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.