I live with two disabilities--rather two SETS of disabilities.  There are my own: bipolar disorder, diabetes, food addiction; and those of my wife: they are several, not the least of which is narcolepsy.  This letter is made all the more difficult because my wife has always been the one in charge of bills, coordinating our life, logistics, etc.  I simply delegated our entire life to her long ago.  Now, that system doesn't work well.  Yet, for various reasons, I can't help her.

Further, there is a physical distance between us because I now work outside the country.  I can only come home sporadically now.  Obviously, this is extremely difficult for my wife and kids.

I have two jobs.  One is as an international executive recruiter (sounds fancy but isn't) and another side project.  I just keep hoping that all will work out fine.  Everything I have divined, through a variety of sources both under my influence and not, tell me that all will be fine: I just need to keep on going.  So, I keep on going.  It is just that my life becomes very dry.  Every moment spent not working seems like theft from the family.  I try to remember that I need to keep myself physically and emotioanlly healthy, and I'm succeeding in that, but still, everything seems pretty bleak sometimes.  We have a pernicious money problem that I have been unable to solve for a long time now.

What does this all have to do with mysticism?  Or, more appropriately, 'wandering mysticism'?  Everything.  The wandering mystic starves just as the typical mystic fasts.  The wandering mystic is blessed with the scourges of family troubles, child issues, money worries, etc.  The desert mystic has more control over his/her circumstances and welcomes fasting and difficulties.  But still, even the most humble mystic's hut suffers from leaks from rains, attacks from the ignorant, etc.

So, I feel in solidarity with the poor. Although I would never claim to suffer as much as the truly poor. 

I realized the other day.  I had taken a "carro" (overgrown mini-bus that poses as public transportation when I am) to a very remote area of this sprawling megalopolis.  It was extremely poor by my standards.  The houses were mostly of unfinished concrete, although there was power and city water---there are many district far more desperate.  And that is when it hit me:  these "poor" are actually doing well by global standards.  They are eating X calories a day, probably more than necessary to survive--no one looked hungry, and they are clean with shelter.  The fact that the area is a sea of concrete and dust is just a relative lack of window dressing.

Then I thought of myself and my issues.  Soon we may be in dire straights.  But we do have family that can shelter us at the least.  90%+ of the world lives day to day--why should I complain to be included in that figure?

I have experienced some drastic life changes in the past nine months.  They have had dramatic effects on my life, and that of my family and my Church.  I really can't get into the details now because some of the issues are sensitive relative to certain individuals.

But I can make a few observations.  The most drastic of my changes has been a move, in stages, out of the country.  It has been mostly full of work, diversion, fun and more work.  But as of today, everything has slowed down to a standstill.  I'm waiting on a piece of technology that will allow me to begin putting my new business into full swing, and I'm stymied until Monday when it is SCHEDULED to arrive. Plus, I've finished doing everything I can bear to do on setting up the internal workings on the business, my apartment and any and all logistical stuff.  That just leaves me with "me".  And it's sort of boring.  Even though I am surrounded by at least one person at every moment.

I think this is the "boredom" and "me" that I have been needing to feel for a long time.  I can't tell if this is a good or bad sign, but I'm betting on "good" sign.  Still, what does this mean?  Does this mean that no matter what I do in life I will eventually be left with a "me" that, at its core, has no desires, no wants, only a vague pain--like flesh exposed to too much cold or a tongue burned with too-hot coffee.  Still, there are degrees, and I don't think that "unringing the bell" is going to be an "even trade".  On the contrary.  But what DOES it mean?  Does it mean that I am now in the position to do what I need to do?  Is THIS the work or is the preamble to the work.  I think the latter.

Still, I am left with my prior life, which is, by the way, still going on--very much so.  I don't know what to do.  I am also dealing with a spiritual fugue as well as a mental health condition that both require rapt attention.  Who knows how this will all turn out.

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.