living the life of a mystic and priest is not what you think. even fewer people than you might expect actually have any respect for you. far more than you might imagine loathe and/or are afraid of you. and god has less and less regard for your 'happiness'. It reminds me of a slogan a friend of mine forwarded to me: "Jesus loves you . . . . . Thor wants you to grow the fuck up." I think Jesus gets more and more like "Thor" every day, at least for me.

so, back to work. by the way "becoming a sevant" is not an ANALOGY. When Jesus says that, he means it. And it feels just like that, too. Exhausting, frustrating, dirty, thankless.

and i fell into the soil.

i found a place of green and black.
i closed my eyesand raised my arms in blessing.
then brother earth let me sink, slowly into his loving arms.

from my fingertips came my children. those of black wings, faced of onyx, bodies of adamant. cloaks of smoke and iron.

around me they flew, a cylinder black and tall.

i opened a chasm as the foundation of an edifice great,

a temple eternal.

and men from nations of unknown lands came, and many brought gifts, and i grew rich. and i grew powerful.
and the kings of the nearby lands opened their gates to me and paid me tribute.
and many crowns i collected.

i melted them all down in my cauldron. runes of power beyond the worlds i wrote.
and from these i fashioned a circlet, light in appearance, delicate. But its weight is of many bars of purest gold.

Mass was difficult today. Again, still, the feeling of lethargy. I actually sat and meditated after the gospel and after Eucharist. but no matter how long i sat, nothing changed. there was no refuge in my holy chapel. only grace. if it could, i would sleep under my altar, as did the adherents to the cult of Apollo---falling into that sleep of death that brought enlightenment. For now, for me, I am given no more light. I am simply walking in the dark, surrounded by browns and dusk. Yet, I believe I am on the path. One down-side is that my will is weakened. I am 'self-medicating' with food, to my detriment. And, so, of course, this must be remedied. If only there were a healer to tend to me.

received my new California Driver's License. I was shocked at how old I look. I swear in the mirror I look 15 years younger.

at any rate, the feast of St. Luke the Evangelist. I felt the readings didn't really do him justice, nor the prayers. It seems to me that the Apostles ought to have their own, special, votive masses, one for all 13 of them (ok, 15, if you add Mary and Mary). Maybe the Tridentine system had them, I don't know.

I look forward to the day I can begin my learning ofmy own faith, of which I am a minister!, more completely. In the interim, there is work, family, work, liturgy, work.

I have been called a mystic. But that comes from a generosity of spirit of which I am not worthy. Perhaps more accurately: "Bastard with mystical tendencies".

I do know that in my own experience, I have begun to see the entire world, including myself, my visions, my family, my work, my little bubble of circumstances, through a new lens. What is that lens? Hard to describe.

But it does make me feel very much as though I am living on this earth, in a way, analogous to that C.S. Lewis called "Oyarsa"--these beings EXISTED--unaffected by the physical world. To stand 'stationary' on a planet, for example, they would appear as though they were flying at immense speed. Because, in reality, they were. For they were not affected by the rotation of any world. And so to exist among the average mortal, it was necessary for them to fly at the speed of the planet's rotation to appear stationary to those affected by that world's gravity.

This is somewhat how I feel. NOT in ANY way that I am a better person: anyone who knows me well knows that is SO not true.

But I have, in some way, 'opted out' of life. It is hard, as I said, to describe. I would like to think that my choices are more and more in line with the Gospel of Christ and with treating each person as I would Him.

At that same time, I know that this world is passing away, now, it is in a state of passing away NOW. And so, one instructs one's body to act with compassion. And one's eyes and ears and mind are all enmeshed with the super-Mind of Christ. The world, all physical reality, however beautiful, are dim, SO dim, in comparison with the terrible, sharp, ultra-bright reality of the other worlds. The plane of what we call the 'spiritual'. But I hate that word in English: it connotes 'ghostliness' and impermanence. I tell you (times 3!) (in Arabic: "Fa amma ana, fa akulu lakum") that what we call the spiritual is MORE REAL, MORE permanent, MORE "physical" than the physical.

Awake! That which is YOU is too amazing to be defined by your physical body, although that is a legitimate and important part of what is you in toto. But YOU are infinitely more than your body, even than your mind. But to begin to experience life in this way, it takes something. For some, an Eastern-type "enlightenment". For others, some sort of praxis. But if you have the calling, you will eventually fall into the river of the mystical life. And you will drown, and be truly baptized into a new world.

Darn! It all sounds so 'foofy' and silly. But it isn't, I assure you. It is in dead earnest.

I confess I indulged in a "facebook rant" tonight. Stupid of me. But, I re-read my post, and I'm not willing to delete it. So, perhaps I'm doubly sinning. It is so hard not to get upset about things one cares about. I still haven't grasped, I suppose, what the Bishop talks about 'meaninglessness.' I still take this worldy fantasy very seriously--even if I do know what we are put a page in a very large book.

Blech. I feel tired, strange, out of sorts. I shouldn't communicate at all in such a state.

SOLEMN VOWS

I've never written here about my solemn vows as a Companion of St. Dionysius the Martyr. Of course, most, if not nearly all of our Roman brethren would not acknowledge my monastic vocation because I am also in the married state. I've stopped trying.

What is important is my experience of this vocation. I have to say that it is a wonderful, wonderful feeling. It is like having a huge, comfy old blanket wrapped around me 24/7. Actually, in fact, it is odd, but i no longer even need coverings when I sleep. I literally feel warm all the time. But that isn't the important part.

What is important is the consecration of one's entire SELF to Christ. And THAT is the essence of the charism. Being married is no more an impediment to that entire consecration as having a particular role in a monastery (keeper of the keys or washer of the toilers, etc.). Any activity or interaction with any other person could be considered an 'obstacle' to a monastic vocation--in fact, the hermits say just that! No, I am a MONASTIC, which means that I say the prayers of the church, i LIVE them, I am involved in the Divine Liturgy as often as possible, and I live my vows of poverty, chastity and obedience to the best of my ability according to my state of life. And when you really get down to brass tacks: the outer circumstances of one's life have NOTHING to do with whether or not your SELF is being actively consecrated to God. Because even BREATHING could be an impediment. This is what Christ was talking about with entering heaven with only one hand.

The point is not to leave anything behind in the flesh. The point is to leave it behind in one's BODY, one's MIND, one's HEART. In this poverty, I own EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD and NOTHING, both, simultaneously. And so, in this way, whether the world calls something 'mine' or 'not mine' is irrelevant. I acquire or discard material things in accordance with the needs of those to whom I have obligations, just as I would behind the cloister walls.

So! I say--erect the walls of the cloister of your heart! Bar the doors! YOU are the body, YOU are the tabernacle, YOU are the heart and monk and hermit of God. Live this INTERIOR life, and the exterior things become only a means for the body to give worship to God.

So, disparage not my vocation! Look instead to yourself. Are you a 'layman' in spirit? Or do you take up the challenge of the Christ: 'you are all priests'. Become the holy magician that unites the mundane with the sacred. In every moment. That is what we do.

End of sermon ;-)

On o'er hills verdant

to mountains mighty

snowbound and weighty

paths few.

There I am walking.

Slowly.

Some days I am a youth and in my prime and i walk boldly.

other days, i feel even stronger, but the spell of Him who calls me lays upon me like a cloak of lead and gold.

I can stand, erect, my feet moving.

but my progress is imperceptible.

it is on these days that to be called "priest" is no small thing.

It is on these days that I know I am worthy of my blacks.

Worthy only because I have been called and anointed. Worthy only because my flesh has been turned into His flesh.

Worthy because I died long ago. My ghosts banished to a crypt beautiful, low and treacherous, wards upon them I put.

My staff, strong, I lean upon, its ebony sheen I glory in.

It's crookedness and knots I caress.

I am alone.

My only company--the knowledge that there are others making this trek--on the other side of the mountains. Then we shall meet, one day, upon the summit. and there, together, in a circle of fire and stone and death, we shall dance.

And the stars shall fall. And the gods shall rise up. And the waters shall be divided and reformed. And the meadows shall sprout fruit of lastingness.

And finally I shall no longer be even the after-image of "I", but completely the Other.

If my life is a ship on the sea, then I am sailing with a steady, moderate breeze in a northerly direction. No doldrums, no storms, no glassy see; tiny whitecaps. A time for walks on the promenade, for reading in my cabin. All proceeds with casual precision. The crew attentive, one level of attentiveness above boredom.

More photos of the Oratory of Christ Avenger.

I had a slight emergency with my precious oratory this week. This structure, which has been water-tight for 11 years--I mean narry a drop!, leaked ALOT during our first rain of the reason (?Sunday?). Fortunately, I had the urge to go celebrate Mass late in the afternoon (which is out of my usual practice) and discovered the leak before anything was damaged. My linens were all soaked, although unharmed. My Sacramentary suffered slight damage in the back (children's masses--won't be using that before Advent!) and my wonderful altar crucifix was a little wet at the bottom. All in all, after everything dried out, the only damage (that I've noticed) is a slight discoloration on the base of my altar crucifix---and I usually cover that with a cloth anyway.

My hurried swathing of the structure's roof in tarps did the trick: dry as a bone after our second rain, last night. I'm ready to 'set up shop' again! Thank goodness! My oratory being 'taken apart' for those few days actually caused me significant pain. This is what you get being a mystic---it ain't all peaches and cream! You get the grace of extreme strength and endurance in most ways, but then you get these funky little achilles' heels in others.

Ah well---looking forward to getting my quote of work done for the day so I can go back and set up shop. I'll re-dedicate the space just for good measure.

My new oratory.

O now? O now! Two score and four of wondering and now you unfold this joy that has no name. This joy that smiles quietly, like the virgin herself, just to be.

I cry of course with those who suffer, even myself, but the tears do not fall deeply inside. they fall like gentle rains of spring on black soil.

I fight, yes, alongside the fighters and exult in the joy of battle. But even so, it is distant from me. And once my sword is cleaned and sheathed, i sit, content, unmoved.

So this is what you promised.

It is well.

Oh rest divine, rest indwelling.
My heart consuming, diving, flying!
To thee! To thee, o Greater One.

All lesser ones well met, Thy secret safe with me.
And Thou also I would have.

Bursting, living, beating, flutter.

Inside myself a temple rounded
perform I solemnities grave and silly.

And to the aethers now i would alight
But today's beginnings suffice.

if there were an antitode to this poison, i should refuse.

i see now, having celebrate the Sacred Mass as many times as i have, the the problem with the Novus Ordo is not the text: quite the contrary. It is perfect. it is merely the way in which it is celebrated. If the priests could slow down, realize what they are doing, realize what each tiny segment of the mass meant, pause between 'events', the novus ordo can stand toe to toe with the Othodox Divine Liturgy. The brilliance of the latter is that it puts in the pauses for you, not trusting the priest to do it correctly. I'm afraid they made the better judgment.

O priests! If you could see that what you are doing is there, on the altar, not a show for an audience. Not a performer at a banquet, but a holy and sacred priest in a forbidden room, only by accident of chance being seen by the profane, then perhaps you could say the words of the mass worthily. But i haven't seen it yet done.

They say Padre Pio knew how to say the mass. I don't think, however, that it requires a stigmatist to get it right. Just someone who isn't worried about the mob. Christ speaks to whom he speaks. The priest must focus all his energy on the work. what happens around him is not his purview.

well, of course that is easy for me to say, i am not dependent on entertaining a flock for my supper. the pendulum swung far to much to one side. perhaps now it is righting itself.

for every flower, a centipede.

for every cloverpatch, decay.

for every joy, a braying at the moon.

for every thought, groans unutterable.

my mind has left the safe harbor of my skull

it now goes where it will.

my body like a child without a parent.

it twist serpentine and wild in confusion.

the mind has gone to the relam of power.

it has gone to bring to the earth that which it craves.

the gods ruthless pour out their intention into my pores.

what they call libety, i realize now are chains of chains.

i close my eyes and immediately i am whisked away to the world.

that world where i exist not, but others through me.

my cabinet of saint/demon/spirit guardians.

my enterage of holy ones, so powerful that air dare not breathe

why do i wear the black of power and gold of rulership?

why am i the center of this world of power?

who chose me to be this demi-god?

I sought peace and i was given a sword.

i sought humility and i was given the emperor's crown.

i sought to become nothing, and now i am all.

if you only knew the floor of marble precious and intricate upon which i stand.

if you only knew the dais upon which they set me.

if you only knew the children i have borne and what they have become.

if you could see my offspring; my god, if you could even conceive of them, you would fall down like dead men to the ground.

if you could see my throne room, high and round.

if you knew the millions that protect me, night and day and night again.

if you knew the gods that serve me.

if you knew what venom it is that serves as blood for me now.

if you knew my drink and my meat.

if you knew my lovers.

if you knew me.

if you knew.

i once tried to tell of this, but words fell like soldiers around me.

i craved to share this life of exquisite pain and pleasure.

but they called me mad and shunned me.

now i am alone, but for this hoard of orderliness.

this army of armies.

and they wait for me to command.

they wait. and never grow restless.

they are the calm of the calm. but they are terrible to see.

and they are terrible in battle.

yet i am master.

DO YOU SEE THE KNIFE'S EDGE UPON WHICH I WALK?

my feet now are never covered. the earth turns to sacred gold and satin red where'ev i walk.

i need not clothe myself as chamberlains the rank of kings throw their cloaks around me.

i feel like blown glass, like a cannon's barrel.

i feel like hell's fire. like heaven's rain.

come. but if you come, beware.

for i am becoming the all-consuming fire. i am becoming as single-minded as He.

And he treats his friends like enemies and his enemies like friends.

So think not that I am gentle. Although my words are soft and my face demure.

I have come to slay you. And not only that, to slay you utterly.

Yet, the being that YOU are attempting to kill can now be released.

You are the murderer, the kidnapper. You are the jailer. And i shall take away your keys and yes, you I shall kill with a single slit to your side.

and soon all the world shall be a fire unquenchable. the earth shall shine like a blue quasar. we shall become more terrible than the angels and more fearsome than the gods of old.

we shall be dreamers. we shall dream new worlds, and walk upon them.

Fear! For all your fears are well-founded. You shall not survive this.

That is the good news.

poise. balance attic. beauty manful.

the greatest organ pulsing, covering, taut, alive with every scrape

and each cut and bruise and sore place a badge of honor.

for living, using, living growing!! the organism rejoicing at its liveliness

the strength coursing. i feel! i feel! vision acute to brilliance.

toes gripping, muscles learning to become awake to one another.

this is the true adolescence. the one that puberty points to.

only now with two score voyages in my belt can i now see the wisdom of all creation.

we cannot come alive until teh graces gird us up.

now tall and straight, my buckler fastened by a virgin sweet and my breastplate fastened by my valet loyal.

my helmet i carry under my arm. robes of finest gold and reddest red drape across my habiliments martial. gods! had i known my destiny i would have feared to leave the womb.

and now i see all. i see afar the wisdom of creation. it is only through the many births of youth and manhood and death and yet death again, and the crushing of all hopes and desires. and their solid rebuilding on rock. rock unshakable! that manhood finally blooms its precious blossom, pistals magnificent, each lobe of the flower heavy and rich. the aroma so fragrant and pungent that lesser beings are unaware, and the aware but malformed cannot abide. this is the odor of the Christ-man! i cannot do all. omnipotence is not my aim anymore.

but my strength is greater than the omnipotence that i once dimly conceived. and to have hands and arms and legs as i do--the stronger to lift children and slash enemies, it is exquisite pleasure. to sit beneath the banyan tree is natural to orgasm and there for sweet hours i stay. and refreshed, i begrudge not the interruption of the bodymind. for here i chose to make my stand.

i chose this life. i chose it. dammit! i chose this! all tears of pity for myself tall away like hideous, filthy rags, they fall and their putrescence dissolves into smaller than atoms before they touch the ground my being now makes holy.

and so, upon a horse so great i sit magnificent. i ride, i fly, i go to the great city. its gates yearn for me. my visage already there in bas relief. i go to my new home. the home prepared for me by my true father. the home my earthly father in his way did his best to prepare me for. i go home. i go home. i go home. my children fast and my wives like grape-clusters overflowing await me there. for they two 'foreknow me. and all is joy. joy! this is the bliss that they meant, those prophets i saw but dimly. this is the vision written of in inks of gold on pages of silver. but the bliss itself is greater than ambrosia. better than coupling, more heady than the densest mead. o gods! this life, this life, this life!

and now but a little while and shall i sit enthroned and there my table before me shall i arrange my armies. and we, knowing ourselves, and knowing well our enemies, shall wage jihad against death. and life shall gain for itself riches and new lands. i am DUKE. if emperor i must become, so be it. but i hurry not. for my lands suffice for now. that is, once this battle ends and i take possession of its sweetness.

i see, i see the land that is mine by conquest to come. a land of ancient beauty and wisdom, of lands cultivated and tamed for millenia. A land that i did not inherit, but that i was groomed to take. for all my thought it bent on it. but i, wiser than the fools of corrupted vision, see all, and forget not the whole world. my armies point in all directions. i advance, for this land may not even have a king. fighting is necessary only when resistance comes. i do not invite it. for if perchance my heart is pure, all walls shall open at my touch. i am ready for all things. ready. ready.

had there been anyplace else to go, would i not have done?

i would have lived in the hell of my own making, willingly.

but you sought me out in my childish game of seek and hide.

hands over my eyes. spirit huddled in a corner of my soul.

and you held me, lightly, until i fell into your arms. and then we embraced.

and now, you lift my untried limbs to stand. and already you are running ahead.

i pant and long to live in my cramped box of ignorance.

but you yet lead me on toward light and joy and vitality.

your yoke is light. yet still a yoke.

my own was heavier, darker, rougher, but i knew it well.

thou winds wandering whistling,

winding from head to breast to feet.

covered all in whitest winter-light.

but mantle blue between in all and buddest

forth thy fragrant flowers.

had i but once a moment given me

to share. with anyone! o! yes with thee

with thee wouldst spend it i though briefest,

glimmering twilight stealing life away.

still looking back upon the world of grief, with gladness

would i tear and tear my breast for thee.

o lamb, o darling, sweetest mine

my thought rushed to eyes so bright of thine.

alabaster softness, life to touch,

death to leave.

departing thee in deepest peace I go.

o! lover mine but for another moment for to rest!

my head upon thy neck.

for this ten thousand lives an easy trade.

for no one knows thy face as I can read.

my fatherland thy cheeks and lips and hair falling,

falling down as last i gasp for th' moment promised past.

the boatman takes my final coin and on to death i row,

with heart a'bursting limbs quaking still.

through eternal shades that light shall dim not.

o faith!

i have dared not write here. but only in my secret journal to my lover divine. for our love is for each other alone. none others exist.

while we are there, all heaven stops and the galaxies rest their weary wheeling work. the earth slows in thanksgiving from its tread upon the wheel around the fire.

soon o lover! we will quit the sacred grove to share this love with those whom you bring to me. but my hand grasps yours with a deathgrip. i trust, but like a child, i must hold on to your hand for dear life. for there is no other life but thy hand so strong and hard and warm around mine.

and with the other, i bless and caress and guide. one hand o god! one hand! with it i shall build 10,000 upon 10,000 temples to your name. see! i cast down thrones and raise up the lowly--but all for thee! all for thee! o hide my face in your neck o god. for i cannot walk anymore today. may i not hold thee for one more hour? may i not sob into thy breast yet further. i am destroyed by yoru love. my bones melt and my sinews fall away. i am become nothing but tears.

and yet i remain. this love a consuming fire that leaves teh leaves more green than before. despise me not. cover me with thy cloa o god for i have cast off my clothes. i shall not wear these hideous rags again! give me of yourself! your robe only of your wondrous smell only will i wear. thy robe only can i stand. my own skin it shall become for in comparison with you i hate myself and all i see.

see. yet i stand. the robe is firmly around me. and i open my mouth . . . .

with no fanfare, the child gently pulls his sweaty sweet palm away from his wet nurse, and puts it into the over-large hard hand of his father. smiling. radiant.

If you knew me, you would fear me.

But I no longer want or need anyone to see what is behind this gauzy curtain.

For I AM.

And you are hard to discern from the winds.

I am an army of ten thousand upon ten thousand.

I am the shaman in the midst of the host of heaven.

My hands and staff are raised. It is the LORD who does the battle.

Through me are life and death. You have only moments to decide what is best to you.

I have come not to bind up but to destroy. The old passes away.

Behold! All things are made new.

From my mouth a terrible serpent comes. My eyes are bright death.

My hands are stones. My feet the foundation of the earth.

My torso the mountains.

My chest is all oceans as one.

my throat is all winds.

my hair is all storms and all lightning.

I am the door. The flood. I am the furnace. I am the threshing floor.

I am the shower of fire upon the cities consuming all.

turn back not! lest you be made into salt.

For I am the angel of the LORD. I come to succor only the weak. The strong I knock aside.

The hungry I feed of my bosom. The full I dash against the stones.

I tear down the principalities. I raise up the villages.

My breath is destruction.

"Wait upon the lord." "Make a highway through the desert". "Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill laid low." What is all this?

I mean, what is it really. I'm not sure. But I don't think it is comforting.

heart thrilling to beat wildly, purely, free.

arms rejoice at their strength.

body laughs as it runs and rips and falls and runs again

mind and heart in gladness contemplate that in ages past at my age i would be elderly. and yet, now, in this day at the dawn of a much greater even if more terrible future, i am in the flush of youth.

and i breathe in great gulps. the air dry and old. my lungs, though, make it new.

all is fresh. clean. silent.

my laughter raucous.

Prayer is now far more 'powerful'--what other word is there? Because I do nothing. I close my eyes and i feel a large, hard presence, a me that i only dimly understand.

and he is clothed with my skin--a 3/8th inch of flesh over implacable metal/solidity, of which I have never seen. And his eyes are fire and arrows. and his hair is as the fire of the sun and his body the darkness of all being and all potential. and it is he now who rules. nearly! nearly! there is nothing I can do. and all is the other. finally, the oblivion and end that I have so long sought is coming. and, in its stead, this other. soon there shall be no action that is not he acting. i become only his illusion. his magic trick. his 'cover.' if i betray him not, we will stay together. now, if i try to work against him, i will only tear and die.

it is glorious to know that a step outside of this other, true self will mean incurable insanity for me. but the will of he who is not yet named will work regardless. it is up to me to make the shell what i want; what i deem the most effective and perfect vehicle. for now, as an offering to the most high at the end of all things, i have little to give, but the little should be as a precious jeweled box in which he can place what he will.

sunday was the feast of corpus christi.

until becoming a priest i never thought of the day at all. or, if at all, that it was a pious sentiment.

but as a priest, it is an entirely different event.

what is our purpose as priests? it is NOT to 'be kind' 'do good works' even 'clothe the naked' or 'visit those in prison'. Of course these things flow naturally out of our hearts, or rather the heart of the Divine One because His mark is indellibly on us and in us. But ANYONE can and must do these things.

what is our purpose but to make heaven and earth meet in the eucharist? all the other sacraments are but a distant second to this.

so, once a priest properly understands his place: WHICH IS BEFORE THE ALTAR OF GOD-and nowhere else. And a footnote: those who denigrate or misunderstand this central message are fools and in peril. Forgive me, but I have seen it so often it sickens me. at any rate, once understood that this is our place, this is our raison d'être , then, think:

this SOLEMNITY--equal in stature to Christmas, Easter, etc., this solemnity is the emphatic re-affirmation of our role and the centrality of the role of the eucharist in the life of the Christian. Then, this solemnity comes into true focus. And it may leave the priest speechless.

at any rate, i found it extremely moving to celebrate it and found myself taking my time. even more than usual. loving every word. the longing and yearning of my heart and all my love pouring forth. it was a wonderful Mass; I cannot think of words to describe it. But it was very . .. deepening . . . full of the primordial darkness that is the light for the contemplative . . . it was a star in the night of my soul, empty, waiting only for him. . . it was the divine power-over-the-elements. This is the true power that magick, sorcery and all manner of esoteric practices can only mimic, and poorly. this simple thing; this is the unfathomable power of the Divine in the world. It cannot help but open hearts, and open wider those that have let Him in.

But I digress. At any rate, my wife later asked me if I was alright. She could not understand why I kept slowing down, kept pausing. I assured her that all was well.

But I took my sweet time in 'concealing' the sanctuary (putting my mobile sanctuary away). It was the way for me to be able to bring my thin shroud of worldy consciousness back on. To cover what was fully uncovered.

I only know one person who knows what I mean. Perhaps there are others. If so, peace be with you. If not, peace be with you.

Even as I wrote this, my physical body was gripped with an uncontrollable spasm. Perhaps one day my physical body will be able to experience these things without resistance. Until then, perhaps, there is more 'unbeing' to realize.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of snow
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of beaver,
Or swan's down ever?
Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier,
Or the nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!

read these lyrics: a FAR better poem, and far more suggestive of divine truth, than anything I'VE ever written:

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters

never cared for what they do
never cared for what they know
but I know

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters

never cared for what they do
never cared for what they know
but I know

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us, something new
Open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters

never cared for what they say
never cared for games they play
never cared for what they do
never cared for what they know
and I know

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
No, nothing else matters

On pastor's leaves

in willow's dean

a spottl'd man

in shielded sun.

an arm atop a knarl-ed sheen

a hat, a cloak, and boots agleem

unruly white and white again

hairs like twigs and silver spun.

the shepherd lean

a face that teamed

with worries, sorrows, pleasures and

one smile nine hundred races won.

eyes blue then dun then mottled green

they pierce the forest and county mean

bright shore afar made this world bland

search'd richer heav'n he'd just begun.

i fear him not for i am keen

to hold his pearly hands between

my breast and face heart-heaving sad

exquisite frame youth's tender plunge.

for my face too ablaze alight

my footfalls ne'er by dullards seen

the god's compelling glorious brand

upon my heart, the fateful course I run, I run.

Whenever I put on my habit I pray: "Hodei, si vocem ejus audieritis, nolite obdurare corda vestra." I believe that prayer is a powerful one if prayed in sincerity: indeed it is my monastic motto.

Yesterday the voice was different that it has been for many, many months. I felt the dark, inexorably unrelenting of the pull down into darkness, into non-being, into undivided diversity, into the waters of black all-potential, all-life.

And I ran to my prayer-closet and put on my old, old chadri, one of white and the black on top of it. And I sat. And I was instantly transported to that heavenly court to which I had not been for so long. And my long absence was acknowledged with profesional, soldierly-like nods. And I was given an update on the world beyond seeing.

I was pulled into a trance deeper than I had ever felt, yet did not sleep to my knowledge. Many things i saw and many things were said, but not in a language I can recite to you. And I perceived much, spoken of in terms of battle. With millions working with me, and reports on the progress of contrary forces. And much is being done whether I look or not.

I still ponder this in my heart. And am left guessing as to what this all applies. I suppose it applies to itself and may or may not have anything to do with my current, mundane concerns.

i murmur my devotion to the Lady as I walk. And I look up, to see if yet the black folds of her garment fill the sky above me.

And they do. she does not look back, however, her face, white as alabaster, hair raven black, eyes blazing. she looks only forward, to the west.

but west is to the ocean and beyond, but first the Baghdad of the West.

she has not moved, although the billowing suggests flying at a great speed. still she is above me, huge, but not filling the entire horizon. but more perhaps than I can bear; no, i can bear it, but it is greater than all my plans together.

She tells me under her breathe, "yes! i hear your prayer. fret not! I am doing what I must do. What you must do will be revealed."

And so I trudge doggedly, climbing so slowly the staircase behind the mountain. no one sees my hands, callused, tired, or hears my breath short and gasping. my habit torn, mud and filth and my own excretions staining.

there is no time for stopping. although sometimes, i rest, my hands gripping the cold, sharp, black stone. my feet unsteady but sure for now. and after my wearying dreams of torment, i begin again up. to what destiny i know not.

or perhaps i do. but i dare not dream of ecstasy or rest.

yesterday. i saw the power of G-d and the futile anger of satan. I went to prison to pray with and console a 16 year old prisoner---innocent, terrified, a good boy. I had resolved to pray the simple exorcism of Leo XIII---it is not what you think: it is simply a prayer to thwart the power of the evil one, not to exorcise anything from this poor boy. When I arrived, the ward was silent. After saying the prayer to Michael the Archangel and beginning the Leo XIII prayer proper, the entire ward erupted into a clamorous din I have never heard before: and I was in a private side room with my charge--no one should have been able to hear us. It continued until the prayer was over and then abruptly ceased.

that place is so full of hatred and fear. I tried to explain to my charge that I have come to provide spiritual guidance and protection, but that I cannot guarantee what the Judge will say at his (then upcoming) hearing (which is today). But I looked him straight in the eye and said: right now you think the world is this moment--but this moment, however terrible, is but one moment: God wants to alleviate your suffering, yes, but the greater truth: God. Wants. You.

I hope this had an impact. For I know that God had chosen this boy, this young man, to be one of his servants. At any rate, through me he claimed him. And nothing happens except by the will or permission of God.

I won't list all of the many circumstances that feebly attempted to thrwart me. Before, I have entered that prison with no problems at all. This time, I had been shunted from one unit to another, finally told to leave because the ward in which my charge was confined had had 'incidents'---FOUR fights had broken out that day, and pepper spray had been used. After calling to ensure the 'coast was clear', I was still told to go away. I refused. I was finally allowed to wait inside the prison. There, I was assured I would be allowed to visit my charge soon. I was abandoned. Finally, after I confronted (politely) the guards, I was allowed to enter. The guards, whom I know, who had previously been polite, were insulting to my charge as he was called down to meet me. My God. it was amazing.

But all this was nothing but the lashing about of uncontrolled energy: it is no match for the overwhelming, serene and controlled power of our Lord. Tears come to my eyes now as I think of it. But at the time, I was dry-eyed, clear, direct and intense. I've never prayed such a powerful prayer over anyone before. My alb touched to my charge's body in protection, my other hand pressed on his head. My voice commanding.

Sweet Jesus, I do not know where this is all leading. Let it lead to the greater glory of God and let it lead to the remaking of the earth: one child at a time.

May Almighty God make of me a tower of guard, a force of good will, a pillar of strength, a conduit for his grace--this grace which is 14 trillion times greater than any power on this earth.

it seems there is no end to the number of analogies to the married life you can make to the priesthood.

so. i have just finished a month of relative 'spiritual seclusion'. During this time, I have been saying mass (almost) every day at home; getting more fluid, more confident. Mostly, getting used to this new world. This new 'deep magic of the earth' (using a 'Narnia' analogy) is so strange and so wonderful. The Mass is simple, complex, benign, terrible. It is a raging lion, a lamb. I don't know. Thank G-d I am only the conduit. Although, as the prayers say "for ourselves too we ask some measure" of the grace of G-d. And, of course, as the conduit, some of the God-substance sticks to me, an unworthy vessel. Yet he covers over my foolishness and warts and holes and infections with his Motherly love and grace. I am like a child rocked to sleep, so safe.

In fact, the only thing 'wrong' about Eucharist, is having to be done. I have sat after Mass, especially when offered alone, so unwilling to snuff out the candles, to put away the beautiful linens, to strip off my vestments. Oh G-d! Why must the Eucharist end? Yet, as a good Father, he finally guides me, helps me out of His clothes, puts on my own small shoes after carefully stowing his large, manly ones, and I go back to my insignificant and silly life. At least I am grateful for each moment in which I can love someone else. It is like a drop of cold pure water on my parched tongue. Surely, we live on an earthly hell, in which glimpses of the beatific vision descend sporadically--for most, rarely and almost not at all. G-d grant that no soul go from this world without at least a single drop of that cold clear water.

May the whole earth rejoice in a gentle rain that covers all her children; that fills and cleans all cisterns. That washes away the putrefaction of evil in all of us--and especially, drowns our spiritual foes. Drive back our constant enemy o Lord! And set us, once again, on your Rock. This time, let's put in a guardrail so we don't slip off so easily . . . . .

perhaps another language can describe the terrible lightness of my body. the delicate forcefulness that i must employ even to press these keys.

perhaps another tongue has words and declensions to express the sense of being elsewhere and yet completely present. of loving more intently than ever each person i meet, and yet caring little and almost nothing for this life.

in another land there are idioms that talk of fire and ice and cold and terrors subterranean. in that blessed place, a man can say to another the fragilities and the paper-thin tissue of his soul to another, and at the same time demonstrate his yellow-green roots of unyielding resiliency in love. and the other man, he will understand.

in that place, i could sip tea and arch my eyebrow and fold my legs in a certain way, and others would know that this is a time for non-being, non-talking, for silence hushed like woods 10,000 years old, woods where sunlight dapples young leaves high above. and the hard earth reveals no secrets.

there, perhaps, i could rest.

"There are two tragedies in life, not getting what you want . . . and getting it."

I've finally realized that I am, perhaps all of us are, living in a Greek tragedy. We are raised high and then brought low by our own gifts, which also turn out to be our greatest faults.

Only in 'real' life the 'up and down process' plays out over and over and over again. Wearisome.

Reminds me of the final episode of the final season of "The Sopranos."

Yet, here we all are. We are left to play our assigned roles, inescapable.

Being around people is so LOUD to me right now. I can barely call my clients back at work. Even emailing feels like touching hot coals. For an extrovert, this is a very new sensation. Even in my own home, where I crave the presence of my family, still I simultaneously want them far away. I just want to hide under a blanket on my sofa and contemplate/sleep until this is over.

It is like living in the middle of an extremely slow-motion thunder storm, with the 'mute' button pushed.

The sun rises. Glorious and beautiful, and only the tiniest flicker of wonder is left. At least there is that.

journey.

a man reclines in a palanquin. next to him his lover lays, beautiful, the skin of a perfect back to him. the drapes of the palanquin are open on the sides, revealing a crushing vista.

mountains rise tens of thousands of feet into the air. their summits ruthlessly ravage and tear the skies and reach greedily into the heavens, impossible high, yet still unsatisfied.

below them lay the red rock roots reaching up. they touch only just the torso of these brothers of stone. these gods of their own making. and below them, beneath the bottom of their feet, the thinnest sliver-white blue strand of a stream winds in and out again, nearer then farther away from its neighbors.

the man watches, as the road upon which his bearers traverse brings him down, slowly, into the valley. for he too clutches the side of the mirror images of the mountains across from him

yet, the valley below is utterly flat, utterly green, utterly fertile. as pungently prolific and yielding as the rock above is sterile and rigid; as orderly and fragile as the mountains are all chaos and permanence.

the man looks away, back to his lover--still asleep. he reaches across into the intricately inlaid wood of his private library cabinet, and pulls out the scroll of the day. he opens it to the 48th day of Ailool, the 169th season of Common Time, the prayers for the hour of Mars. And he recites the coded runes in their gold and silver script under his breathe, while the crimson of his robes fall in folds, yet majestic in the cramped carriage. his silhouette reflecting the mountains parallel to him.

Wow. Ordination is now behind me. Of course, that's like saying 'my wedding is behind me.' It feels just a disorienting and full and wonderful and bizarre as getting married (gollly, it's been 22 years since then!).

At any rate, I was going to write something 'spiritual-sounding', but right now, I don't know. I'm too 'full' right now to express anything coherently. As soon as i have digested some of this 9-pound steak that is sitting in my stomach, I'll be back.

Almost there. Ordination is now six days away. What else is there to say?

The PRIEST has gently absorbed and broken down as much of the interior of the 'teapot' of my existence to have room to move. So the 'emptiness' 'blackness', which is in reality awesome potentiality and non-being and fullness, is sufficiently 'large' enough to permit ordination. It is amazing. The funny thing is that It still seems like I have an individual personality. I feel like I am God looking out at the world through theis small segment of a stained glass window that is the illusion and lie of 'me'.

Also, a very great consolation for me running up to ordination has been reading daily before communion the 'song of songs' from scripture. My Bishop assigned it to me. What an amazing book! Yes, of course I've read it before. But now, it is more and more wonderful.

Sorry, nothing 'interesting' to say today. But as I've been hiding from all cyber-interaction lately, I thought I'd just slap something up so that everyone knew i was still 'alive'. In a way.

What is really amazing is that whenever the spirit moves me in a 'ministerial' capacity: hard to describe that, i am still myself, but I feel the spirit of god flowing through me so amazingly, so brightly, and so gently. I keep wondering why no one can see the glow. actually, maybe they can.

Yet, of course, 'after the ecstasy, the laundry.'

speaking of which . . . .

Ah!!!! The Woman! Her Eye. It see me. All of me. I am nude before her, and her eye gorges itself on me. Yet she smiles her strange smile and I am abashed. She blinks not, but always looks, undying knowledge, unyielding perception of all she desires. And she desires me. Yet, not yet. She is waiting on me to understand first . . . . and then . . . .

A friend posted this song on his FB page. It is odd, wonderful. It could be the 'gnostic international anthem".

My table before me. I have yet to fill it with food.

My pillow. I have yet to touch it.

My house. I have yet to find the key.

O My Heart! Thou vile friend! Thou murderous Lover!

O My Heart! Thou sweet Betrayer! Thou unfriendly guest!

O My Heart! Fickle child! A girl in a lacy dress with curly locks.

You beguile me,

But your stillettos in each hand are quick to find my temples.

O My Heart! Forever I am trapped in this madness-marriage. My parents promised to find me a good, loving mate.

I trusted them. And thus, Who are they really?

My Father and Mother of spades. Father of the dark cloak. Mother of the black gown of satin and obsidian beads.

O God! Thou wert light! Thou wert softness! And now, I am crushed as I look at you.

Or, rather, I would rather be crushed. But you have strengthened me.

Why is this strength now only yet anther curse?

For I shall not be so lucky as to escape life.

My life shall be 12 times 12 years I know.

And every moment the knife in my head, my side leaking.

O Spouse! And in this state you expect me to make love?

It's interesting how 'comments' go in waves. Had had one in weeks--months maybe. Well. No matter. I enjoy the process.

Although the closer I come to priesthood, the more I wonder if I should really share as openly as I have always done. Even my 'edited' experiences are apparently a little more revealing to the 'uninitiated' than is desirable, at least according to my confessor. But, who knows.

At this point, the PRIEST archetype keeps revealing himself as one more person after another: always before any integration was a one-time thing. But now, it is as though there are 10,000 Christs that I must digest. So, it's a slow process. Perhaps never to end.

In the meantime, I am dealing with the anxiety of potentially taking a new job. I'm trying not to freak about that. But I haven't wanted a position so much before; ever. This is so perfect. So we shall see.

The anxiety fills my entire 'mundane' psyche. And touches right up against the supernatural calm of my vocation. Strange.

Announcement

It seems incredible. And it seems so natural. At any rate, my Bishop has announced the date for my ordination to the holy priesthood: Palm Sunday, April 17, 2011. It's all set. I only felt butterflies for about two hours and then the grace of calm came back on its own.

But then, Bishop Bryan warned me that it was the weirdness after ordination I really needed to worry about. So, of course, like all goals long sought, it is more a new beginning than a destination.

But still, I rejoice at the end of a long, long part of my life's journey. And, further, am so grateful to so many people along the way. And, more than that, grateful to The Holy One for being in my life from such an early age, taking me through so many experiences unscathed, and finally, bringing the fairly amazing circumstances of the last two years to fruition. But, just like adoption or natural childbirth, all that preparation time is very nearly forgotten once the baby arrives and you have to worry about everything else.

So, the baby arrives in less than a month. I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I'm praying and crossing all my fingers and toes that the "baby" is well-formed, healthy, and beautiful. He'll have a long, long life. O God! All my hopes are pinned on him, and yet, again, as any good parent, it is my own relationship with my 'wife'---my own soul, and the Divine Himself, that is even yet more important than this offspring of our union. Another wild ride in a life of wild rides.

O Sacred Head

Godhead here in hiding, whom I do adore Masked by these bare shadows, shape and nothing more, See, Lord, at thy service low lies here a heart Lost, all lost in wonder at the God thou art. Seeing, touching, tasting are in thee deceived; How says trusty hearing? that shall be believed; What God's Son has told me, take for truth I do; Truth himself speaks truly or there's nothing true.

St. Thomas Aquinas (attrib)., tr, Gerard Manly Hopkins

I had forgotten until this morning how the below song was always my favorite. And now, it is again, my favorite hymn. Actually, it is the only for me. All the others have slid away.

O sacred Head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown:
how pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once was bright as morn!

What thou, my Lord, has suffered
was all for sinners' gain;
mine, mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
'Tis I deserve thy place;
look on me with thy favor,
vouchsafe to me thy grace.

What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?
O make me thine forever;
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love for thee.

These are the lyrics I know: this link gives a 10-verse Lutheran version.

I find out in April when the date for my priestly ordinatino will be. It is now like an impending and very tricky interstate interstate interchange. And I'm going 80. But, slowing down to 60 for the turns will be plenty of margin for error. I do actually remember why I wanted to be a priest in the first place. Although I don't know anymore whether that matters. It's like St. Thomas Moore once said: "When I was young, I have six theories of childrearing. Now I have six children, and no theories."

I have no theories.

I lvoe this song. Especially by Andrea Bocelli. I think often of him: perhaps the greatest voice in the 20th and for sure so far the 21st centuries. Handsome, rich, famous, beautiful wife and children, fabulous home, internatinoal accolades: blind.

I think about that alot.

Blind.

At any rate, I think 'besame mucho' is a perfectly wonderful meditation, at least for a contemplative. We must the Lover as if today were our last day: as, of course, it is.

It always is.

Tonight we die, as we do every night. Perhaps that's why as often I can, I sleep no more than 3 hours at a time. Hmm.

At any rate, enjoy the song.

O Beloved! Kiss much much--for I fear that afterwards I will lose you!

This is a very difficult post to write.

I and my Bishop have the pleasure of speaking at least twice a week, if not more, and of course we correspond nearly daily. The benefit of this is that my formation, while irregular by orthodox standards, has the benefit of being immediate, individual, intimate and nearly, but not entirely, focused on my personal spiritual journey, while keeping extremely close watch on my physical, emotional, and psychic states of being. In all, it is extremely holistic. As a result, the emotional turmoil that priestly formtion causes have been greatly ameliorated.

And there has been turmoil of nearly every sort. And, I thought thta I was nearly through it all--not turmoil per se, but the particular turmoil of this part of my formationin life. Actually, in a way, what happened this week signalled an end to my priestly formation, and began my formation AS a priest--although actual ordination is still a few months off, or perhaps longer.

But what has happened is that I am now confronted, by my own intuition and reasoning, by inspiriation, and by discussions with my Bishop, by the actual needs of the church, by my own limitations and state in life, and by what the WILL of God is for me right now--as concerns my entire life and as concerns my ministry as priest and religious.

I had thought that I would be immediately able to 'help people' in that amorphous, social-worker style of 'helping' that the world legitimizes. You know, start a small home parish, begin an outreach ministry (I want to minister to youth). These are the things that are the 'hallmarks' of being a priest and religious, right? Aren't they the reasons I 'signed up' for this?

No. They aren't. And I knew it at the time, but I clung to those ideas because, frankly, it is all I knew exoterically, and besides, being unaligned with Rome or Constantinople and working under a new Patriarchate, it helped me feel more normal.

But even that is taken from me. My Bishop warned me that the closer I came to Holy Orders, the less of me there would be, more of me would be sloughing off, sometimes tearing into living flesh, sometimes easy, like shedding dead skin. This time it feels like giving away a precous part of my soul.

God is demanding that I work behind the scenes right now. That's the bottom line. I wanted glory and churches and fame (of a sort). I know, they aren't very holy aspirations, but let's just be honest. At least having a parish, working in prisons, etc., I would 'be' more as I would see my reflection in more people. That was my secret storehouse. And Jesus tells me---leave your barns behind, "Follow me."

And he is leading me into a place that tears into me, that reaches into me and touches the hurt place, the secret place I thught he would not discover, despite my prayers that I be completely united with him. It's laughable. Like a child 'hiding' behind a tree. So easy to catch.

So, He asks me to stay at home. He asks me to work in my secular jobs. I have the ability to work two full-time jobs, and my family needs the money, and, if I progress as I believe I can, I'll be able to support my family, fix our financial dilemmas, and even support our nascent Church.

Somehow, I thought perhaps that my priestly vocation would exempt me from facing the brutal realities of my financial hardships. Somehow all would be fixed. Well, somehow it will--but by facing them head on, and not wishing them away with cotton-candy-feaux-holiness.

So, my parish is one of five--my immediate family, and only them. And so it will remain for the time being. My ministry to children will consist of three-my own three. All the rest is deferred. My hopes and fantasies about them all not taken away, but left behind for now. Jesus leads me down a dirt road covered with high green trees, making a long, long straight arbor through which I must walk. And I am a tent-maker, but without the job and heartache of public ministry.

I am crying as I write this. Because I know it is the right thing, but it is yet another hope deferred. He has given me priesthood as a gift, but withheld what I thought it would be. And so, the pain that this mortal life brings me remains unabated. My soul is made ever more healed, but the tears are ever on my pillow.

In a way, this is all to the good. The average seminarian in the orthodox spends 6, 8 years in formation. We do not have such a timeline. So I will be blessed with the grace of celebrating Eucharist, but the rest of the vocation, the external ministry, is 'contra-indicated' for me. Not forbidden, just not the road that Jesus would have me travel. So, I submit, I accept, I humble myself.

I took a vow of obedience of course, and my Bishop is also my Abbot and Prior. Yet, still he does not command me to focus on my secuarl work and building up finances, but he suggests it may be best for me. And, I took a personal vow, deeper and more sacred even than my external vow, that I would take the merest wish of my Abbott as my law. And so, I embrace it.

Tears are flowing even now as I write this. For following Jesus is far more intimate, far more sensual, far more dangerous, far more painful, far more wondrous, far more devastating, far more demanding, than I ever imagined. O Holy Virgin! Catch me as I fall. I fall into death from the cross I would willing have stayed upon. Yet, for only 3 hours was our Lord permitted to suffer--would he not have stayed 3 weeks!? Would he not have gladly stayed there and perhaps brought tens of millions to God in that way? Yet, it was contra-indicated. The way closest to the heart of the Father was an unnaturally short period of suffering, then the deposition and burial. I lay my body in the arms of my Mother and Nichodemus. Protect me, I pray, all you holy saints. For my road is dark. My eyes are blinded by grief and tears, my heart is heavy, so that it bears me down to the ground. Yet, my body walks erect, head high. I do not know how it does so, yet it does. And I must hurry to catch up and remain with it.

All you my friends, pray with me that I stay in the hands of God. And weep with me. I again more intimately realize that every glory that God holdsbefore us is teh sugar that goes with the medicine--and the medicine, the medicine is bitter unto death.

o god, you pierce me with many arrows. i wish they were 'arrows', but no, they are darts poisonous and cruel. i die a thousand times. why must i consume you? you bring me madness and death. you rip away the veil of this false world and show me things my eyes do not understand. faces, bodies, blacknesses, so close, bumping against me, brushing past me, a celestial highway, but chaos, movement in all directions and none. i fee black velvet, purple streams, faces human, but too large, i see too much o lord. yet i ask for more and more.

today i suffered greatly. i was so amped that my mind could not stay on a topic for more than a few seconds. i could not speak to people without screaming or being cutting and cruel. i lay down but no rest came to me. the entire day was a loss as far as my sacred duties go. i barely could read the psalms. i consumed the body of christ and, for a few moments, while bowing low before the tabernacle, i had peace. otherwise. i am in a pain that i cannot describe. why bother. no one will understand except perhaps for other initiates. and they are few. even my wife, while a mystic, even a prophet in her own way, is no initiate. gabriel my son is too young to understand these sublte but crushing emotions.

i am keeping up my physical disciplines. but that is all i can do. i suppose i am being prepard for something great. and though i am bowed down low, my head is held high. so i can bear this new weight, but my newly empowered shoulders, my new back and torso glorious, my new legs of bone and sinew and steel and marble, they can hold this new weight. yet, it is great. and without careful attention, the tender flesh will become ruined.

o god. i am fully in your world. yet i have lost none of my intentions for this physical, terran world. it is just that it is so vague to me. and the great dance of strangeness is more real than the terran world. i sleep not because sleep only makes me mad. it is only by waking that i can keep sane. yet, yet, i do not know. perhaps the gospel is a lie too great to be told. perhaps we should simply tell the people what the exoteric church tells them: "God is a vending machine: pray and he will give." of what benefit is this pain, this torture, this ecstasy? i am more mad than when i began. i am more beautiful, with greater power, but the sadness and weight and ignominy of my lowly state is not a path anyone would choose without years of the Divine's subtle mind-breaking love.

o god. you also are mad. and i still cannot determine why the world is the way it is. yet, i suppose it is your nature. we are born in screams and tears and blood and feces and hideous odors and yet more tears. so it is with the second, third, fourth, fifth . . . births--each more hideous and transformative than the last. i have become great as i had prayed. and now, my god, i am on a path that i cannot flinch from. i no longer even wish to. not only because even to hesitate would mean pain, agony, death. but because you have transformed me into a creature that i was not before.

it is as they portray the wizards of old----they are ancient with years beyond count, they wander the land helping the weak, remembering the innocent, and making use of the puissant as so many toy soldiers to achieve their globe-wrenching ends. they topple regimes, the take castles, they inspire love. all for ends that they no longer bother to understand.

This blog sometimes is a joyous outlet, sometimes simply a cool respite from my work (i enjoy my own creation on an aesthetic level, I'll admit) and sometimes a labor of love.

But once in a while someone tells me they gain something from it, so I continue.

Today I'll let you in on my life as a Wandering Monk:

My day / Mi horario:

1:00 a.m.: Time to get up!!! I set my alarm for 1:00, 1:15 and 1:30 to make sure I don't oversleep--but between my now established practice and my wife's friendly kick in the legs as soon as the first alarm goes off--I'm usually up.

1:05 a.m.: Kettle on; computer up: updating my blogs, websites and other work for the church.

2:00 or 3:00 a.m.: I begin my secular work.

7:00 a.m.: Make hot breakfast for my three beautiful kids and myself.

7:20 am.: Back to work.

10:00 a.m.: Walk to the park with my wife; short work out on the pull-up bar there (i alternate days with pull-ups, chin-ups, and hanging sit-ups).

12:00 p.m.: Lunch. Quick. Try to get in 'liturgy practice'.

1:00 p.m.: Nap

3:00 p.m.: Work again.

6:00 p.m.: Make dinner for family and do housework and try to sneak in extra work.

8:15 p.m.: Family meeting/prayer/meeting time.

8:40 p.m.: Get ready for bed; quiet time with my wife.

10:00 p.m. SHARP: time for my evening nap.

PRAYER: never before 9:00. Prayer before 9:00 equals sleep. So I read the Psalms and indulge in mental prayer whenever I need a break during the day, which is about 4 or 5 times a day. I never do meditation at any time near my nap periods. Usually only around 10:00 a.m. or 7:30 p.m.

That's it!