save us from 'mystics'

when i set up this blog (um, 25 minutes ago), a couple of the names i wanted were taken. so, i figured, there must be folks out there identifying as 'catholic' and 'mystic' and who blog to boot! apparently not.

at any rate, i 'googled' "catholic" and "mystic" and came up with stories of monks (ok, just one) who advocate freelove and 'shrooms' and a 'born-again' catholic who decries the mass as cannibalism. the rest were even worse.

folks: newsflash: 'mysticism' is not synonymous with 'nutball', 'heretic' or 'woolly-headed, faux-zen, pope-hating monk'. mysticism does not mean 'speaking in tongues', 'faith-healer' or 'psychopath'.

i'm afraid 'mystic' means something rather other. and i'm hoping that ignorant catholic lay-people and even more ignorant atheists that who are looking for the next big non-fiction book topic will stop ascribing every tom, dick and lunatic harry the label of 'mystic.'

mon dieu!!! read a book!!! a 'mystic' is one who experiences g-d through images in a direct, personal, emotive and (yes) innovative way. it is intensely personal, idiosyncratic and strange. but it is not necessarily heretical, unorthodox or even progressive. it simply means that some folks think about god, the world and life in a story-book way that uses a highly-developed set of symbols and images that others don't (readily) understand.

normal people. married people. suburban people. they can and are mystics. mystics don't wear signs that say 'mystic'. they don't wear habits (necessarily). they aren't cloistered religious (necessarily). they don't even 'believe' in 'god' (in the normal sense of the phrase) (necessarily).

and i sure wish folks who don't know anything about religion, spirituality, and haven't ever read any books on mysticism, or don't know who St. John of the Cross is, would SHUT. UP. NOW. At least, if folks would stop buying their books. I'd be EVER so grateful.

i have a feeling this hasn't cleared anything up. but i sure do feel better.

Ode to my brother

in lushy marshy fern-strown glen

I wait with basket brim-full

And light so tranquil ‘pon each leaf

Of green and mossy black

And heat perspiring steams return

To heaven the whole a shimmered tower

To Thee that men may follow.

See thee not the blanket spread and oil

Provided wine and bread

Stay awhile! And sup with me for hunger

Is of two types.

Thy lips a morsel brush a drop of wine bestow

Enough for me. Thy body ivory turns away

And thy light fades but slowly.

Return then after battles won and I shall weep into thy wounds.

o g-d.

i hate it when you give me those days when i rejoice at the happy songs.
i always regret those mornings at mass when i can sing lustily.
i want to hide away when you give me simple happiness.
i'm not cut out for that.

you are easier to deal with when blackness covers the solar orb.
you are more honest when you leave us to our miseries.
you leave not off in your desire to pry under the skin.
you just can't leave well enough alone.

come live in my dreams.

the "good" part

i was thinking of calling this 'the 21st-century catholic mystic', but the URL would be too long--just plain 'catholic mystic' has already been taken.

but i'm thinking i might jot down the sermons that i habitually write in my head, plus throw in some of my religious poetry, and in general throw up lots of what is running around in my head, or otherwise hidden in a secret folder on my company laptop, and share it with anyone who might happen along.

it is my fervent wish that my thoughts might be of some use to someone out there: under the cynicism, the saint.