birthday dinner
07.31.05 (10:31 pm) [edit]L
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Pe
Mitch
angel unaware
07.31.05 (9:35 am) [edit]I meet Fr
One d
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Pe
mitch
My struggle
07.30.05 (6:50 am) [edit]The r
Like the tip of
Shows itself
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With the gre
The unconscious
Both collective
Filled with
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With the Id
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Le
To those enthr
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Some
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M
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M
Things they themselves c
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They h
Not evil, but striving
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Others h
Some see more cle
The inner ch
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Others
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It bleeds into everyd
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And do evil things in th
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But more often it is either twisted
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In
They
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For th
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Without remorse
Sorrow not possible
The hum
Dr
D
The truly evil, freely choose
Those seeking, struggle with the inner forces
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God gr
Believer,
And choices
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None of us sees, we
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All people
Our response tell us more
Th
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Let us pr
Pe
Mitch
Back to square one
07.29.05 (5:08 pm) [edit]Wh
I
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It is true th
I
Pe
mitch
A Miracle
07.28.05 (3:31 pm) [edit]About six months ago I took Edmund to see a doctor, about a large growth on his neck. It was right of center, and growing quite large, but Edmund did not seem to be in any pain. Our main concern was its size, and it did not seem to be letting up in its growth. After some test, the doctor told us that Edmund had lymphoma, but it was chronic and probably would not kill him. He also recommended that we take a wait and see position on this, since Edmund was so old and frail. So we followed the doctor’s advice and brought him back home. After about a month, the tumor starting getting a nasty red color, and growing quite rapidly so again back to the doctor. After another examination, the doctor stated that the tumor was not really in bad shape yet, and it was still better not to do anything with it yet. He did however write a prescription for Prednisone that was to be taken everyday. He stated that this should slow done the growth and deal with any inflammation or infection. Things went well for awhile and then we noticed that the tumor was shrinking a very rapid rate. The nurse was worried that since the tumor was shrinking the Prednisone might need to be lessened in strength or stopped all together. We made an appointment that was set for two weeks. Well in that two week period the tumor vanished, gone, went south.
Today I took him for his appointment. We have a new wheel chair van, so it was an easier trip for Edmund; being partially blind and with a bad back, it is hard for him to get in and out of vehicles. Being small he is one of the easiest people to take in the van, and his comfort level is much better. It made him nervous moving out of the van into his wheelchair, with the van this step is eliminated entirely. We got into the waiting room and Edmund starting singing “Melancholy Baby” at the top of his voice, and after that started singing “I’ll never smile again” one of his favorites songs; he is a fanatic for Billy Holiday. After that I got him a big glass of water which he downed in record time, heat does that to you I guess.
We were called back to see the doctor and he was amazed at the change in Edmund’s condition; happy that he would not have to do any kind of procedure that would make him sick or uncomfortable. He called in his assistant who has being working in the field for a long time and she had never seen anything like it either. The doctor said that perhaps Edmund has some more things to do, hence the healing. The doctor did not use the word miracle but nonetheless he was impressed. Edmund as usual took everything in stride, and probably thought we were all a bit daft to make so much fuss over him.
On the way back, after I got Edmund strapped in and the wheel chair, and tied down, I looked over at him and was (am) amazed how a little slip of a man, so tiny and frail can beat the odds with this tumor. Perhaps the fact that he eats enough for three men may have something to do with it, I don’t know, but his is special that is a fact. I noticed also that he was mesmerized by the scenery; he looked like a child seeing something for the first time. I think that is something he has developed over the years and now in his last years the fruit of that spiritual work is starting to show fruit. Good fruit from a good tree. Edmund is a devout and loving Christian whose faith is as deep as the ocean and bigger than the world. I hope that when I get old I will be just a little like Edmund.
A good friend of mine, who is the same age as me, is deathly afraid of getting old and frail, and needing to be taken care of; he fears diminishment; well who doesn’t. We have talked about this quite a few times. My outlook is this, when I am 85 (if I live that long) I will be different than I am now. We adapt, and while getting old is hard, most of the old timers I take care of still love life and find joy and happiness. Each age has it good points and its bad, its joys and sufferings and we are meant to go thru all of them. The lucky ones are those who live to be old and who allow others to love and take care of them. It is an honor to take care of people who have raised families, held jobs and now are moving closer to that door that we all must go thru. No one wants to get old and die but it is the nature of things, and from my experience most old people come to accept that and many know when it is time to move on.
Peace
mitch
Not much of anything
07.27.05 (11:23 pm) [edit]Really don't have much to write about this morning. I guess I could blame it on the heat; it is hot, very hot and I suppose that does take a toll on how clearly I can think. There is supposed to be some kind of break in the weather this week, hopefully it will happen today. Most of the thunder storms in the area have passed us by the last two weeks so.... it is "shake and bake" time for us. The air was so bad yesterday that it was very difficult to stay outdoors very long without have chest pain from the air. I guess if it were not for the AC, Atlanta would still have about One Hundred Thousand residents, and not the Four plus million it has today.
Traffic on a hot day takes on a hellish aspect for me, all that heat coming from the cars, all the exhaust making the air worse, and me being part of it all, since I am also driving; don't have a choice. Wish Atlanta could get together some decent public transportation, but that does not seem to be coming in the near future. Atlanta is considered to be one of the most expensive cities to drive in, I forget the amount but it is high, since we spend so much time just setting and waiting to move forward.
Heat does make me short tempered so I have to deal with that, trying not to make someone around me the lighting rod for my heat related anger is also difficult, especially when driving. I pray a lot these days, just to keep my hot rod personality under control. From time to time I feel God's grace like a soothing ointment cooling my soul, when I most need it.
Funny thing, people think I am peaceful and cool headed, and when I try to tell them that is not really true, they don't believe me. I really don't know how people perceive me, but I often think that I am not seen at all. Probably because I try to keep everything in and not make victims of those around me, since most of my anger has it roots from my deep past. It gets better as I get older but I still have a lot to work on.
Well this is just a ramble, wanted to put something up. Hope everyone is keeping coolheaded in this weather...
Peace
Mitch
The Basin
07.26.05 (6:37 pm) [edit]I am fascinated how certain experiences from my past stick with me; an event that would seem meaningless or common on the surface, would have an influence on my inner life that to this day I do not understand. It usually happened by me seeing some "thing" that caught me unawares, and left a wound of sorts in my soul. Writing seems to bring these experiences to a more pointed remembrance for me, and when I recall them they seem as fresh as when I first had the experienced.
Once such experiences happened when I was 14 years old playing in the Jungle in Panama. They have a lot of drainage ditches there to catch the large amount of rain that rain forest tend to get. We were going down one of these drainage ditches on our way to the movies, further up on the base were I lived. We often used the jungle short cuts to get were we wanted to go; or just for the joy of it. I loved being in the jungle. As we were walking up the ditch we stopped to rest. As I was resting I noticed a very small waterfall flowing into a small formation that resembled a large basin. I was attracted by the sound of the water, went over and looked into the basin. I was struck by the beauty of it all; clear water mostly calm since like I said the waterfall was small, and in this beauty there was just one fish, not really beautiful, really no color at all, but it seemed so perfect for the spot were it was. A simple fish among simple rocks in a small area became for me a thing of real beauty, and I watched it for a long time. It seemed to radiate peace and calm and total balance. Over the years this image does float to the surface and the beauty still strikes me. It was not a great thing, just something very common, that for the moment seemed to open up a new world for me. Perhaps I was given the grace to really "see" for just a short time.
I did not tell anyone about it but sort of kept it to myself, and now 41 years later I am writing about it.
Peace
Mitch
Red Sand Valley
07.26.05 (12:36 pm) [edit]I remember the first day we arrived in the country of Panama; it was on the 8th of December 1958, and I had just turned 10 on the 3rd of that month. I remember getting off of the plane at Howard Air Force base, and could immediately feel the difference in the air, very warm and humid, more than what I was used to; I also liked the place at once. One reason was that it was so totally different from what I was used to living in the city and all. Howard AFB was on the Pacific side of the Isthmus, we were headed for the Atlantic side, a fifty mile drive along the main highway. The scenery was all new and I was very interested in how many of the homes were built; on stilts and the underside of the house used for laundry and parking and for setting and the occasional party. When we arrived in Gulick Heights, a small neighborhood that was all uphill, with about 30 homes, consisting of houses that could house from 4 to 8 families; the houses were white, with green trim around all the window frames. I was also interested in the fact that our neighborhood was surrounded by jungle, and made a note to myself to explore it at the earliest convenience. We went up to house number 522 and went up to the top floor were we had two apartments ready for us. I remember that mom and dad wanted us to rest so we went to our room and took a nap. The sheets had a musty odor to them and felt moist from the humidity. I fell right to sleep. The next day we all got to know some of the local kids and went exploring with a few of them. They took us to an area that was called “Red Sand Valley” by the kids, and it was very interesting at first look. It was a rather large area (at least to a ten year old) of land that was not over run by the Jungle; looking back I guess it was more clay than anything else, so nothing could grow except for a few weeds here and there. For us it was a great playground and we had lot of rough fun there. One of the older kids, his name was Walter, wanted us to help him build a fort and we would then own it. So we got involved in this project and began to build. We decided the best way to build a club was to simply dig a large hole and then to cover it over with boards and then cover it with dirt. We worked on it for over a week in our spare time, and we all grew excited as the project grew closer to its end. We finished it and we could all fit into the club house and thought it was ours. Well Walter thought otherwise and the next day would not let any of us use it saying it was his and we were not allowed to enter it. To say we were angry was an understatement, but he was a lot bigger than we were. About a week later I was in the Jungle with my brother and about a half a mile from the club house we found a barrel of oil, have full, so not to heavy for four small boys to role. It did take a while since we had to go through some underbrush before we got to Red Sand Valley. Once we got it there we rolled in over to the club house, and once we ascertained that Walter was not there we emptied all the oil thru one of the air vents, after which we cleaned everything up and hid the barrel. The next day as I was sitting under the house I saw Walter coming back from Red Sand Valley covered in oil; boy did I feel good, but also a little worried about him seeking revenge, for surely he knew who were the ones who did it. However nothing happened and he left us alone after that. We did a lot of playing there. When it would rain we would use the hill there as a slide and would wear out quite a few pairs of pants with this kind of play. Also the red clay drove my mom crazy since it would not come out of our clothes. So she just died everything purple and that took care of that. I think the age from 10-12 was probably the happiest time of my life. First reason is that being away from the States made me feel safer for various reasons that I won’t go into here, and secondly my hormones had not started acting up yet so I was at peace in that regard. It was like living in a Huck Finn novel. Peace mitch |
gentle Edmund
07.25.05 (3:24 pm) [edit]Edmund is one of the oldsters th
Edmund is
I wonder how people grow old gr
About three ye
You never know when you will h
Edmund will be missed when he is c
Pe
Mitch
to give or not to give
07.24.05 (4:49 pm) [edit]to give or not to give
I have often wondered what it means when we are told that we are made in the Image and likeness of God. Some people say the image is our "self-awareness", or it is our intelligence that makes us images of God.
I don't agree, I think what draws us closer into the image of God is to become more like God; to take on God's likeness....no image can capture God anyway. I suppose that is what St Paul meant when he talked about putting on the "Mind of Christ". Whatever that means, I think it is something that would bring peace into our lives; a peace that would give us the strength to be able to embrace life fully, without the need to run away into one addiction or another.
Many make the distinction between givers and takers, and the takers take advantage of the givers. I think we are most happy, when from a healthy non-compulsive stance, we become givers, and because we give freely, the ability to give increases, and we find ourselves at peace. I think it is a paradox, we receive by giving; another familiar proverb that most of us are familiar with, and from my experience true.
Everyone wants to be understood and loved, and many wait a lifetime for that; perhaps most of us do. What if we actually tried to understand and love others without the worry of being overly self-conscious about finding that "something or someone special", that will take away the loneliness that most of us are aware of, and that we carrying around all the time. What if the desire to understand others would in itself allows others to grow in understanding of who we are after all. We are built to give and to love, and I think we are supposed to wear ourselves out doing it; the trick again is to grow in the freedom to do it without unspoken assumptions or expectations. To give with strings attached never really works, since in the long run the receiver will look upon it as a burden, and eventually will either refuse more "gifts or favors" or simply drop the relationship.
It is better not to do good for others if it is based on compulsive needs that in the long run will be destructive to any kind of true relationship. How does one arrive at this state? Well it is a slow process, one that most of us are probably somewhere in the middle, slowly learning, what it means to truly give in a life giving manner to others. I suppose the price to be paid is to simply deal with the emotions and feelings that arise from our more compulsive side, and deal with in the internal forum. To work it thru without making others victim to our unmet needs; another paradox, facing our own inner pains and demons will in the long run bring healing, while the seemingly easier road, of making others responsible for failure will only make the process of healing longer and or even impossible.
I am still somewhere in the middle taking my 10 steps forward and 9 steps back; slow true, but moving forward, no matter how slow is progress.
Peace
mitch
to be seen
07.23.05 (6:15 pm) [edit]I remember when I was a teenager, one of my favorite programs on TV was the Carol Brunette show; in fact it is still one of my favorite programs. The humor, from the merely silly, to the truly profound, is still just as fresh and funny as it was when I was 15. One skit touched me very deeply, when I first saw it one Saturday night while watching the show with the family. In the skit Carol was meeting a friend for lunch; once there she begin to tell her friend how people just seemed to not “see” her, it was like she did not exist. Her friend of course told her that she was imagining things and to get over it. Just then the waitress came over to take the order, after she took the order from the friend, Carol started to tell the waitress what she wanted, but she was totally ignored, and the waitress went off. The bus boy came over, and put down a glass of water for the friend, and again she was ignored. She screamed at the bus boy to get his attention; but was not heard. It was like she did not exist for all the other people in the room. Her friend meanwhile was reading the menu, Carol got her attention, and asked her friend if she noticed how she was invisible to everyone in the room. Her friend looked up and said: “Why Carol what a pleasant surprise to see you here”, and went back to her menu, and again forgot she was there. Getting hysterical Carol got up and started screaming at everyone in the room, again no one saw or heard her. So in desperation she tripped the bus boy, who fell and caused untold chaos in the room. Carol then proceeded to scream “ It was me; I bet you all will notice me now”. Well the bus boy got up and started to clean up, and no one knew what happened; Carol was not seen. In the end she ran screaming from the room without anyone seeing, hearing or caring; she did not exist for them.
It was a funny skit; I laughed, but also felt a deep sadness, and fear, while watching it. In fact to this day I still have the same reaction. It is amazing how she could do comedy with the most painful existential themes, and get people laughing at it. Actually all humor really does that, she was just very upfront in some of her skits about the human situation, and was very graphic about the pain and anguish involved. Of course it could just be me, not sure if others will agree with me on this. Have never talked about it with others, so have no way to knowing how others reacted to these skits.
I think most of us can remember times when we felt invisible like that, perhaps at a party or other function; were for some reason we could not insert ourselves in to the consensus reality of the group; sort of felt like oil trying to mix with water. I have observed others go through this, and have tried to help them feel part of the group, but don’t know if I succeeded in this endeavor.
I do remember an experience I had when I was 17. It was a Saturday night, and the group I hung out with, for one reason or another were doing other things. I heard about a party that was going on in the town of Gatun, in a house boat that was owned by the parents of one of the students. So I went, it was a wild party with a lot going on. I arrived, and not one person looked my way or greeted me though I knew most of the people there. I wandered from one part of the boat to the other, and for all practical purposes I simply was not there, sort of a “non-person” or perhaps some earth bound spirit trying to find a place of rest. Ok a little dramatic I know, so bear with me. The event in itself was not important in the overall scheme of my life, but the actual experience still unnerves me when I think of it. So after about an hour I left got into my car and drove off without anyone knowing that I was there.
I like being by myself. I like going to the movies by myself, or at most with one friend. I like going to book stores by myself, traveling by myself, but to this day I have trouble going into a room full of strangers, or with people that I barely know, and just mixing in; which is strange since I have a very outgoing personality, and for the most part am well received by others. Of course my outgoingness is simply a mask, something I learned when young. Give people a certain kind of attention and they will be satisfied and leave you alone on other levels.
I know that I am not unique, many are like me, and perhaps most people are like me, but deal with it better when it comes to social functions. I hate formal gatherings, banquets and parties. I like getting together with two or three friends, sipping wine, and talking about “things” that matter to the three I happen to be with at the time.
I remember a friend I had in High School, you know one of those friendships that happen without anyone really knowing it is a friendship, or in fact has happened. It was perhaps after I was out of High School that I realized what I had with this person. He was a year ahead of me in school, very intelligent and easy to talk to. He had to spend a lot of time at home doing chores; his parents treated him and his brother like they were slaves. I would go over and we would just talk, and the time would fly by so fast, that we would find ourselves talking for four or five hours and it would seem like a few minutes. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about, but do remember the freedom that I felt with this guy. A relationship that was unselfconscious and just simply happened; a gift that at the time I did not consciously appreciate then, but do now. Perhaps I felt like I was seen, and that was enough. I suppose if we met today that would be long gone. It was something that just happened and then died after he graduated and went off to the military.
I think perhaps this guy was very mature for his age, and just had the ability to listen, see, and to accept. Perhaps that is what it was all about after all. Perhaps he was just a very rare and kind individual that I was privileged to be friends with for only a short time; perhaps it was only supposed to last that long. I do think we all serve a purpose in one another’s lives, no matter how small the contribution.
So I try to emulate him, try to give the gift to others that he perhaps unconsciouly gave to me; to simply be seen and listened to.
peace
mitch
Fr Charles
07.23.05 (6:03 am) [edit]There is a Monastery not too far from where I live, about 45 minutes more or less. The abbot there gives some good homilies. Below is one of them given about Fr Charles, one of the monks that died. Hope you all enjoy.
peace
mitch
First of all, I want to thank all our guests who have come this morning to celebrate the funeral Mass of our Father Charles, especially his nephew Robert, son of his sister Mary, and Monsignor Reynolds, who is here, representing the archbishop in the archdiocese. I think that Father Charles of St. Pius is also here in the back of the church. Also, I want to thank our other friends. I just heard before Mass started that there are two other family members coming over. I don’t know who they are, but they hadn’t arrived as we began to process in.
& nbsp; I think Father Charles is a good example to us of conversion, which is something that all Christians are called to, what Jesus came to preach and call us to, a conversion of heart, to turn back to the Lord. Charles, I think, was a pretty clear, almost black-and-white example of that at times.
& nbsp; I think the reading from St. Paul to the Romans gives some insight into it, too. It’s a beautiful reading. Creation waiting with eager expectation. All creation, including ourselves, waiting for the revelation of the person God created us to be, who we strive to be, but often fail to be. And St. Paul here says clearly—and it’s kind of mysterious—for creation (that’s us) was made subject to futility, not of its own accord, but because of the one subjected it. And that’s how somehow God in God’s providence allows us to be in this state of futility, striving, hungering, and thirsting for a holiness that we can’t attain. And that all creation is part of this: yearning, longing to be brought into the freedom of the children of God. And so that even we, even the monks, even priests, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, as all Christians do, continue to groan and strive and struggle. And, as I say, I think Father Charles was a good example of it.
& nbsp; He didn’t have an easy childhood. He lost both his parents before he was—well, I guess—a teenager. And had to cut his own education short to go out and work to help support seven brothers and sisters. I think he was the second oldest, I believe. And at some point in God’s grace, he got it into his head to come to a Trappist monastery—Gethsemani, Kentucky. And after just a few years there, he was sent to Conyers, unfortunately a few weeks late because he had to make his simple vows back at Gethsemani. And so for the lack of two weeks, he never got to be called a founder. God knows what he was.
& nbsp; And among his many works he was a carpenter, and some of his works you can see in front of you: choir stalls, this podium, I believe, certainly the bier that he is laying in (not a beer that you drink, but a bier that you lay in after you die if you are a monk) all crafted by him. I wouldn’t say he was an artist, but I would say he was a craftsman. He did very beautiful work. He was a perfectionist in his work. And I think maybe that was part of the problem—is that he was a perfectionist also and wanting everyone else to be perfect. And, of course, we are not. Nor was he.
& nbsp; And so I don’t think we have to hide that fact that Father Charles at times in his life was very, very difficult. Not an easy person to live with. He could easily be provoked and get angry and say hurtful things. Unfortunately, he often wrote hurtful things. And was hurt in return. Yet, even in that I would say he was quite childlike. Almost like a child, like a hurt child who would close their eyes and flail their arms and God help you if you got in the way of the arms.
& nbsp; After many years as a lay brother, Father Charles started doing studies for priesthood and was eventually ordained. There were folks in the community who didn’t think he should be, and that’s okay, too. That’s understandable. But enough were, and he was ordained, and his priesthood, I think, was very, very precious to him. And, I think, as a priest he served very well. He touched the lives—much to the astonishment of some of his brothers—of many, many people, many people who would come and tell us the kind words, the beautiful advice, that he gave them out at our welcome center. Again, I don’t think that we should be flabbergasted by that. It’s in the text: All of us groaning, all of us wanting to stretch forth and be the perfect, holy people God created us to be and not being able to be that.
& nbsp; Fortunately, Father Charles got to live to a ripe old age of ninety-two. And so, age of itself slowed him down some, mellowed him some, so that certainly in his last years, certainly his last year and months, he became very sweet, I would say. Not that he was incapable of on occasion getting upset with somebody in the infirmary, but in general very sweet. He was sweet all his life in one way. He loved the pious poems that you can find on Hallmark cards. He probably could have written them. He loved the beautiful, loved the true, loved the good, all the transcendence that show us God. And just two or three days ago, just before I left for a meeting, we anointed Father, and almost the entire community was there. We anointed him. We said the prayers. He was conscious; he was awake. I said to him, “Look, Charles, here you are surrounded by all your brothers who love you.” I think he realized the importance of that, that there were years and days had he died he might not have been surrounded by his brothers’ loving. But God worked it that he was. And so, as I say, I think all of us can take courage from Charles as an example of a good, simple man, who with all his brokenness gave himself as best he could day by day, trusted in God’s mercy and, in God’s time and by God’s power, was transformed.
& nbsp; So as we celebrate Eucharist, as we lay him to rest, let us open our own hearts because all of us are called to this, not just monks. We are all called to this conversion, to this mystery of being transformed into the children of God, into His image and likeness. This is not something we can do, but it is something that we can give ourselves to, and it is something that we can pray and give ourselves to for others.
rush hour
07.22.05 (8:11 am) [edit]I w
So over the ye
One d
So now I let people in, when someone throws me the bird for wh