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.