I thank you now for this pain you have given me.

I thank you now for this groaning without ceasing.

For this heaviness in my limbs

For this terror in my face

For my bones melting

For my flesh turned to shards of obsidian and flying off into the stars

For my very being every day more nothing, more nothing.

For now i see, now i understand.

My body flies to you.

My body, the thinnest garment, a gauze, a fine gauze, strong but filmy, frothy.

I become you. And YOU are so many, so many more than I had thought.

My body flies to you O Avenger! O Adamant! O Fehu! O Brother! O Sister!

I made love to a saint today, shyly and blushing, and she only laughed at my childishness.

And the joy on her face uplifted to a world I know now slew me once, thrice and I lay, I stand, dead.

Not dead, but not.

Holes from bullets tortuous shredded my flesh, my nakedness uncovered.

I have bled out.

My face a ghost.

And I have sunk down into the earth, lamented but shortly.

And, and,

And I am created anew. I do not know these arms, these legs. This is not my torso.

This is not my face.

O God! Only the tiniest filament of my former self yet lives. A filament that stretches back into the past to what once was a body. And now.

And now I am this other, this other with whom I am not yet acquainted. And he terrifies me.

His eyes flash like eagles

His arms as steel.

His legs as the pillars of the earth.

His hands hold powers untold

His mind works in mighty ways---I shudder to think his thoughts!

And his raiment. Of Gold and Purple and Red. His staff is mighty. It is death to all others. And it's weight impossible to any but him.

But his lips bless. His countenance a blessing and food to the weary.

His body death to the evil, and life to the weak.

I have passed into a new country. A new world.

A world so much larger, so much grander, so much more real than this paltry shadow.

I cannot tell of its magnificence as I am forced to speak this tongue of dung.

But it I could speak the words of silver and gold, you might not survive it.

Come up. Come in. Yet fear.

I have begun my experiment in praying the Psalms in the Septuagint Greek translation. My tentative goal is to memorize the 150 psalms in that language. It is a very ancient and noble tradition. God help me in this will of OURS.

Otherwise, I am suffering a small amount from the impending ordination to the traditional Deaconate--even though I have been "Rev. Smith" for months now, and experienced a powerful movement of the Spirit during the ordination, the closer the priesthood comes, the more my psyche suffers from the transformation.

Thank goodness I have strong and varied support system.

I prayed. And instantly I was transported to a world to the right of our own. And on my head was a crown.

But the crown cast an immense shadow. And I felt then that it was stone.

And I saw then that it was the underside of a huge stone cathedral.

And I saw then that it was a mightly stone citadel.

And I saw then that it was a very great walled city.

And I was crushed in spirit.

And ELOHIM came to me and said, "Lo! I am holding up this crown of yours and you need not fear and see! you are still standing! Take heart! And fear not and walk as you have been instructed."

And I awoke from my prayer. And I was weak unto death.

George Washington Carver

Hero of the faith. It's early, I know--his official day isn't until January 5--but I wanted to honor George Washington Carver today (came up at breakfast with my kids---"who invented peanut butter?"). A hero of the faith. You should remember him from grammar school--but read the wiki on him. Also a man of faith. Called the "Leonardo" of his time. Helped to destroy the evil thought egregore that one race could be intellectually superior to another. Also helped to restore the depleted land of the South by introducing new crops---and also to better the nutrition of millions. I can't believe that that new artist--what's his name?---hasn't 'written' an icon of him yet. He should. Anyone have his contact info?

If the mystic does not use many words, he does not keep silent completely. Moreover the acknowledgment of the lack of the ability to describe Reality triggers the unrestricted flow of new words and new rhythms; a new language. The mystical “no” is not a denial, but rather a destruction of particularities, made to reveal what is universal. The mystical “yes” is not an affirmation of the status quo, but an affirmation of the truth of a particular part of the common understanding; in short, his “yes” is a “yes and” or “yes but”.

From the mystic’s perspective, the language that he applies, although idiosyncratic and a language of metaphors and symbols, is not irrational. He uses symbol, because symbol is the only possible expression of Mystery.

For the Mystic, language is creation, destruction and creation yet again. He creates a new vocabulary, and hence, a new world, a new philosophy, a new worldview; new paradigms. In this way, the mystic stands at and IS the central core of the human experience in its totality. The mystic is the great black hole around which other men rotate; some knowingly, but mostly, unknowing. The mystic in this very real way, becomes God, is God, reflects God to a world of refraction. He is unable to be seen in his entirety because the natural, fleshly world can see only through prisms. Hence, his words are taken badly, if at all. Often, then, he is pariah, sacrifice, scapegoat. He IS Truth. And the human psyche rebels against Truth in such unadulterated doses. Hence, the mystic is wise to be silent, or embrace martyrdom.

My head is spinning from study today. There is no sense in doing any sales work during this Thanksgiving week, so I'm giving myself permission to do other things.

Two things:

First, I did hear a call from Our Lady during prayer, which was an intense, but very calm and very real calling. I have a vision now for uniting all of my various and disparate skills and aptitudes. I have discovered that The Will is for me to return to practicing law, in defense of children. Likely in the class action arena. Further, I'll be involved in direct ministry to children in prisons, beginning locally (we have a juvenile detention center and 'camp' within a few miles of my home). Eventually, I mean to be able to support myself, my family and my ministry with this work, to include adding other brothers and eventually sisters to this work to advance the state and care of children throughout our society.

I look forward to beginning this sacred task. The devil is in the details of course, but I have no fear. I may have to stay in my current work position for many years before I can become fully self-supporting, but I don't care. I have a plan that is finally big enough for me, and a worthy challenge. So I feel very peaceful and at rest even as I face what will be a very challenging career. It feels as though the last four decades have been rescued from obscurity and meaninglessness by this single moment in time, or out of time as the case may be.

So, I look forward to seeing how The Will plans to make all of this work out. In the meantime, I have several "immediate" items on my 'to-do' list to start things rolling.

A very blessed turn of events.

Oh, the second thing wasn't nearly as earth-shattering. More mind-wobbling. I was doing some study on apostolic succession---oi vey! What a mess! Well. All in all I'm pretty convinced that our priests, bishops and patriarchs are pretty much all related one way or another. But further cross-pollination is pretty necessary---90+% of the current 5000 RCC bishops, and most of our recent popes are descended or can be documented back to the ordination of a single, 16th century Bishop--and we can't get any further back from that (yes, we have all the records of the popes back to the 2d century--pretty much---but the actual laying on of hands from bishop to bishop is what I'm talking about). So, hopefully we'll find some more records in the next hundred years or so before all is lost to fill in some gaps. In the meantime, it is good and holy work that the Gnostic and Independent bishops are doing. We are sewing back together our fairly ragged cloak of succession---all to the good.

Signing off . . . . visit my new altar(s); the one dedicated to the Holy Innocents of our day is here.

Since I found my 'magic' rosary (easier to call it that than describe the whole story every time!), I've been reminded of my devotion to the Virgin of Virgins, Queen of the Apostles. Enjoy this performance by my favorite musical group, Libera. If only I could be pure of heart as a child! If only the divine rays of god would shine through me without this holy pain of ecstasy and death. If only . . . . If only this prison of flesh bounded me not . . . if only, if only the hearts of Mary and Jesus would explode into my body, leaving nothing but the appearance of me.

"Blessed quietness".

There is an old hymn called "blessed quietness". I don't remember any of the words (and don't feel like 'googling' it) but I remember the feel. And that's where I've been. Well, my own version of it. My day is interspersed with terrible joys and pains from my worship and praxis, but I am workign on 'surrender', which is more complicated and wonderful than I would ever have thought--especially given my personality.

But I am so blessed to have three wonderful people that help me on a regular basis as confessors and spiritual directors. So my vocations as monastic and as cleric are 'on path.'



And, for me, this is a wonderful time of peacefulness and rest. Well, you know, a restful place. I still work nearly constantly, and usually six days a week--soon to increase to seven, I fear.



And I've taken on the "Little Flower" as my guardian for the rest of my formation process. She is the perfect advocate and guide. I've honored her on my 'temple of the jesu' site.



All is well.

haven't posted in ages. my life has been pretty dry. but the divine office has helped to keep me, keep me, well, i don't know what to call it. alive? not sure. In a 21st century way, i feel my enemies (money, circumstances, health) closing in around me. O Lord, save me QUICKLY!

In the meantime, I am very pleased that my little Priory has officially begun and we now have a small website to celebrate it. Of course, so much more to do with it. But i am allowed precious little time to devote to such projects, fun as they are.

Pray for me as I will for thee.

today during prima, i was overcome by the death of the innocents. for some time, I have had in my mind the fact of the suffering of innocents in every moment in every day and night in all times from all eternity to all eternity. Surely this suffering is a burden of burdens to the Jesu. Yet, he does his work and listens to our petty problems and our petty burdens and foibles. All the time, does he not speak into the ears of the children? Does he not whisper sweet nothings into the ears of the dying innocents, as they lie dying on battlefields in Africa, as they lie in tears being molested, beaten, shamed, battered, abused? How can I escape this reality in every moment of my day? Only by the grace of God can I do all I can with these two simple and very limited hands to attempt to love those near me. To be the words of the Jesu to the three children entrusted to me. O God! spare at least the children. And let my prayers be sweetness in their tender hearts. Let my prayers by a strength to all those I cannot reach or imagine. Let blessings pour out of me to them; somehow.

And please, holy martyrs to evil, you who live in the innermost heart of Jesus, pray for me, a fool. Pray for me, a fool. Yet pray to God that my foolishness may prevent yet one precious child from experiencing the suffering you suffered. O Gracious Martyrs, pray for me---let me be the hands of Jesus. Yes! The hands and feet as well. Let me not shrink from rooting out evil---let me not shrink from the suffering of your holy brothers and sisters in this plane of evil and death and decay. For your youth should have been full of wonder and joy. And yet you suffered as no man or woman can comprehend, at least, that is our prayer. Holy Innocents---take our hearts up to the holy altar of the Jesu and sanctify us. Let our hands, our feet, our tongues, our minds, be turned into that ineffable gold, that purest platinum, that most glorious silver of the Eternal flame. O Innocents, we pray to you, we look to you, we cry out to you. Have mercy on our stupidity, ignorance and arrogance. Please pray to the Ineffable that we have one more day in which to insert a modicum of justice into this world of illusion--of illusion full of barbs, daggers and demons.

We proclaim your death Lord Jesus, until you come again . . . . . .

i had one of those experiences that you can look at several ways.



the most fantastical way of looking at it is that I saw a fully corporeal angel, in the form of a grumpy middle-aged woman--who brought me a beautiful, never-touched (so it seemed) glass-beaded and metal filigree rosary. when i asked her what this was all about she said "you figure it out." Of course, my angelic encounters have to be with grumpy people---no music, no wings, no halos, just down-to-earth stuff. figures.



there are more mundane ways of interpreting all this, I know. But I don't believe them.



but i'm not quite sure what this all means. it remains to be seen perhaps.

still sick. making it hard to give a darn about work, prayer, anything. yikes!

Mixed bag. This weekend was obsessed with creating ANOTHER cyber-temple, this time to the Jesu. I think it is cool. But then, I would, wouldn't I? Of course all invited to site and worship there.

On the negative end, I just figured out how much in the hole we are at this rate per year---it is steep and has too many digits. way. So, trying to figure that one out. So, in all, today counts in the 'if i was going to have an emotional reaction to the physical world this is it' sort of day.

Five years running of really, really horrible financial problems is beginning to wear a little thin.

The new temple is on the left side panel if you want to click on it and check it out.

a day of crises. a day of misunderstandings. a day of sensitive feelings. a day of decisions. all for the best.

now if i can just get back to my 'real work'. but perhaps, all these interruptions ARE my 'real work'.

as the astrologers say: 'the moon is in caca'.

alas and alack.

it seems whenever i join a new group, start a new blog, etc., i get interest and comments. then, people realize just how off the deep end i am and they clam up. i'm hoping that my new community stays with me. it feels so lonely on the fringe of the world. i feel exhilerated standing here on the end of all things---looking out onto a waterfall of one trillion miles--looking out onto this starry carpet of eternity, my toes hanging over the edge of space and time. my mind connected by ten trillion filia of enormous length reaching out into the sum total of all things and to the ineffable, unreachable, source, the source that is not conscious of itself, but requires the intervention of its unconscious urges to create a reflection, feeling the primordial earth under my toes---black, rich, like the darkest blackest chocolate cake of earth and loam. the first worms of creation touching my heels in sympathy.

but there is no one to hold my hand. yes, other than for you my lover, sweet. but shall it be we two for all ages? i had thought that a great host would accompany me, could see with my eyes, feel with my toes. but it is not to be.

all my joys and raptures and sorrows and ecstasies only we to shall share, my love. and then, when i leave this vegetable casing, this seed crust, this flesh of corruption and decay, all that i was shall be forgotten, by all, by me. and yes, i shall have you and you shall have me. but the old me shall have fallen away into nothingness. may i shed one tear for that which was once me? that which was once knowable and known? for why, oh why did you place me here? the pain! the glory! the pleasures! and, yes, o gods! o gods! o gods! the terrible lonliness. i am an alien on earth, and i am an alien in this divine garden of sweetness. i am a man of no land. of no place. i have no passport other than your sweeteset hand in mine, o my lover. hold me and make me forget this world of matter. let me see only thou. for only in thou shall i forget my agony for a moment.

wretch that i am!!!!! perhaps it would have been better to be asleep eternally as my brethern are. perhaps better to live in unwakened pains rather than this wakeful terror. o god! i prayed for this and you gave it me. you are too cruel! yet, i count it all worth it just to touch your sacred fingers. i would live this life 100 times more just for the briefest touch of thy holy flesh--my finger to your finger. for one flash of your eyes--bright, dark, fierce, kindly, in love.

o catch me as i fall, dear lover. as i fall down to this loamy soil. the grass, new, untread, with dew, unspoilt, catch me, and hold me in your puisssant arms. for i die again this morning.

for once i died when i slept. now i die when i awake again into this world of shadow-beauty, of reflected-glory, of false-somethingness. o god. can i really face 100 more years of this ecstatic union/separation? shield my mind. let me rest. let me sink into the earth for a while. and renew my limbs.