our Gods. so much more ancient than we thought.
our dreams, so much more common.
our desires, so much more important.

snap your heels together thrice.

fiat. fiat. fiat.

I had no idea that the lyrics to this so well-known hymn were so, well, gnostic, in outlook:

Jesu, joy of man's desiring
Holy wisdom, love most bright

Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring
Soar to uncreated light

Word of God, our flesh that fashioned
With the fire of life impassioned
Striving still to truth unknown
Soaring, dying round Thy throne

Through the way where hope is guiding
Hark, what peaceful music rings
Where the flock, in Thee confiding
Drink of joy from deathless springs
Theirs is beauty's fairest pleasure
Theirs is wisdom's holiest treasure
Thou dost ever lead Thine own
In the love of joys unknown.

I stand at the center of a vast circular hall. yet, it is intimate. 72 counselors and one more and yet one more stand with me.

i, in the center, stand, unwilling to sit, with the moon and the sun, one in each hand. the sky watching close by, the earth above and below. and i stand, on that inlaid wooden floor of exuisite beauty, signs and sigils and runes of which i know not.

i am in the richest of robes, as are all. the room inviting, fit for an emporer. but it is my will to wait. i must wait before i move. a good king knows when to move, when to wait, when to prepar. for now, i prepare and wait. and every moment is as an age. finally, i relax, i sit. everything that comes out of my body is gold, purest, brightest gold, each drop of sweat of purest gold. and so, without letting go of my tight, sweaty hold on the sun and moon, i conceded to sit, cross-legged, and wait.

my eyes i close, and i ponder. i ponder the impending battle.

the plans are all drawn, all is in place, but we must wait for battle-season.

until then, we toil, we till, we grow, we gather, we destroy enemy outposts in our way, we control the skies, we control the earth. yet, we, everywhere on the field, cannot be seen. and our enemies already begin to fall into our arms. already my agents invade and implode or explode pockets of resistence. but still, this is all just the preparation for the greatness. our rising shall be a rising, such a rising as perhaps never seen. not here.

perhaps i can sleep. but only with the sun and moon on either side. i cannot let their touch cease.

so we lay, on a low pedestal, resting, while my generals make all ready. and my war-robes are made ready. my arrows with spells surrounded. my sword, polished with the dust of stars, my spear, its point one atom in diameter. its shaft, light, strong, pulsing.

my body feels already the power of battle, the joy of it suffuses me.

St. Dymphna

I read this after a heavy burden was dumped on my heart by the Holy Spirit. And they say that G-d is a 'nice guy'. Anything but. He treats his friends quite roughly. But the weak he treats with compassion. Read this. May this day in my own heart be dedicated to the sacred heart of St. Dymphna, patroness of the mentally ill, the victims of incest, of family harmony and of physicians to the mentally ill. Click here. ---note: just found out she has a feast, but not until May 15.

I wanted something to say. But did not feel permitted to say anything of my own. But I found this

Enjoy.

St. Therese of Liseux, Patroness of my formation, came to me yesterday and blessed me and alleviated my sufferings. For today. "Just for today!"

Thank you, Sister. Carry me into the blessed arms of the Virgin as i fall, fall, fall, into the heart of the Jesu. Soon, there will be no difference. No division.

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.