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Man Tower arrives at the man of the mountain’s abode

Towers

Towers

Whispering, he spoke, barely missing a step as he passed. “My lord you are requested in the back.”

Alberto followed without a word. In a back storage room, beyond the kitchen, he met with Montaninus.

“Word must not spread of our meeting. I know yesterday the commune approached you. Bonbarone, egotistical in his pursuit to be a commune leader, is followed everywhere he pollutes. Do not trust the man. Once, he was a noble and now he manipulates for leadership within the commune. Arrogance, wealth and power drive the man. Integrity and loyalty mean nothing to the man. A self-absorbed manipulator to the highest degree, the man seeks only himself. He is an authority onto himself, answering to nobody. Pietro Bernardone, I do not know, except the man is a peasant who has become filthy rich, one of too many. A son was just born to him. His French wife is difficult to forget due to her elegant beauty. Pietro talks too much and takes himself too serious. He is a weak harmless man of poor breeding who now needs to be harmed. It did not have to be this way. It is of his choosing. A man who speaks too much regarding political matters is always sure to make grave enemies. He will get himself killed. The larger painting he cannot see; truth exists beyond his selfish limited point of view. He honestly knows not the depth of the games he involves himself within. He is a pawn, a blister upon authentic authority. I was there watching when you visited Pietro’s shop. I was disguised. None knew of my presence. Did you observe how the mob works, moving with every word of the entertaining wealthy merchant? Individuals seeking the approval of one another, huddling together as they form a crowd similar to the one that watched Our Lord crucified upon the cross, urging each other onward into greater perversity, all for the sake of attaining worldly goods, no concern with disrupting the societal will of God. I halted myself from spitting upon the floor in disgust as I knew it would reveal my true intent. The tongue of that merchant should be removed. Christ, the Divine becoming human, stood as an individual in the face of the mob. In imitation of Christ, every individual is called to stand on his own before God. God will demand accountability if we spent our lives usurping His will. There is no huddling before the Almighty, no cowering with friends and neighbors in order to exercise tainted will. Excuses and explanations will not suffice. There is not the wicked tongue of those willing to talk too much to guide.”

Accumulated words burst forth from Montaninus, exposing a frustrated, angry undercurrent. The man needed to speak. Rage filled his mind, fouling his heart. A silent one like Alberto was an ideal audience for one needing to unload.

“The perversion of the natural order is the ideology of today; individual simplicity being replaced by grand dramas. Divine will shit upon. Every man feels his life must be an adventure equal to Ulysses, while groveling behind the protection of the city-state. Every man wants to be a hero, while recoiling from sacrifice and threat. The common man is no longer content with his lot, spoiled children running about constantly screaming demented dreams. Like Satan’s dissatisfaction with heaven, the peasant demands to rule, demands to be the center of the universe. The more delusional he grows, the more his disease spreads. His sickness is not happy unless it is infecting others. Intent upon destroying the tradition of noble rule, he sees equalization as a process of destruction. To lower nobility is to raise himself. However, equalization is devastation if it is a process of depressing. It is enlightenment if it is a process of elevating. Only Christ is able to attain such a miraculous wonder. The nobles carry forth the message of Christ. The commune squawks the words of sinful man, the mindset of Cain, the murderer of his nobler brother. The lese majesty the commune calls into being will only lead to misery for many, death for too many. We need you Alberto. Satan has blessed the commune with monetary wealth, cursing the sanctity of noblemen. Satan fights fiercely against the Lords. With gifts to the commune, he curses those truly destined for power and authority. We have tradition, honor, integrity, and God on our side, however with the passing of every day these attributes become less popular. The commune spreads soul sickness; immorality, wickedness and vice a daily undertaking. Witness all the drunks clamoring about the streets of Assisi. Disdaining the veracity of poverty, worshiping materialism and worldliness, placing all hope in the rule of self-will, the commune attracts men as a whores seduce drunkards.”

As usual, Alberto was not speaking. Montaninus knew the ways of the tall one. As commander for the German Barbarossa, he nicknamed Alberto, Man Tower for the many, Fierceness of Silence due to his refusal to share his thoughts, to drape himself with a cloak of mystery through the lack of expression. Montaninus’ words were not meant for immediate victory, rather the sowing of seed. There was an ace card he reserved. For the time being, he simply provided Fierceness of Silence information to supplement the events to come. The old man of the castle would close the case. Arraignments completed, Alberto would be taken to his private noble castle hidden upon Mount Subasio. Montaninus counted on his premonitions. He saw Alberto as a mystic in an unusual manner, a strong individual not persuaded by the thronging masses, a man unto Christ. His path of perfection be the one of violence, the true calling of the knight of Christ. Nobility arose from such vigor. The blessing of being endowed with distinct abilities above the peasant marked Alberto. A presence announced the fact. Montaninus believed he possessed insight into Alberto from their days of battle.

Stern upon life, Alberto critiqued the world. He demanded perfection, instinctually comprehending paths to perfection existed. Even if perfection could not be attained, the path must be pursued. If perfection did not exist in the mind then annihilation was justifiable. If order was not attainable chaos must be inflicted. If ignorance paraded as wisdom, silence must be maintained as violence cleansed the farce. Alberto was a man of absolute sternness. He would understand the mystic man of the mountain known to the world as Enzio. Even withdrawing from the world, Montaninus sensed Fierceness of Silence cultivated this unsympathetic challenging sensibility. He held no esteem for the softer easier path, those treading through life immersed within mediocrity. He was as hard upon himself as he was the world, thus the need for solitary weeping. During military days, the tall one gained a reputation for insanity due to his propensity to wander away from camp, perching upon a high point, watching the surrounding lands, while shedding silent tears. A man on guard, watching for approaching enemies, he sat beneath the stars crying.

Alberto’s abilities and uniqueness Montaninus credited for the tall ones excessive demands upon life. It took intelligence to realize the seriousness of life leading to death, the gateway to eternity. Tragedy scarred the actions of the complex man, the consequence bursting forth as silence. Many fell under his hand. The tall one loathed himself, yet accepted himself for the loathing. Unknowingly, he saw it as a beginning. Pride could not blossom where it was smashed beyond demand, an absolute lack of love purging. Believing sanity rested within the rejecting of life, the tall one started with himself, however the self-negation was negated by the continuum of time. Within the dismantling, a beginning is not sustaining, a beginning demands progress, a destination aimed for. One breath led to another producing further experience, memories accumulating, days adding up to years. Distant from the world, unattached with a powerful knightly reputation, he could not help observing himself with admiration at times. Pride sprouted. He knew of his legend. His reputation he could not deny. He could not prevent the right hand from knowing the efforts of the left. Underneath the extreme violence in silence, accepting failure, he understood he could not escape himself through his rampaging.

The convolutions of the tall one went beyond reasoning, thus the constant need for cleansing tears. Internally, the man was tied in knots; emotions, experiences, tendencies, psychology, beliefs, suspicions, accusations, self-incriminations, devastations, inflictions—a life unbalanced, everything wound around each other, all becoming entwined, tangled, and jumbled. The more breathes he took, the more the knots pulled upon themselves creating greater entanglement. Hints of verisimilitude, a sense of truth, could not be reached. A call bellowed forth for an undoer of knots. Man Tower scurried amongst holy outcasts, seeking their companionship. Montaninus attained the illuminating insight that, unknown possibly to himself, Man Tower pursued a holy mission. The tall one sought out those who shunned society in the name of sacred renunciation. Peculiar in pursuit, those seeking solitary refuge he shadowed. Hermits he hunted for company. Man Tower’s treatment of reputed austere religious men proved harsh. If he judged them sincere he showed them grace, spending time with them. If he found them corrupt or insane he offered death as a reality, a permanent mask presented. Montaninus recalled that whenever the archbishop of Mainz spoke of religious matters, the tall one separated, or at least turned his back. Montaninus, an admirer of the archbishop, feared Alberto would kill the murderous elevated man of church hierarchy due to the ecclesiastic’s corrupt behavior.

Often, while fighting next to him, Montaninus contemplated the tall one. It never ceased to amaze him the things the man would accomplish in battle; the impossible no further than an action away. Berserker, he sought out the strongest opponent, even if they fled he pursued. Upon a crowded battlefield, the man could create a path of clearance. Opponents, recognizing him, would concede to his annihilating ways. In the same diligent manner, he intellectually tested the consecrated through silent observation, seeking without explanation. If word of a hermit reached camp, he was sure to seek out the holy man. He treated no other men in such a manner. The holy men developed a knowing of his existence, upon his arriving entertaining the silent one of wrath. Ordained in his armor, he heeded no mind to the worldly, while conceding to those dedicated to the spiritual a perverse kinship.

Montaninus reasoned the tall one accepted hermits because, similar to himself, hermits rejected the world. At heart, they shared a philosophy; the dominator of war and the hermit being of a similar foreign mind to the world of normality and sheltered sensibility. The hermit opting for prayer, worshipped God through austere disciplined daily living. The dominator of war, a criminal in a greater sense, outside of society, could never prosper to the point of self-sufficiency nor normalcy. Relying upon his deviant ways to prosper in the arena of death, he rendered himself useless in the world of practicality. His estrangement exhausted, leading to misery, demanding a superior subjective mindset. He objectively rejected, cursed and judged. Sometimes becoming a prisoner meant a blessing. In desolation, earnest prayer would naturally evolve. The only genuine refuge a clever criminal mind could embrace. Where else is there to go? Deeper and deeper into vices? Possibly alcoholism or sexual perversion. Addiction? No. The lashing of vices would only drive a man of ultimate violence, of severe discipline, into insanity, further into the realm of desperation, penetratingly isolating. Confronting death he needed to believe he was creating a clear mind. Permanency, lasting sanctified solace, existed only within entreaty, supplication, to the Divine; the quieting of self. Wisdom, beyond knowledge, the very nature of the hermit life, became the only true refuge to the one who flourished only in war. He found space in the company of a hermit, a place for thoughts to terminate.

Convinced Alberto maintained his silence and the inflicting of terror through warfare based upon such reasoning, Montaninus sought him out. He perceived holy men chose to flee society, seeking the sanctity of withdrawn places, with a respect to nobility. They did not see the overturning of the natural order in order to seek the supernatural. The unnatural path, normal amongst the commune, was the mindless acceptance of life in pursuit of only the materialistic and worldly; the average struggle just to survive fertilized by the delusional mind seeking ascension. Jealousy and greed drove such depraved beings. Corruption was the unredeemable consequence. The pathetic social grasping for momentary gratification, while superficially, and lacking sincere obedience to the church, corrupt or not—it didn’t matter, unambitiously declaring loyalty to a supreme living God and His only begotten Son, while using every excuse within grasp to whine away offenses, clinging to vanity, and shallow self-righteousness; hate permeating just below the surface, poverty rotting, the rabble squandered the gift of life, creating their own hierarchies within their nonsense. To reject nobility insulted God’s creation. God removed from the role of creator. The common man taking center stage as actor and director. The commune placed its petty interests and desires before all things. Montaninus despised the commune with a bitter heart. A good man needs a criminal to justify his life. A lord needs squabbling peasants to be a true lord. The good woman needs a whore to see herself as a true lady in standing. Good men and good women need the eyes of others in order to live superiorly. The delusional, reinforcing, must believe, undercutting, the world is filled with fools Montaninus rose above all, embracing what he was convinced was the true ways of a noble man of honor and rank. It was the miserable ways of the deplorable commune, a stench in the nose of the strong, the God ordained.

Positive Alberto would understand, Montaninus wanted him to meet the old descendant of royalty, Enzio the Wise, the owner of the hidden castle of Mount Subasio. Enzio, the former maintainer of a military tower destroyed years ago. The elderly wise man now lived alone amidst a mountain. Matured, the elder lived a solitary life in a private lesser edifice, a large home constructed in the form of a castle. The structure dominated by a modest sized northwest tower stealthily constructed within the forested ascent of Subasio. Self-sufficient, Enzio managed an independent life, including gardening, cooking, cleaning, while creating artwork, mainly carvings in stone performed upon living walls. No taller than twenty feet, the castle/home, as a whole, rested hidden amongst hundred year old trees. The one entry roadway branched off from a leading highway protected by a neighboring castle manned by Montaninus’ former coalition. One could pass by the valley splitting time after time before finally noticing the hidden path branching off up to the mountain. The surrounding forest, nearly impenetrable with sheer rocky ascents, was rumored to be haunted with demons wandering about seeking the devouring of souls. A pack of ferocious wolves were indeed above rumor, existing as a known feared fact. The strong pack of wolves prowling about as vicious mountain predators were a plague to local sheepherders.

“I want none to see us leave Assisi together. You will hide in the wagon. The commune will be ignorant of our gathering. The man we go to see most not become common knowledge”.

Alberto did not refuse. He did not answer.

“There will be two more riding with you, blindfolded women. The elder is wise, yet foolish with these young ones. I would put them to the sword if I could, yet he proclaims love for them, catering to their every demand. I have attempted everything thing to cease their visits, yet he persists. I will be up front. When I stick my head in the back and call for you we have arrived. Stay clear of the stench and influence of those whores. They are nothing but abusers.”

Montaninus forcefully guided the blindfolded young women into the wagon. Alberto recognized them. It was the squawking prostitutes from the tavern. Pieces began to fit together. The old man they were complaining about was the man he was destined to visit. He relaxed into the travel. It was a good omen that moments were coalescing. The surprise arising from the appearance of the women fading, he managed to nap.

“Alberto we have arrived. The whores are already inside.” Montaninus woke the sleeping giant.

Rubens_old_man

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Perpetual advancement of humility, allowing proper mortification and prayer, thus a deepening and expanding of the virtues

When one fails to advance in perfection because one fails to advance in humility, it is easy to grow discouraged and backslide.  Lost is the spirit of perseverance.  Replacing it is the delusion that doubling up on spiritual exercises will increase satisfaction.  Instead one only feels more aridity.  Motivated by self-seeking rather than by self-denial, one misses the mark of real advancement, stubbornly refusing to take counsel and reasonable instruction from one wiser than he or she.  It is hard to admit that what seems so right has proven to be so wrong.  Moral deeds have been done, but for the motive of increasing joy in oneself, not submission to God.  Hardly anyone escapes this danger.  Before long this “outstanding citizen,” this “pillar of the church,” this “mirror of virtue” grows slack in love of God and charity to others and may even fall into corruption he or she so publicly abhorred.  

Susan Muto ‘John of the Cross for Today: The Ascent”.  The originator of the wonderful term ‘wasting time gracefully’

There are certain spirits I am immediately and intensely attracted to.  Susan Muto is one.  I find her to be a beautiful woman, immensely wise in the subtly of profound spiritual growth.  I enjoy contemplating her physical beauty as a woman.  I heard it said that though St John of the Cross is a name tossed about by many, few truly comprehend the depth and ascension of his thought.  The previous statement basing the idea of comprehension upon a demanding utilitarian aspect.  Vital comprehension of St John of the Cross involves application rather than knowing.  From a distance, I rest assured Dr Susan Muto is a soul attuned to St John of the Cross.

popejpII_0

 

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More Than A Life

Encompassing all this,
Withholding for naught,
Auguring totality,
Things to be,
Simplicity complex,
Perplexity immense,
Innocence shattered,
A Bloody aftermath remains,
A birth, a death, a rebirth, eternity,
Falling through the ages,
Creation centers in being,
An individual extreme,
Conception, a waiting womb forming,
A slap on the bare ass, a scream,
It is time,
A life baptized,
Awake little innocent one birthed in likeness to ultimate unity,
Now you are one set apart,
Cry and scream,
Hunger and demand,
Belch and vomit,
Throw up upon yourself,
Passions aplenty,
Amazed and delighted,
Wiggle the fingers and toes,
Childhood growing,
A voice, subconscious forming,
Parents, broken adults loving, teaching, rearing,
Offering a name, others to huddle and cuddle amongst,
Effort, mistakes, success,
Pleasure and pain,
Skinned knees,
Gratifying victories,
The measles and mumps,
A broken heart,
A home run,
A game winning three,
Memories amidst the surviving,
Sitting in a pew week after week witnessing,
Receiving communion,
Generational imperfections amass,
The parental arrow that pierces was never meant to fly,
The embedded arrows within let loose the one that stings,
It is not of God, the brokenness within,
Children become fathers and mothers,
Sons and lovers,
Daughters and danger,
Siblings and sadness,
Competition and fun,
Let us cry and laugh,
Allow experiences to linger while new ones are birthed,
Surpass, surmount,
Holy Mother witness, watch, pray, shower graces,
Undo knots,
Heal,
Crush the serpent’s head,
You, the profound everlasting Mother,
Regenerate generations,
To lose one little sheep,
No, No, No,
Trinity please appease,
Through time, through births, through the many,
Emancipate one,
Enslave none,
Lord above, seated at the right hand,
A cross your earthly throne,
Your crown thorns,
Transform sorrow,
Allow joy to reign eternally supreme.
For each and every,
Heart beating within suffering,
Touch the individual standing alone,
Washed in sin, in faith, in hope, in love,
Life must surpass original sin,
Eclipse psychological and physical disasters,
A lasting train wreck God never directed,
Expand, breath into the virtues Holy Spirit,
Provide the gifts of true worldly advancement,
Archangels assist,
Bellow Gabriel, guide Raphael, protect Michael,
All you saints adore the wonder of individual creation,
Let not one escape without time changing battles,
Love the one in peril,
The Church of Christ support, sustain, inspire, teach,
Soothe the deepest wounds,
Filial infestation,
Hurting the deepest, the ones loved most,
Psychological impairment,
Blockage, obstacles,
Catholic church heal, amend,
A soft gentle touch,
A harsh brutal reprimand, discipline,
Sacramental gifting,
Transfiguration,
Obedience,
The Eucharest adoring,
Being adored,
Swallowing whole salvation.

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Lap like dogs

Dogs are loyal and show loyal gratitude to a master irrespective of the type of master he or she may be. It is because of this that a dog will follow his master, even though such master might be indifferent or even cruel, and he will follow that master into poverty, walk at his heels over the most uncomfortable roads, leave a cozy home for a miserable cabin, and then act all the while as if he were privileged to be accompanying his master. –Father John Doe ‘Sobriety and Beyond’.

Dog

And the LORD said to Gideon, “The people are still too many; take them down to the water and I will test them for you there; and he of whom I say to you, `This man shall go with you,’ shall go with you; and any of whom I say to you, `This man shall not go with you,’ shall not go.

So he brought the people down to the water; and the LORD said to Gideon, “Every one that laps the water with his tongue, as a dog laps, you shall set by himself; likewise every one that kneels down to drink.”

And the number of those that lapped, putting their hands to their mouths, was three hundred men; but all the rest of the people knelt down to drink water.

And the LORD said to Gideon, “With the three hundred men that lapped I will deliver you, and give the Mid’ianites into your hand; and let all the others go every man to his home. –Judges chp. 7

Aspiring to a greater concentration, doing all that we can in order for God to make of us all that we can be as contemplatives, let us take inspiration from Gideon’s chosen men. With haste, rapt attention, lacking self-consciousness,and unrestrained; let us lap up our devotion and dedication to all things that brings us closer to God as dogs lap up water.

Oh great and glorious God, enlighten the darkness of my heart. Grant me true faith, certain hope, and perfect charity. Grace me with wisdom and understanding so that I may carry out Thy holy and true commandments. –prayer of St Francis before the St Damiano Cross

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Mortification Vitality

san_alonso

…prayer is an efficacious means of mortification….mortification of ourselves is the true fruit we must reap from prayer; and that we may, with reason, suspect that prayer which is not accompanied with mortification. For as, in order to shape iron, it is not sufficient to heat and soften it in the fire, but it must also be beaten with the hammer before it can receive its proper form; so it is not sufficient to mortify our heart by the heat of prayer, but we must also make use of mortification to fashion our soul…. –St Alphonsus Rodriguez

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Man Tower witnesses the baptism of St Francis before setting out for the old man of the mountain

Towers

Towers

There was another also witnessing. Alberto saw Pietro making his way to the stables as he exited in the morning. Rarely sleeping, up before others, falling asleep after others, Man Tower dominated through perception and awareness. Something about the merchant bothered him greatly. The man schemed. He intended espionage through his squire. Never would Man Tower have kissed his very footprint, giving thanks to God for the existence of anything close to resembling the merchant represented. Certain men reviled him. Convinced he possessed no choice in the matter, he deployed to counter attacks, preparing for the demise of those who acutely agitated. When the merchant emerged from the stables with Ricco, he followed. Trusting his squire, he had to know what the wily shop owner was up to, such a man did nothing without motive for profit.

It was not long before Pietro was escorting Ricco into the cathedral of St Rufino. Man Tower stood outside unobservantly observing, before following into the interior. In the stealth manner he was able to attain despite his size, Alberto snuck into the cathedral, witnessing the baptism himself. It was innocent enough. He perceived the intent of the textile merchant. The shop owner was attempting to gain his favor through Ricco. Alberto trusted Ricco, fearing nothing the crafty shop owner, usual with unclean spirits, could conceive.

About to stealthy depart, the crying of the baptized baby drew Alberto’s attention. The thought struck he never witnessed a baptism before. He observed the baby as he was handed to his godparents. An iridescent aura radiated. The strangeness of ordinary things that occurred upon the unordinary battlefield struck the moment. Details became acutely apparent, time transparent to unfathomable profoundness, meanings manifested that could not be obviously stated, nor appropriately comprehended. The baby’s eyes turned toward him, closing the distance between them, a vertiginous moment soothing. Alberto found it difficult to stand, to hold his place upon his feet. Strange, foreign interior words came forth evil spirit come out of her.

Alberto, always preparing for an attack, constantly entertaining conflict, felt the need to raise defenses. Something unseen confronted. What was happening during the baptizing of the merchant’s son? Everything; perception, reality, thought, physicality, all seemed to be an illusion pointing to something greater, to almighty God, yet there was no comfort, only collusion. Unknowable knowledge became apparent. God knew this baby, through the works of all things. The palpable indefinite conviction announced eternal salvation, something set apart becoming a part. The intuition blanketed his mind, covering mental sores and wounds of the mind, smothering. Acquiescing, he settled into admiration of the beautiful baby who would become the man of God, like a grandparent admiring their first grandchild; the acceptance of aging through the exquisiteness of infancy, polar opposites uniting in authentic conception; the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the needing—to be set free and to be with Christ. He prayed for his mother, wishing she could see this baby. People, that are in the world, gathering around the baby, blocked Alberto’s vision, eliminating the moment of sublime revelation.

Making the sign of the cross with holy water, reminding him of a washing, somewhat slightly dazed, Alberto exited the cathedral. The face of the baby, its aura, etched in his mind; the eyes and perpetual smile lasting. In the clefts of the rock, in the hollow of the wall, his eyes unfocused, wandered past.

Emptied of himself, walking through Assisi, Man Tower, reposing back into demented knightly persona, sought Lord Montaninus, his former comrade in arms, hand in hand, with Barbarossa. Montaninus made arraignments to meet at a tavern near Minerva’s Temple. Alberto was to eat at the tavern. The cost would be of no concern. What was of the Lord? Following the meal, he would be led to the back of the establishment where Montaninus would be waiting. They would then venture to a castle hidden amongst the wilderness of Mount Subasio, a castle hosting an aged nobleman whispered to be insane, as well as a mystic, the word of God upon his lips, a man of worldly and spiritual extraordinariness.

An unseen female voice spoke from a table in close proximity. “That old man gives me the creeps. I don’t care what you say I am convinced he is a pervert.”

“It does not matter what he is. What has been wrong with you? For weeks now you have proven impossible, snapping at everything. The old noble provides means we could never attain. Trusting to the mercy of the almighty. You are so quick to grow angry in time of need. I worry about you. Look deeper. The old one truly asks very little of us. We know worse debauchery for less pay—only the younger ones are handsomer and hearty, yet that does not seem to bother you as much as the old one who never asks for deplorable things. Though he began to speak, you should not despise him.”

“Maybe he gives wealth, providing jewelry and gold as easy as others give promises, however we pay through the debasing we endure acquiescing to his, to his…I am not even sure what it is the old man burdens us with. Unspoken demands—that is what he procures. I cannot figure the old one out.”

“You feel him to be a burden. Those who were touched in their hearts, amazed with his deeds, tell of his goodness.”

“Yes. He is insane. How often he resorts to a juvenile nature. I cannot stand looking at his decrepit face. Determination, I cannot maintain. Sometimes, the way he speaks to us, as if we were children just learning to walk, makes me desire to scratch his eyes out. His patronizing is so demeaning. And you fall into the childish talk he so enjoys, speaking to one another as if you were children. I have to force my mind into other places, fearing his insanity will infiltrate my mind. Tainted are his ways. He must know I hate him.”

“Why would you hate him? Over the saints household, he perseveres. I feel sorry for him for being so gullible, a son…an only child to its mother. A story here, emotion espoused, a tear, and the old fool is opening his coffers. It is too easy sleeping in the lap. I even find it fun, like playing a part in the theater. There is no reason to hate him. Seriously sweetie, you just have not been yourself for some time now. The new planting of a fresh attitude you must embrace.”

“I guess…I do not know…it is too easy. I feel my soul is at stake in unknown ways. For this very reason alone, everything is wrong. One day, he will discharge his guards upon us. His chosen vineyard protected. Then we will know death and maybe he will have arraigned everything so our souls are sucked down into the depths of hell. They will say about us their efforts came to naught. We will lose our heads and suffer eternally. It is so creepy to be blindfolded en route to provide for their needs. Still, I hate it even more when he visits the city, sent down to the earth.”

“You worry too much. Please him. Open his heart to the experience of a daughter, be joined to the soul. That is all he wants from us, the pleasure to love a child, his own child. Rejoice greatly, falling at his feet. His sons are dead, the father of the poor. He has no one, for empty glory. He provides so well. A gift horse must not be examined too closely. A curse, he is not. To masquerade as a daughter is not such a horrid thing. The father of the poor, let him be. Christ made himself poor for us in this world. Let us not suffer a similar fate. We have done far worse than the old man. Heartbreaking stories, lies of sorrow, dreams unrequited, tears of tribulations; that is all we must provide in order for the sweet old one to open his treasure chest. He loves to preach the word of the Lord. Allow him his liberties.”

“I catch him, the appointed minister of a faith I hold not deeply in my heart, looking at me as no proper father observes a daughter. Do not make him out to be so innocent. Every time we call, his leering grows. I expect soon, I will have to sleep with him.”

“Again, the nasty attitude, I have slept with him. It is only sleep he demands and touched with sorrow in his heart, he dreams.”

“He does not touch you? I should have known. The old fool is impotent.”

“I do not care, or know. He holds me, meek and humble. That I do know. Lead this little one from the midst of these goats. He means no harm.”

“He must reek of old age. God, the wretchedness his breath must contain. I get sick just thinking about him. Men are wretched beast. He must snore and grind his teeth, sounding like the devil himself in sleep.”

“I must admit he does stink, yet he slumbers silently. He gives thanks to God.”

“I despise that old fool. I give thanks to God every time we depart from his abode. I love playing him for the fool he is. He makes bold in his claim to be the man of God, yet I offer no solace for his intent.”

“Oh stop. You are wicked Beatrice my child. I know, I was touched in his heart. He gave thanks to God, the last time you allowed him to kiss you goodbye.”

The two young ladies burst into laughter. Seated behind the women, a partition between them, Alberto, continually on guard, listened to the conversation. He assumed the two were prostitutes. The crowd in the tavern was thin. It was early. The majority of Assisi slept late, recovering from the excess of the festival. He nibbled upon bread, slowly sipping his wine, allowing his meal of lamp stew to settle as he waited. There was no sign of Montaninus. The tavern worker, a man previously speaking of Ricco’s deed of killing the bull with some morning drinkers, approached.

Whispering, he spoke, barely missing a step as he passed. “My lord you are requested in the back.”

Rubens_old_man

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Ceaseless Abandonment

Spiritual obscurity can be of many kinds.  We are endeavoring to see things clearly when the light fails us, either in what regards our own interior life or the conduct of our neighbor.  With God’s permission we find ourselves surrounded with darkness.  Whatever be its nature or the degree of its density, it can never rob us of the lights of reason and faith….. –Abbot Vital Lehodey

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