contemplative humility–the hidden nature Our Holy mother blessed upon her days something unknown.  Of course, others are not called to the contemplative path.  No harm in the conviction to dwell in identity, to complexly have fun, to be someone. What can I be if others do not know I am someone? I have to be someone in the eyes of the world, in the eyes of those I hope to allure.  The promoting of a fascinating dynamic self is not detrimental to salvation.  Another path exists, one bound for deeper dark waters. Can a contemplative waving his hands for attention be heard if he falls amidst the noise of others? Not sure. Of course, a tree is heard when it falls alone in silence.  To be a contemplative is to set upon the interior way, a path of perfection transcending self, focusing upon God.

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Sep012015

Thy Will Be Done

…the Bride in the Songs says: “The King brought me” (or “put me”, I think the words are) “into the cellar of wine.” It does not say that she went. It also says that she was wandering about in all directions seeking her Beloved. This, as I understand it, is the cellar where the Lord is pleased to put us, when He wills and as He wills. But we cannot enter by any efforts of our own; His Majesty must put us right into the centre of our soul, and must enter there Himself; and, in order that He may the better show us His wonders, it is His pleasure that our will, which has entirely surrendered itself to Him, should have no part in this. Nor does He desire the door of the faculties and senses, which are all asleep, to be opened to Him; He will come into the centre of the soul without using a door, as He did when He came in to His disciples, and said Pax vobis,and when He left the sepulchre without removing the stone. –St Teresa of Avila ‘Interior Castle’

1308

 

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Aug252015

Why is it that you ask my name?

Standing on the shoulders of giants, oh my heart, oh my heart,
Breaking thunder storms eclipsing the lapsing wrathful recriminations,
Accusations festering amidst the allegations rendered within complaints.
Wrestling God, wrestling angels, wrestling man, wrestling myself,
Tussling on a riverbank, announcing a name, demanding a name in return.
No name blesses within an assumed defeat of knowing.
The story within a mystery, within generations, within the Word.

“Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” And he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” Then he said, “Your name shall no more be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed.” Then Jacob asked him, “Tell me, I pray, your name.” But he said, “Why is it that you ask my name?” And there he blessed him. –Genesis chapter 32

 

 

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Aug252015

Pay Attention

During the diocese’s concentration upon the consecrated life open house Sunday at the Center for Pastoral Leadership seminary in Wickliffe, Ohio, I decided to videotape this sister’s lecture, testing for the first time my new camera’s video capabilities. I spoke with the sister, impressed with her disposition and words. Unfortunately, the battery for my camera ran out, and like a dummy I forgot to pack the second one still charging at home. The entire lecture was as good as this clip. I love the sister’s focus upon attention. Paying attention to the details of life, aware within the moment, is a powerful prayer discipline.  The effort the nun puts forth is a spiritual exercise able to strengthen one’s prayer life.  Observing with an open heart and mind, the process eliminates imagination, fantasy, manipulating, plotting and scheming as a way of life. Thoughts are corralled and kept in line with the Creator by lovingly tending to the environment surrounding.  Wandering thoughts, memorized words, self-centered petitions, prideful ambitions, distracting sloth, negative dispositions are all usurped by attentive perception.  The senses are acute and utilized to perceive the beauty and wonder of creation, the splendor of God displayed.

I think of a commanding story I read once. An artist friend, a spiritual free thinker, an intellectual centered within what I consider sixties hippie thought insisted I read the book ‘The Wind is My Mother’. The man is an incredibly kind and loving individual, always a pleasure to encounter. He is quite an expert at playing penny whistles, fifes, and wooden flutes he carves himself. He would not stop praising the book, challenging me to read it. I could not let him down, and once I finished the book I admitted it was one of the most incredible books I ever read. The author of the book, Bear Heart, is a Native American Shaman, an amazing man who embraced not only the traditional spiritual and healing arts of his ancestors, yet he expanded to excel as a university student, earning honors as he graduated with a doctorate in psychology.

Within his autobiography, Bear Heart told a story from his days in the United States military. He was being interviewed for a prestigious officer position. Many candidates were interviewed. When Bear Heart sat down before the interviewing officer, the officer surprised him. He proclaimed he was going to ask him one question. The same question he asked all of those being interviewed. The officer said: “You just waited over an hour in the lobby to be interviewed. I want you to describe to me the details of the lobby. Tell me what you saw out there while you were waiting”. Bear Heart preceded to describe the lobby down to the minutest detail. Wide eyed, the officer was stunned, proclaiming that the other candidates at best could only come up with vague descriptions, futile efforts to describe detail they were not clear about. The other candidates were so consumed with the interview; possibilities, projections, speculation, their imagination dominating their state of being. They were so consumed with the future they paid no attention to the moment. Bear Heart, through his extensive spiritual training, allowed the interview to wait until its proper time, trusting and confident, absorbed within the moment of waiting in the lobby, noticing and aware of all that surrounded him. It is a wonderful lesson.

Before the Eucharist, our mind should be so disciplined. Focused, centered within the moment.  We give all of our attention to the Lord, pleading with the Lord to gaze upon us, supplying wisdom, intoning the Holy Spirit to shower gifts, acknowledging Our Holy Mother as the dispenser of grace to be bountiful in her efforts, loving in her placement. Our attention is absorbed singularly in adoration.

Of course the mind will wander. My mind just wandered. I am going to follow it, allowing it to explore. I thought of the ending of the first movie in the Apu trilogy, ‘Pather Pancali’. I posted a video clip from the movie the other day. Consider the ending, I found it splendid, evoking spiritual charm.  Young Apu admiringly loved his older sister Darju, his only sibling.  Darju, impoverished, reduced to meager clothing and accessories, still dreamed of beauty, fascinated in one scene by the fanciful wedding gown of a young Indian bride. The scene I posted Darju is applying eyeliner before dotting her brow with a cosmetic third eye, captivated by the possibility of being an alluring beauty. There is a neighbor girl whose family is antagonistic toward Darju, always claiming she is stealing fruit from the orchard, branding her a thief to the community. The orchard once belonged to her family, however the irresponsible deeds of an uncle cost the entire family ownership. One afternoon, the neighboring family appears enraged with accusations that the thief Darju had gone too far by stealing a beaded bracelet. Crying, the neighbor girl insisted she knew it was Darju because Darju could not put the necklace down, hypnotized when she held it. The girl’s mother roared with threats and incriminations. Confronted, Darju vehemently denied the theft, going to great lengths to proclaim her innocence. The event passed, time transpired. In the end of the movie, Darju becomes critically ill with a fever. During a dramatic storm scene, all nature in an uproar, the young girl passes away. Apu is shattered by the loss of his sister. Rummaging through her room, lost in melancholy, Apu finds buried in her things the beaded bracelet. Tears fall. Within the tremendous love of his sister he confronts the reality she was a thief and a liar. Crying, he runs outdoors, throwing the bracelet into the swamp water. In an amazing scene, the bracelet sinks below the surface of the water, the plant growth covering the water is burst open as the bracelet splashes into the water. The films holds the striking moment in a fascinating cinematic effort as the plant growth reforms into an unbroken covering. The splash of the bracelet is made nonexistent. Within the consuming love for his sister, Apu accepts her imperfections and weaknesses. He protects her.  No one else will know of her misdeed.  Love is the only thing he will allow to embrace the remembrance of his sister.

The short lecture clip Pay Attention.

 

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Aug192015

Abandonment while participating

Now it is enough to worship God perfectly with your substance, that is, with the offering of your naked being….Leave the awareness of your being unclothed of all thoughts about its attributes, and your mind quite empty of all particular details relating to your being or that of any other creature. For such thoughts will not satisfy your present need, further your growth, nor bring you and others closer to perfection. Let them alone. Truly these meditations are useless to you now. But this blind, general awareness of your being, conceived in an undivided heart, will satisfy your present need, further your growth, and bring you and all mankind closer to perfection. Believe me, it far surpasses the value of any particular thought, no matter how sublime. –‘The Book of Privy Counseling’

I remember when I first came across the book combining ‘The Cloud of Unknowing’ and ‘The Book of Privy Counseling’. It was during my confusing, wandering young adulthood, leaving the home of my parents to embark upon the life of an artist/writer, or whatever it was I was doing—a young observer of the world, heart open, seeking worldly experience. Consumed with a call, yet knowing nothing about where I was going, psychologically disturbed, lacking self-discipline, irresponsible, reckless, wounded and broken, immature emotionally, immature intellectually, open minded to the point of foolishness, I can only look back and identify divine providence as keeping me safe from harm’s way. God was watching over me–Mary my personal protector. The mentioned book containing two works, I purchased at a Salvation Army store in Toledo, Ohio, located on Sylvania Avenue in the early eighties. The moment is still right there before me. I discovered the book along with St Louis de Montfort’s ‘The Secrets of the Rosary’ digging through the stores large collection of paperbacks. Instantly, the cover of both books captivated, fascinating to a point of immersion—eliminating all other voices, creatures, and personal experiences. The books were found right next to one another. At that time, unemotionally, without great opinion, lacking all persuasion, I knew this was my path. Other avenues would be explored, however there was nothing I could do about matters. It was grace. It was not my decision. Here was my way. It continues to be my path. Now thirty years later, through much turmoil, the conviction remains, advancing to the solitary.

I find the inclusion of photography in my personal endeavors expanding. Images replacing thought. Vision replacing analyses. Observing replacing commentary. The living of that which is quoted above. Regarding photography, there is much to learn, not only taking photographs, yet also handling and editing. I am experimenting with aperture, shutter speed and ISO settings, as well as editing techniques, truly figuring out how to take and present quality photos. I am thinking about taking a class. I like the idea with respect to increasing my social activity in a healthy adult manner. There are several personal pursuits that demand patience. I admire the time calling me to do nothing. To busy myself with useless activity, flooding my life with new people, in order to obfuscate self-knowledge is dangerous. I am confident God desires that I prove I can turn my attention solely and simply upon Him. The Hospice of Western Reserve paperwork is filed. I must wait until classes in September for further qualifying for the volunteer work centered upon the Rosary. Alluring religious correspondence I hold in reserve, granting dignity and privacy, also slowly simmers upon a backburner. I learn to take photos and wait.

I offer a prayer/poem from Pope John Paul II.

O blessed Rosary of Mary,
Sweet chain that unites us to God,
Chain of love that unites us to the angels,
Tower of salvation against the assaults of Hell.
Safe harbor in the universal shipwreck,
We will never abandon you.
You will be our comfort in the hour of death,
To you the last kiss
Of our dying life.
And the final words on our lips
Will be your sweet name,
O Queen of the Rosary of Pompeii,
O dearest Mother,
O refuge of sinners,
O sovereign comforter of the afflicted.
Be everywhere blessed, today and forever,
On earth and in heaven.
Amen.

I was working with ISO settings and shutter speed, yet the heart of the photo proves greatest. My basketball friends bring a smile. Cliff, an 86 year old gentleman who plays with us, lost his wife over the weekend.

I was working with ISO settings and shutter speed, yet the heart of the photo proves greatest. My basketball friends bring a smile. Cliff, an 86 year old gentleman who plays with us, lost his wife over the weekend. Notice Ron warming up in the background.

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