We shall never succeed in knowing ourselves unless we seek to know God: let us think of his greatness and then come back to our own baseness; by looking at his purity we shall see our foulness; by meditating upon his humility, we shall see how far we are from being humble.
If we turn from self towards God, our understanding and our will become nobler and readier to embrace all that is good: if we never rise above the slough of our own miseries we do ourselves a great disservice. –Teresa of Avila ‘Interior Castle’
Getting to know myself, it is good to return to routine and schedule, allowing my focus to effectively return to God. Yesterday marvelous, extending myself socially exhausts me. A wonderful day, it is good to return to that which brings the greatest depth to life: the Eucharist, prayer and meditation, mass with the Poor Clares. Routine: morning coffee and today a cinnamon roll gifted from Carter’s girlfriend upon visiting a Toledo bakery we discussed; reflection upon my life, avoiding self-absorption, exercise—walk/jog in Cain Park and onto St Paul’s for mass and adoration. It is good to return to that which provides structure, the establishing of closure. Dr. Nichta defines my effective mode of living…primary mode of living is focused internally, where you take things in via your five senses in a literal, concrete fashion. Your secondary mode is external, where you deal with things rationally and logically.
The negative aspect of my personality must be realized. I am not naturally in tune with my feelings, nor the feelings of others. Too much social activity reinforces unconstructive tendencies. I lose a bit of focus upon propriety if I spend too much time with others. At St Paul’s, a celebration of baptism occurred after mass. There was a group of attractive proper young women attending, all in fine dresses, appearing exquisite. I was overwhelmed by the experience, distracted, uncomfortable, made weary by the women. Later at the Cathedral, a woman wearing yoga pants assisted the young man selling olive wood finery from Bethlehem. It took a serious effort not to stare at the assistant. For all the spiritual progress I make, concentrating my Lady Undoer of Knots novena upon loneliness and lust, a warfare still takes place. I should add these struggles occurred while thoroughly enjoying the companionship of Carol, whose trust, admiration, support and friendship grows with every encounter. Prayer, quiet time, reading, writing allows my natural tendencies to center myself upon God. There is a delicate balance establishing healthy mental effectiveness. I feel blessed to have discovered the retreat, a week focused upon reflection and prayer—religious pursuits; study, writing and prayer, while centered amidst a structured Catholic environment: scheduled meals, daily activities, mass with the sisters, overall a healthy large social gathering, including group meals. My expectations are low, demanding only seclusion and Catholic structure: a balancing between isolation and community. Anything beyond and above, I am considering a bonus.
The title Our Lady of the Pines originates from a fifteenth century Mary apparition on the Canary Islands, located between Morocco and Spain. A link to the Basilica del Pino official website.
The victory of suffering from ‘All We Know of Heaven’, wisdom within bedtime reading—the ultimate story of the Son of God: the Triumph of Weakness, the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. Antoine observes a visiting Tibetan abbess smash crabapples with her heel into the earth. She, the Venerable Cello–spiritual mother to over six thousand nuns, feeds herself with the dirty created mush. The simple religious woman entered the Cistercian monastery with a group of visiting Tibetan monks. The Trappist were unaware she was a woman until her nickname, Cello, was explained. The holy woman, saying over a thousand rosaries a day, is an immense survivor. When the Chinese occupied Tibet she fled through the Himalayas with thirty of her religious sisters. Only three would survive the mountainous trek. With respect to her gender, she was removed from the Catholic monastery, placed in the guesthouse. Antoine worried she would be insulted. The other Tibetan monks laughed at his concern, expressing the fact Cello would contently sleep upon the sidewalk if asked.
As sunlight drew away from the orchard, it came to him (Antoine), the thread that bound their lives together. Cello was abandoned by society. She was marginal. The abbess was as defenseless and as irrelevant to the world as an orphan. And as a monk, so was he.
The experience of many days clicked into a clear order in his head. Antoine saw before him a Cello who had survived immense suffering in the Himalayas to offer a living witness to anyone interested: nothing less than the reversal of world order. As weak as she was—as weak as all humans are—Cello was fully awake. The wisdom of peace was hers, an old woman grounded in “suchness,” her smile shining through all things and meeting no opposition.
He (Antoine) saw that his own behavior was to blame for his sour discontent. His growth as a monk had been checked by his own longing for a better place to live, better people to live with.
Marginalized, yet dignified–magnificence within poverty and worldly exile.
The novel ‘All We Know of Heaven’ moved me. The young man, having entered the monastery, enjoying a solid novitiate, suddenly struggles mightily with lustful thoughts, bringing to a halt his ability to sleep and the endurance of inner turmoil. His days become drudgery and toil. Even more devastating is the fact his severe temptation is homosexual in nature, calling into question his very worth as a man. His fearful thoughts force him to nearly attempt self-castration, going as far as cutting himself before stopping himself. Within our personal struggles, battling our deepest demons, exist the greatest opportunity for grace, within our wounds Christ comes at us the strongest, within our brokenness is the greatest opportunity to know the love of God. “…where sin increased, grace abounded all the more, so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through righteousness to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord”. (Romans 5). An area Dr. Nichta and myself discussed in depth yesterday was the idea of self-knowledge elevating contemplative efforts. To know who I am is to become a more effective seeker of God. Brutal honesty is necessary in realizing my weaknesses, for within my weaknesses is the area for the greatest growth, and therefore the pouring down of the greatest graces. Ultimate victory must come through the defeating of that within us which is the furthest from God. Freedom comes from the expanding of faith, hope, and charity, opening ourselves to the gifts of the Holy Spirit, acquiring the understanding to know the things that take us away from God, the wisdom to to discern the difference between enslavement of the flesh and the freedom of spiritual expansion. Immediate sensual gratification, the indulgence of all our wants, desires, fantasies and worldly desires is placing ourselves in slavery to immaturity, an undisciplined childish approach to life, a diet of candy and sweets. Everlasting freedom is spiritual warfare, the task of doing the things in our heart we know are righteous. God’s ways are not foreign and unknowable. We are gifted with a conscious. It is the discipline, the accomplishing of the difficult that is our demanding task.
In the novel, contemplate this episode. After a community vote, the young man is accepted, personally by the abbot, to swear solemn vows. Previous to the scene, the young man sat outside the meeting, slightly able to hear, distinguishing a heated argument. The loud voice of Martin, the Irish monk the main character developed an infatuation with, experiencing an episode in which he expressed his feelings to Martin, became audible. They had not spoken since. Martin ignoring him intensely. Martin could be heard yelling and arguing with the abbot. Relying upon reason, self-conscious, the main character prepared to be rejected, dejectedly aware of his failings.
“This is the grand silence. Forgive me,” Dom Jacques (abbot) whispered as he sat down at his desk, “but I wanted you to know that the lengthy chapter had nothing to do with you. We took the vote before any shouting began. In five minutes, that was all over. We’ve accepted you. Congratulations.” He pointed to a chair, and Antoine (main character), shaking in the knees, went to sit. Relief washed over him so suddenly that he nearly missed the chair and fell on the floor.”
“You should know,” the Abbot continued, “that Brother Martin and I have been at odds.” His expression was sober. “An argument broke out between us over the possibility of his transfer to another abbey. I was thrown off balance. I’m afraid. Not prepared for an outburst in chapter, I lost my temper.” The Abbot folded his hands. “And as it stands, I think Martin is resolved to leave religious life altogether.”
Antoine’s mouth dropped. Though tension had melted when he learned of his acceptance, this was now checked in thinking that he might have had something to do with Martin’s leaving.
“Reverend Father,” he said, “There’s something you should know.” He blinked several times. Straightening his back, he stumbled on, hardly knowing what to say. “When I asked to be moved in the dormitory because of my mattress, I told you a lie. My request had nothing to do with a mattress. Truth is, I am strongly attracted to Brother Martin.”
“The matress?” Dom Jacques asked.
“Yes. I told you that my mattress was shaped for someone else and kept me from sleeping. But you see, it was really Martin who kept me awake.”
“Martin?”
Antoine closed his eyes for a moment and tried to rephrase his tumble of words. “Yes. Please understand I’m…I think I’m attracted to Martin. What I mean is…I think I’m a homosexual.”
The Abbot waited for more, but Antoine had nothing more to say. A moment went by and the Abbot looked at his watch.
“Yes,” he said. “Each of us has his burden to bear. Listen, Brother, it’s getting late. You’d best get to bed.”
Antoine stood and walked to the door on unsteady legs. He hesitated, thinking the Abbot had not heard correctly. Perhaps he should repeat the confession. The Abbot spoke again.
“Antoine,” he said. “Pray for Brother Martin. Pray for God’s blessing upon him. You of all people might be in the best position to do that.”
“Yes, Reverend Father.” Antoine stood at the door for a moment, then he left the office and made his way to bed. There it was, simple and straightforward: a request for prayers. Nothing more. His heart pounded as if it slipped into a higher gear. He felt winded. Even if the Abbot had completely misunderstood his confession, the deed was done. He had claimed something sexual about himself, and what was more, had announced it aloud. There was no going back. He did not want to go back. A new sense of identity had begun to bloom, and he felt he knew himself far better than before. The confession left him stronger.
That is a powerful scene. The young man’s anxiety was unfounded. His fears stronger than reality. He would come to terms with Martin, understanding Martin’s clashing with the Abbot had nothing to do with him. Even deeper the psychological healing of understanding himself, developing a profound sense of who he was allowed him to overcome his personal inclination toward sin. Ambiguities replaced with certainty, self-knowledge allows for personal growth upon a deeply spiritual level.
Other thoughts mingle, yet I want to leave everything. Let that resonate. An ending with something lighter. Now for something different. My secret garden, Cain Park provided mesmerizing, tantalizing meditation, exotic in nature as Chinese acrobats entertained, beauty displayed, the joy of life played out upon the stage. The Golden Dragon Acrobats. Here is a video clip. Wonderful night of observing physical grace refined. These remarkably athletic and skilled young men and women naturally put a smile upon the face. Spellbinding, this young lady was a personal favorite. I met her after the show. She was with a group selling memorabilia. Her beauty, exuberance, strength, joy, and innocence were captivating, disarming, invigorating and a blessing from God to encounter.
A session with Dr. Nichta today. Going in, I felt there was nothing of consequence to discuss. After what seemed like a couple breathes and a flood of words, the fifty minutes concluded. The overall message established: I am being moved into a new realm of maturity. Afterwards sitting in front of the Eucharist at St Paschal Baylon, a woman, Shirley, approached me asking if I would repose the Eucharist at nine. The person signed up to come in at eight texted her, informing her they could not make it. I was honored, truly humbled and touched. Shirley showed me the routine, proper placement within the Tabernacle, providing keys, showing me around the sacristy, how to extinguish candles and turn off lights. Once, she left me alone with the Eucharist tears burst forth, my heart beating with joy, adoration, and a sense of wonder. I feel God is trying to tell me something, yet I am not quite sure regarding details. Sitting for the final hour, I pleaded, praying, begging for understanding. To be made aware how He wanted me to serve Him. Abstinence and sobriety I am proud to offer, yet there is so much more I feel I have to give. I was not sure about time since I did not bring my telephone into the church, however bells at the half hour made me confident there would be hourly bells. Sure enough, a wonderful sounding occurred, before nine distinct individual tones announced the arrival of 9:00 PM. Reposing, positioning myself behind the monstrance and altar, kneeling, looking up at the Eucharist, I just felt an overwhelming love to serve. It was a marvelous way to end a day.
Driving home, listening to Pope Francis expound upon Mercy, a prayer concept was presented: the gaze of Jesus, allowing Jesus to look upon us:
“I found three different manners of Jesus’ gaze upon Peter”.
The first is found at the beginning of the Gospel according to John, when Andrew goes to his brother Peter and says to him: “We have found the Messiah”. And “he brings him to Jesus”, who “fixes his gaze on him and says: ‘You are Simon, son of John. You shall be called Peter”. This is “the first gaze, the gaze of the mission” which will be explained “further ahead in Caesarea Philippi”. There, Jesus says: “‘You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church’: this will be your mission”.
…in the meantime, Peter has become an enthusiast of Jesus: he follows Jesus…Gospel of John, chapter 6, Jesus speaks of eating his body and so many disciples say at that moment: ‘This is hard, this word is difficult’”. Thus, “they begin to withdraw”. Jesus then “looks at the disciples and says: ‘Do you want to leave too?’”. And it is “Peter who responds: ‘No! Where would we go? You alone have the words of eternal life!’”. This is “the enthusiasm of Peter”. This is the first gaze: the vocation and the first declaration of the mission”. And, “how is Peter’s spirit under that first gaze? Enthusiastic”.
The second gaze we find late at night on Holy Thursday, when Peter wants to follow Jesus and approaches where He is, in the house of the priest, in prison, but he is recognized: “‘No, I don’t know him!’”. He denies Him “three times”. Then “he hears the cock crow and remembers: he denied the Lord. He lost everything. He lost his love”. Precisely “in that moment, Jesus is led to another room, across the courtyard, and fixes his gaze on Peter”. The Gospel of Luke recounts that “Peter cried bitterly”. Thus, “that enthusiasm to follow Jesus has become remorse, for he has sinned, he has denied Jesus”. However, “that gaze transforms Peter’s heart, more than before”. Thus “the first transformation is the change of name and of vocation. Instead “the second gaze is a gaze that changes the heart and is a change of conversion to love”.
“We don’t know what the gaze (third) was like in that encounter, alone, after the Resurrection. We know that Jesus encountered Peter, the Gospel says, but we don’t know what they said. The third gaze is the confirmation of the mission; but also the gaze in which Jesus asks for confirmation of Peter’s love. Indeed Jesus ask three times—three times. Peter denied Him three times; and now the Lord for the third time asks him to show his love. Each time when Peter says yes, that he loves Him, he loves Him, He gives him the mission: ‘Feed my lambs, tend my sheep’”. Moreover, at the third question — “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” — Peter “was grieved, nearly weeping”. He was sorry because “for the third time” the Lord “asked him, ‘Do you love me?’”. And he answered Him: “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you”. And Jesus replied: “Feed my sheep”. This is “the third gaze: the gaze of the mission”.
Three gazes of Jesus upon Peter. The first is the gaze of the choice, with the enthusiasm to follow Jesus. The second is the gaze of remorse at the moment of that sin so great of having denied Jesus. The third gaze is the gaze of mission: ‘Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep”. It doesn’t end there: ‘you did this for love and then? Will you receive a crown? No. I say to you, when you were younger, you girded yourself and walked where you would; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will gird you and carry you where you do not wish to go”
Franciscan lay brother and mystic. Born to a peasant family at Torre Hermosa, in Aragon, Spain on Whitsunday, he was christened Pascua in honor of the feast. According to accounts of his early life, Paschal labored as a shepherd for his father, performed miracles, and was distinguished for his austerity. He also taught himself to read. Receiving a vision which told him to enter a nearby Franciscan community, he became a Franciscan lay brother of the Alcantrine reform in 1564, and spent most of his life as a humble doorkeeper. He practiced rigorous asceticism and displayed a deep love for the Blessed Sacrament, so much so that while on a mission to France, he defended the doctrine of the Real Presence against a Calvinist preacher and in the face of threats from other irate Calvinists. Paschal died at a friary in Villareal, and was canonized in 1690. In 1897 Pope Leo XIII declared him patron of all eucharistic confratemities and congresses.
We read in the Chronicles of St Francis, that a secular asked a good religious, why St John Baptist, having been sanctified in his mother’s womb, should retire to the desert, and lead there such a penitential life as he did. The good religious answered him, by first asking this question: pray why do we throw salt upon meat that is fresh and good? To keep it the better, and to hinder it from corruption, replied the other. The very same answer I give you, says the religious, concerning the Baptist; he made use of penance as of salt, to preserve his sanctity from the least corruption of sin as holy Church sings of him, “that purity of his life might not be tarnished with the least breath.” Now, if in time of peace, and when we have no temptation to fight against, it is very useful to exercise our bodies by penance and mortification, with how much more reason ought we do so in time of war, when encompassed with enemies on all side? St Thomas, following Aristotle’s opinion, says that the word chastity is derived from “chastise,” inasmuch as by chastising the body we subdue the vice opposite to chastity; and also adds, that the vices of the flesh are like children, who must be whipped into their duty, since they cannot be led to it by reason. –St Alphonsus Rodriguez ‘The Practice of Christian and Religious Perfection’.
Chastise: 1. To discipline, especially by corporal punishment. 2. To criticize severely. 3. Archaic to restrain; chasten. 4. Archaic. To refine; purify.
St Alphonsus Rodriguez writes guidance for the religious, yet I find his harsh, demanding perspective practical in contemplative pursuits as a layperson, while also touching upon a consideration into living a fully consecrated life. We are either fully in, or we are out. No dabbling. This is not a game of casualness, times of allowing explorations into the secular and nonreligious without salting ourselves. If we are not fully in, we must respect those fully in. Consideration and kindness are deeper than being casual and brash. Defenses must be up, ramparts in place, when journeying through life. I am reading a novel, ‘All We Know of Heaven” by Remy Rougeau, a Canadian Benedictine monk writing about a nineteen year old entering a Cistercian monastery. The novel captures me with its concise matter-of-fact, drab delivery; a boringness to the entire endeavor that pleases. Brutally honest realism, I suppose, with respect to Thomas Merton’s ‘Seven Story Mountain’. Poignantly ironic, I find the work of fiction realistic, and the biography delusional. In the novel there is not an underlying need for the author to establish himself as a recognized intellectual, an academic authority, a pop culture religious/literary celebrity. This is simply a monk telling a simple story. There is no great exploration of larger than life ideals, no religious history, nor romanticizing through flowery language, no desiring to expose the mystical and supernatural (a criticism I should consider reflectively), no tendency toward psychological self-absorbing introspections, no exposing of one’s inner-most being, no long sentences—saying so many things in a quick spewing. It is a simple realistic view into the occurrences within the life of a young man entering a Canadian Trappist monastery. Ordinary, yet set apart, an original thing in the world. Things can be defined by what they are not. “He walked into the house (his parent’s home after a week at the monastery) and felt as though he had returned from a foreign country; the television seemed a very odd contraption.”
No time, and thoughts are not coming out. I was aiming for the idea that God did not sacrifice His Son over two thousand years ago, and aside from the Church, basically disappear from the ways of man accidently. A God of order, there is a divine plan in place. It is difficult, demanding penance, mortification, and dedication, obviously trust and confidence, as well as obedience and surrender, the following of the ways of the Church if serious depth is to be achieved. Within and through the ordinary, the boring and mundane, we come into actualization, yet the process is difficult, the ways of the saints rigorous, brutal, and nearly impossible in regards to application. Divine assistance please subtly abide. The extraordinary existing within the ordinary takes a fine process of revealing; romantic traps, emotional enticements, egotistical needs, the desire for intellectual gratification, artistic expression, boredom, and the flesh are always posed for a gradual or immediate devouring. Not sure I am pleased with this entry, struggling personally with respect to perfection and longing for Ann–some days are difficult, yet never will I fully concede defeat, for as St Liguori teaches, the greatest defeat is to lose hope. My friend with the Catholic bookstore has a sign above her front door, above a holy water dispenser, ‘All yee who enter, abandon despair’. Always through faith, hope, charity and GRADUALNESS within fortitude, perseverance, and understanding–‘gratefulness for progress achieved’ maintained as a driving force, I move forward. To dabble or sit casually still is to die. The sitting still must be done with precise purpose, adorably and prayerfully in the presence of the Eucharist. Dentist appointment this morning, natural world calls, salting performed.
Sometimes God is quick to the call. This morning amidst sunshine, my secret garden providing pleasure upon a walk, a call from Our Lady of Pines in Fremont, Ohio established a retreat for my off week following the celebration of a nation’s independence on July the 4th. The conversation effused from surrounding ambiance, men thinning out neighboring trees–deconstructing a small forest, attention to individual trees fallen, a toddler following the example of his sister exploring spraying fountains of water wonder, dogs leashed and walking, children enjoying tennis lessons, and for me a religious sister edifying, informing me there was a week of spiritual direction scheduled for the week I inquired upon. I love when within conversation words pour forth. The task being the containing rather than the thinking. She tells she is going to set-up a special dormitory room for me. She promises I will love it. The week of spiritual direction has been planned for some time, all sisters conducting the directing. The week will be a focus upon individuals revealing God’s plans for them through silence, reflection, and counsel. There seems to be a concentration upon feminine spirituality, although the sister says not to fear, recognizing a difference between men and woman pursuing faith. We determined spiritual direction for me will be conducted upon exploration. The idea of me exploring a private retreat amongst the conductors of the spiritual directing week concretized. That week there is a priest conducting a private retreat. She is going to speak to him about spending time with me. Thy will be done. I am excited. Speculating, I anticipate a near dozen sisters with thirty-two retreatants. Walking at Cain Park, excitement blossomed. Hopefully sounding strange, an artist whose work I have been viewing online inspired a vision, a visualization, colorful flowers bursting forth in a river from my heart was the expression of joy I felt upon a week of spiritual concentration. The writing, ‘Man Tower’, picked up this morning. Possibly, properly, alignment allowing, serious work can be conducted during my week at Our Lady of the Pines. Some images I provide, allowing imaginative touching upon the story, black and whites from Ingmar Bergman’s ‘The Seventh Seal’, a cherished movie in my realm of influences. The photos of the traveling carnival family paying tribute to a vacationing Romanian family very dear and close to my heart.
The wonderful circus family, inspiration to Gabriel, Calin, and Lavinia. Acrobat Jof, holding his son, is a dreamer, a lover of life, a circus performer, a writer of songs and poems, a tumbler extraordinaire, a man who is so in love with the idea of visions he is continually making them up. The only problem is when he finally does have a vision of Our Holy Mother, his wife only laughs, loving him even more for all the visions he details. Acrobat Jof is not dismayed, only desiring to sing an unfinished song and enjoy his son. The world-weary squire, Jons, demonstrating his humor and penetrating insight, comments upon one who turned out to be a corpse. Antonius Block, the Templar Knight, chess combatant to the grim reaper, sent his quick-witted squire to question a man seated upon the beach. Encountering the seated one, the squire confronted a skeleton. A wonderful medieval song and dance performance by Acrobat Jof and his wife Mia is interrupted in this video clip by a doomsday procession singing Dies Irea (coincidentally enough a poem credited to Thomas of Celano). In the opening of ‘Man Tower’, the procession following the debauchery of the child bishop being marched through the streets of Assisi, an actual medieval tradition of drunken excess the church would eventually ban, is based upon the procession in Bergman’s film. I wish there were subtitles for the fire and brimstone sermon–the fiery words point to the Black Plague as a curse from God for the wicked ways of man. Repent NOW the message. I am intrigued by Bergman’s cinematic effect of having the end times spiritual marauders vanishing from the earth, their chanting continuing.
Relishing my secret garden, Cain Park, within Evan’s Amphitheater, a bluegrass folk quartet proficient upon various instruments—guitar, standup bass, banjo, violin, mandolin, tambourine, harmonic, flute—a sultry alluring woman of red entertaining upon an Irish pennywhistle, the bandleader expounding upon her acquiring her musical skills in prison—a surprise since she appears innocent, anything but an ex-convict, musically at other times she is able to hypnotize with her husky voice, sound effusing, traditional music popping, the practiced perfection is appealing. Minimalist in attendance, the performance does not suffer. Spider Stompers and Sugar Pie. The Conversion of St Paul’s Shrine providing morning Sabbath mass, a sixth day amidst an Our Lady Undoer of Knots novena, Adoration–Sister Mary Thomas hovering near, Father’s day, a nice Saturday with family, my mother experiencing her first wedding anniversary alone, myself celebrating a yearly anniversary of private matters, today, this day, I enjoy a Sunday afternoon of reclining, comfortable in the Evans Amphitheater. Yesterday, I spent the early evening with my niece’s toddler Andre. My niece, vacationing in Mexico, will be away for a week or so. Interregnum, Andre stays with his great-grandmother. I spend the night entertaining the child. I found something spiritual within the endeavor. Walking just under a half mile to a local park, I wanted to see how he would do upon a small adventure, thinking I might have to carry him. He was fine, walking the whole way, holding my hand, calling out at various things he found interesting while walking. His father having abandoned him, a lack of adult male figures in his life, I am touched how much my attention and approval means to him. Once at the park, his shortness of years did not allow him to cover up how obvious of intent he was in impressing me. I smiled, chuckling, providing attention as he sought one courageous exercise after another. Sometimes, I would have to step in when bravado placed him in precarious positions—following older children to the highest slide, or other types of activity beyond his size and abilities. The boy is not afraid of anything as far as I can see. The trip home also proved quite enlightening regarding character. Playground activity behind him, departing the park, he suddenly determined it was no longer necessary to hold hands. I concluded no harm, grasping his hand, showing him he was not the boss, before letting go of his hand, granting his freedom. To my surprise, he responded with a scream ‘I run’ and like that he started running. I could maintain pace with a hurried walk so next to him I traveled. I will be darn if he did not make it almost the whole way home jogging. I could only laugh when we arrived at my mother’s with Andre soaked through his shirt with sweat. Even more delighted was I after a bathing from great-grandmother, Andre collapsed completely into sleep, utterly exhausted. Something spiritual within the endeavor, I imagined God Our Father, Our Lord Jesus Christ, Our Holy Mother witnessing our endeavors within life, the tiring, the exhausting of ourselves, and then the conclusion of eternal sleep. It must please everything Divine to the greatest degree to witness us expel ourselves in passion and the pursuit of perceived pleasures, fearing for our salvation, and the delight of us collapsing into salvation. The ruminations, send me to a Henry Suso exploration. Henry Suso’s writing is such a joy. There is something so endearing, wonderfully profound, amusing, a tinge of comedy, within his words. Confident, I am positive we would understand one another, enjoying one another’s company splendidly, two characters of the same making.
Another afflictive exercise…limit himself to an exceedingly small measure of drink…once before Christmas…the Servitor…utterly renounced and put from him all bodily comforts, and moreover had taken upon himself three penitential exercises…he remained after matins until daybreak standing on the bare stones before the high altar…he avoided going to any warm place…never warmed his hands…horribly swollen…the cold…exceeding great….slept upon his bench…stood before the altar on the bare stones till daybreak….abstain altogether from drinking during the day, however great his thirst might be…mouth as dry as that of a sick person in a distemper, and his tongue was so cracked that for more than a year afterwards it would not heal…he stood in choir at compline thus parched with thirst…when the holy water was sprinkled around…he would eagerly open his parched mouth, and gape wide…a little drop of water might fall upon his dried-up tongue and cool it a little…appearing…the gentle Mother of God in heaven…”it is I, the Mother, who gave thee to drink from the little goblet the other night; and, since thou art so exceeding thirsty, I will in pity give thee once more to drink….I will give thee to drink of that healthful drink which flows from my heart….not a corporeal drink which I will give thee, but a healthful, spiritual, and excellent drink of real and true purity”…the Servitor had become very ill, owing to the excessive burden of the afore-mentioned exercises…Our Lord went to the Servitor with the box…opened it…in the box there was fresh blood…Our Lord spread it over the Servitor’s heart…spread it over his hands and feet and all his limbs…”Lord! why dost Thou mark him thus?”…”I will lovingly mark his heart and all his frame with sufferings, and I will heal him, and restore him to health, and I will make of him a man after My whole heart”…from his eighteenth to his fortieth year, a life of exercises…described above—and when his whole frame was now so worn and wasted that nothing remained for him except to die or leave off these exercises, he left them off; and God showed him that all this austerity and all these practices were nothing more than a good beginning, and a breaking through of his uncrushed natural man; and he saw that he must press on still further in quite another way, if he wished to reach perfection. ‘The Life of Blessed Henry Suso’
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