Getting here, Getting there

It’s about time, right? For an update, I mean. Well, I’m firmly ensconced in my temporary life and it’s a good one. A good life AND a good ensconcement. Plus, I’ve been saying I’d get one out for a while now.

Currently I live in an old part of town, in a very quiet neighborhood. I have as neighbors a retired couple or two, several friends live within a few blocks and a handful of families are a door or two away. My brother is across the alley, the back yard on the way to that alley is half a block long and it has two gas grills. Granted, I don’t know if either of them work but what the heck. There’s a garden plot bigger than most of my previous apartments and it’s fenced off within the yard.

I’m three blocks from a ‘Mom and Pop’ grocery, there are two Catholic parish churches between here and my work, there are two thrift stores between here and there as well and if I want something special, there’s an new English Market downtown. They have my favorite candy bars, real Italian prosciutto, pastas and sauces, Japanese noodles and soups, a great Indian section from an Indian supplier in England. I can even get Kinder Eggs there. They also have a whole department dedicated to good imported beers.

I’d rather not try to bartend. I stay invisible in the kitchen and I get to get my hands back into the creativity. Breading onion rings or cheese, making falafel and hummus, hand-crafting salsa or granola or simply chopping lettuce, I’m in an apron and loving my work. I make a mean almond pesto. People come from Denver, over an hour away, for our food. It’s nice to be a part of that.

I could be upset about working at a job with no traditional benefits or advancement. Were I unrealistic enough to stay there for life, I’d end up in a home, cut loose by a man who ultimately will choose his family and the bottom line, as would any businessman. That’s why you open a business in this country. Most any other country as well. But for now, I get a free meal every day that I work, a discounted glass of wine when I want one, I get to work with friends and I don’t have to wear shoes instead of sandals as long as I keep my socks clean. Look up ‘discalced’. No need to advance when everyone has the same things that I do and if I’ve never taken advantage of employee benefits before, why worry about them now? And the bottom line businessman? I consider him a friend.

The downsides of where I live are that the yard doesn’t need xeriscaping. It’s dying all on it’s own. I’ll be doing yard work all summer. I’ve gotten the dandelions taken care of in the front yard and this week I’m buying a hoe and a bird feeder so that I can leave this little corner of suburbia a little brighter when I depart. A nicely edged driveway, birds in the trees and fat squirrels nibbling on the left-overs. I’ll need to coax the grass a bit but I do love the feel of dirt under my nails and between my toes so it’ll be a labor of love. Anything worth laboring on with love is worth the world.

Something with both plusses and negatives are my roomies. They’re both very untidy, don’t pick up after themselves, have pretty abominable hygiene and are very demanding. Mrs. Peel has very long nails and scratches me inadvertently in my sleep. She whines if I don’t pay attention to her, she sulks and is very high maintenance. Mr. Buddy is missing a leg and whines if I don’t have dinner on when he expects it. Did I mention that Buddy and P. Lee are dogs?

Buddy is a native Hawaiian beach hound. He’s eleven years old, is arthritic, has three legs, has very, very, very strong odors emanating from either end and besides a minor incontinence problem, a vision problem and a hearing problem, he’s also slightly senile and arthritic. Quite possibly partially insane. I do enjoy singing with him on occasion even though his favorite song, “WaaaarroooOOOOOoo,” is pretty repetitive. With a little effort, I can coax him to sing, “RooAHROooAHROOoooooo.” Sort of a ‘Budorian Chant’.

To give you an idea of what I deal with, I went out one morning to bring him back in from his morning poopies and he would only go as far as the back step then sit and whine. He just couldn’t get up the steps on his own and I needed to help. Or so he said. Usually, all that’s required is to put my foot behind him so he has something to launch himself off of. Supposedly. Being the charitable sort, I put my big ol’ foot under his big’ ol’ butt and up we go. Well, I went down to help him. I stepped up behind him and got ready to give him his nudge. I think he was smiling when off he went into the shrubs like a shot, the old faker. I was too late to make it to mass that morning while I was waiting for his ‘ol’ crippled butt’ to get itself back into the house. I know what he does in those shrubs and if you think I was going in after him, you’re nuts. He smells bad when he ISN’T in the shrubs.

P. Lee, on the other ‘and, is a charming old girl with lovely, demure manners, if you consider high maintenance/passive aggressive doggy manners lovely. She has a way of demanding attention that just doesn’t leave you a way of saying, “No,” without feeling guilty. More than once I’ve woken up with a wet doggy nose in my hand and a set of long doggy nails on my leg. She’s spoiled, very spoiled and loves scratching. She doesn’t mind scratching you in return if you stop before she thinks you should. Odd dog.

I haven’t lived with dogs in years and this is an education. I don’t know if I’d ever want to have dogs of my own. I had my one great dog when I was growing. Freddy. Now, I’m a confirmed friend of cats if there ever was one. But these dogs I enjoy. Co-dependence isn’t my beaker of boiled water and leaves so it’s a stress sometimes. Ask a couple of my exes, the ones who just couldn’t understand why I sometimes had trouble paying attention. With these pooch-hounds, it’s oddly like taking care of a couple of impatient, elderly humans who are used to getting everything they want, NOW.

Something in the way that I live I had to sit down and think about. I originally suspected I was nodding to pretentious asceticism with the fact that I refuse to live with hot water. Yes, it’s by choice. I was worried that I could get snotty about it. Now, after reflection, I guess you could call it a small gesture of stoicism and the beauty of acceptance. We all know the old prayer, “Lord, grant me the strength to change the things that I can change, the patience to accept the things that I cannot and the wisdom to know the difference.” Well, this is something I could change in the short term but not over time.

Examine for a moment acceptance of the things that one cannot change as some portion of the whole that is stoicism and its practice. I could change the temperature of the water by turning on the gas but is it ultimately changeable? No. Left to itself, moving water, not exposed to light is naturally cold. That’s what makes it refreshing. It’s an acceptable thing, cold water. Do we not admire it in nature? Lakes, streams, waterfalls. Have you ever seen beautiful moving water, untouched by man, that was not cold?

Here’s an example. Stand in the Pacific Ocean just north of Malibu, where the sand is so soft and those little white chips of soft stone sparkle as the clear salt sea washes over them. On that beach, there are so few people to distract you. The water stretches on forever in front of you. and it foams against your legs as you wade in. Ladies, before you visit the Pacific, do yourself a favor. Don’t shave your legs. If you travel with someone who appreciates the gesture, ask them overlook it. Then roll up your pant-legs or gather your skirts and walk in, barefoot, up to your knees. You can feel the foam clinging to each of the hairs on your legs, the bubbles moving and twitching in the surf. Is the perceived beauty of shaved legs a thing more acceptable than the beauty you can accept as the ocean moves against those tiny portions of your body that you normally discard? Accept and understand the following:

“We should remember that even Nature’s inadvertence has its own charm, its own attractiveness. The way loaves of bread split open on top in the oven, the ridges are just by-products of the baking, and yet pleasing, somehow: they rouse our appetite without our knowing why.

Or how ripe figs begin to burst.

And olives on the point of falling: the shadow of decay gives them a peculiar beauty.

Stalks of wheat bending under their own weight. The furrowed brow of the lion. Flecks of foam on the boar’s mouth.

And other things. If you look at them in isolation there’s nothing beautiful about them, and yet by supplementing nature they enrich it and draw us in. And anyone with a feeling for nature and a deeper sensitivity-will find it all gives pleasure. Even what seems inadvertent.”

Marcus Aurelius, “The Meditations”, Gregory Hays translation, Book 3, Meditation 2.

Cold water is inadvertent. Cold water is beautiful, natural. It is the foam on the mouth of the boar. It is the foam of the cold ocean against my legs. Or yours. Or the chill of my shower. Or yours. Once you get used to it, you crave it. Then it’s not stoicism. I haven’t overcome that paradox yet.

Back to the original point; I could have the gas turned on but if all I need it for is to acquire something I don’t need or crave, why? You may gain so much by not accepting what is perceived as luxury. On a less ‘ethereal’ level, the last resident of this place is in arrears on the gas bill and I don’t want to add my name to the mix. It wouldn’t apply to me but why muddy the water, so to speak. So, pardon the pun, what it boils down to is: if I want to wash dishes, I boil my own water; if I want a shower, it’s in water that runs into the city lines from mountain reservoirs. Laundry involves lots of soaking. But, if my grandparents lived that way for decades, and I know that at least one set did, it’s good enough for me. Did you know you could get ‘brain-freeze’ from too much cold water OUTSIDE of your head?

If I’m in this house until this winter, I’ll need to put on a little gas to keep the pipes from freezing but we’ll see. I’m really only the caretaker at the moment and if the market recovers, the owner will want to put it up at the end of summer. I’ll only be in this house until it sells. Then I need to find a tent. But at the moment it’s very symbiotic. You hear of things happening for a reason and this simply has to be one of them.

I never was much of one to believe that one thing seems predestined to lead to another but this journey of mine has taken some really odd turns in the last few months. Gaining friends that I needed to gain, losing friends that I needed to lose. Turning corners and finding a new light as the light is extinguished inside doors now closed.

Regardless of how long I stay here, it’s a good place. My bike sits in this huge old living room, my portable DVD player hooks right into the TV that was left in the corner and I have a sofa. There’s only one piece of furniture in what would be my bedroom. A king-sized Sleep Number bed. It’s too comfortable and I can’t sleep in it. Put me on the ratty old sofa listening to Buddy snore and break wind and I sleep like a wildman. That bed was a temptation at first. I slept in it for a few nights. They’ll come to move it one of these days but now I use it for a dresser. It makes me wish I was still charming enough to bring home the Swedish bikini team. It was the sort of playing field I spent time on when I was younger, thundering up and down the pitch, testing the turf. Some things do not easily change. Ahhhhh, the good ol’ days. I hope they never come again.

Speaking of the good old days, it struck me the other day that everything I own is in storage within ten miles of here. The acquired debris of my life. Antiques, coin collection, hundreds of books, game consoles, everything I needed to amuse myself, to fill my time. Currently the only things I’ve gotten and brought home are my electronic keyboard and a few books. Everything else could just go away. My possessions no longer own me, I can say that pretty safely. Either they’ll go away or I will.

So, I take care of dogs. I keep hardwood floors clean and tidy. I shower in ice-cold water and use my own old, enamel tea kettle to boil water for tea. It doesn’t even have a whistle. It just sounds like an iron lung set for permanent exhale, burning breath crushing itself through a moistened steel esophagus.

I’m working in a yard. I’m feeding the birds. A glass of wine, a loaf of bread and my bare toes sinking back into the earth. Mass as often as I can make it, sometimes in a mountain valley, surrounded by nuns and the devoted and committed who travel there for the joy and the Joy. A hug for my friends, a smile for strangers. If that’s what being a gypsy and being me is, then by all means, call me any name you like. And dislike me for it if you must.

“Like an olive that ripens and falls

Praising its mother, thanking the tree it grew on.”

Marcus Aurelius, “The Meditations,” Gregory Hays translation. Book Four, Meditation 48

My friends, we are all olives and from the same tree. One is not superior to another. Merely different. We both have the shadow of decay. Please, always, for your sake, remember: I am a Roman gypsy who accepts your lesson but who lost the answer in the personal Babel. I am a mendicant who knows not how to mend. I am decanted and face an inevitable decay. Do not let your own decay be lost in the shadow of seeking to be closest to the sun, closest to the trunk, at the highest branch.

Once upon a time there were friends who thought that it was unfair for someone, someone who is honestly VERY worthy of respect, to call another a gypsy. He understood their opinion. Especially as he had never really been willing to be called a gypsy. He accepted their rebuke on his own behalf. They stood up for him. It was a fight he should have run from. Now, being ‘in between’ as he is, he guesses he will have to own up the title. Gypsy. The transitional gypsy. Just a mendicant in dusty sandals. The sad thing is that now those same friends find the gypsy appellation to be derogatory. Which is certainly unfortunate. There is horror in it for him in that he understands that opinion. These things do happen. One day they may straighten it all out. Gypsy hermits being what they are though, it might be a while before paths cross again. But we are all in the sun, absent friends, albeit on different branches.

On a more organic tangent, if anything can be more organic than that which ripens in the sun, this life is amazing. It’s been a process not always to be described, traveling and learning about the consecrated life. Rosary in my pocket, breviary in my bike basket. I’ve learned that I’m not seeking to be perfection, I’m seeking to see Perfection. One needs neither to be rich and full in order to live a rich and full life. One can appreciate perfection far more if one is not perfect. Especially if one can accept one’s own imperfection by reflection. It’s also becoming obvious that in returning to Fort Collins, I’ve reached my furthest point from home. I can’t really explain that but when the words finally come, I’ll share them.

My monastic pursuit is not on hold. It’s in the process even as I write this. I currently have Benedictine Abbies and one Franciscan community that I’m in contact with or contacting and where I may be able to find a home.

I would very much like to revisit Blue Cloud to continue my search for the life. They’re certainly more modern in their observance and more relaxed in their adherence the Rule of Saint Benedict. I’d occasionally feel like an anachronism. But they’re good people in a good place and they need someone more than a number of other communities so I’m still considering applying to stay permanently. I can’t dismiss my fondness for them. Nor the possibility of returning to spend an extended visit in ‘ora et labora’. They are good monks and fair and I learn from them, even now, when I’m not among them.

I’ve recently become acquainted with word of another Abbey that is looking for brothers. It’s as traditional as you can be in this day and age. Close to self-sustaining, passive solar for power for the parts of the community that are powered. Up at 3:40 for the first prayers of the day, quiet, out-of-the-way, welcoming and active. Seemingly very close to what Benedict had in mind. Very much the desert father arrangement that may have inspired him. I’m working towards a visit there as well.

The Franciscan Commissariat is a very strong possibility. They’ve been where they are for 800 years and they take care of the pilgrims who visit the Holy Land as well as the sacred sites. Dangerous certainly but if you’re anonymous, does the danger matter? In this world, more often than not only the passing of the famous and infamous is of any note. Accept danger and face it quietly, with strength. Is it then still danger? Or is it still danger if it causes concern among those whom we love regardless of how we view it?

I can find all kinds of reasons to justify in a secular fashion my need to find a place in a monastery. Beyond the rather mystical and unexplainable description of a ‘calling’, I have… on numerous occasions attempted to do that for some of you. But some of your questions still continue so I thought I’d try something a little closer to the center of the reason. This time I’m simply going to approach in a more traditional and scriptural fashion. The first is from the Gospel of John:

The next day again John stood and two of his disciples. And beholding Jesus walking, he saith: Behold the Lamb of God. And the two disciples heard him speak: and they followed Jesus. And Jesus turning and seeing them following him, saith to them: What seek you? Who said to him: Rabbi (which is to say, being interpreted, Master), where dwellest thou? He saith to them: Come and see. They came and saw where he abode: and they stayed with him that day. Now it was about the tenth hour.

(Joh 1:35-39)

The “John” in the verse is John the Baptist. At the time, John had a large following and was considered by some to be the long-awaited Messiah. He could have kept his following. His belief, his faith, instead led him to set his followers on what some would have considered an unexpected path and he followed along with them.

Some of you are familiar with the internal draw to seek. The human animal often feels an excruciating need to seek his solitary place away the multitude on another path. He can’t explain it and neither can I. But suffice it say that I am drawn and it would be to my detriment to ignore that. I intend to honor the invitation to, “Come and see.”

For me, for my life, for my soul, it’s far better to go and see than to sit at table, to recline at ease and pass judgment on what is sought.

I once tried to join the French Foreign Legion, not all of you know that. For those of you who knew and suspected that that story wasn’t true, you were incorrect. I didn’t get in, which I had never considered as a possibility. I lived on the streets of Paris, begged for money so that I didn’t spend what little I had stashed and eventually found my way to Germany. You can wash your hair under hydrants, sleep on park benches and eat out of those little Arabic markets in the rougher neighborhoods. I’ve been a bum in a city where I couldn’t always be understood. Someone stole my phrase book on my first day there. Paris can be a very accommodating mistress if you know where to touch her and stroke her and when to compliment her. She can be the warmest courtesan you’ve ever conversed with, just know that it’s almost impossible for her to love you.

I had to see. I found my answer and I eventually went home with the answer that I sought. I am familiar with traveling to see. I don’t do this blindly. At no point in my life have I ever felt so strongly the need to see as I do now. For those of you who know me, you know that I know what “blind” is. One of those lovely paradoxes of life.

The monastic life is not a life of comfort. It’s not easy. If is was, to quote the old saying, everyone would do it. More to the point, everyone is not for monastic life and monastic life is not for everyone. I’ve lived, albeit briefly, in an Abbey and I know that. It’s not sleeping in late. Most monastic prayers in the more ‘traditional’ communities start between 4 and 5 in the morning. It’s not the night life. Again, morning prayer is very early. There is not supposed to be a “rock star life-style”, although it does happen. There’s no recognition, no fashionable clothes or flash cars. Or shouldn’t be. The life provides you with the proof that you’re not perfect and verifies that you cannot ever fully change that. It’s not early retirement. It’s often not retirement at all. Most monastics work every day, Sabbaths excluded, if not for the rest of their lives then at least for as long as they’re able.

But there are no cell phones. No tabloid ‘crises’. No instant gratification. Not as such. It’s quiet. It’s inspiration. It’s work without financial reward or the diseased albatross of money. It’s people coming to partake of the cup that overflows. The cup of Love. It’s serving God and what we believe God to be, Love. Drawing from the well and seldom drinking. Drinking and seldom tasting. Tasting and always loving. Even if you don’t believe in God, the cup is still always held up for you. To drink from. To bathe in if you believe it to be possible. If you know what to look for, it’s a place to find all things that are possible. All the things that you are capable of. A song you can drink from. If you listen. If you believe you can hear it. If you believe…you can hear it.

Some of us listen to the Song of the Word. And we find what we are capable of. Some choose to listen to a different song. But they still seem to see capabilities. I hope they do.

The second verse I’d like to share is from the Second Letter of Peter:

As all things of his divine power which appertain to life and godliness are given us through the knowledge of him who hath called us by his own proper glory and virtue. By whom he hath given us most great and precious promises: that by these you may be made partakers of the divine nature: flying the corruption of that concupiscence which is in the world. And you, employing all care, minister in your faith, virtue: And in virtue, knowledge: And in knowledge, abstinence: and in abstinence, patience: and in patience, godliness: And in godliness, love of brotherhood: and in love of brotherhood, charity.

(2Pe 1:3-7)

Is there anything wrong with seeking faith, virtue, knowledge, abstinence, patience, godliness, love and brotherhood and charity? Is there anything wrong with seeking them in community with others who believe in their value? In believing that they are gifts? Is there anything wrong with seeking them to find them, finding them to share them and sharing them to have them? If you believe in something, is there anything wrong with committing yourself to it? People do it with political and military objectives every day. I choose to commit myself to what I believe to be the source of Peace, Joy and Love.

Peter sought them. He was Simon, Peter, Petrus. The rock. Not Petrus Serenus or marble if you prefer a paraphrased vernacular. Not granite, polished and dazzling, hard as steel. He was simply rock. Stone. Just stone. Common, unremarkable, fissured and imperfect. Corners rounding in the weather. But on the rock was founded a faith has stood for those concepts. That rock stands on The Foundation and derives all of its Strength from it. And the church stands on the rock…… and still shelters it after all these years.

Politics are, at their core, organized and subsidized lying. Being allied with the devil you can’t trust in order to fend off the one you can’t like. Regardless of how helpful those demons may seem. Military objectives are death, even if no one is killed.

There is in Christianity, at its core, an understanding of gifts given in love. It is an acceptance and sharing of those gifts. You may even be able to give more than you receive. You may be asked to do so. Or demanded to do so. The sorrows of Christianity are the people who will use it to force glory upon themselves rather than to share the gifts of the glory of Christ with others. All in Christianity could easily be anonymous. How many of us are?

Believe, as some do, that this man Jesus, Joshua if you prefer a name that is more ‘human’ or more ‘modern’, was simply a mystic and a rabbi and a spiritual adept, a Jewish teacher who saw something in the messages of Abraham and Moses. A teacher who saw love in the universe and called us all to a love that he could explain but that not everyone would understand.

Or,

Believe, as a great many others do, that this man, Joshua, Jesus if you prefer a name that is more ‘glorious’, was the Word of God made flesh. Believe that he was a message, a gift, an offer and a beacon on the path. That He could be our redemption if we choose. That we have decisions to make each time we encounter our own free will. Decisions that may mar the union with love in the universe. That Love and redemption were things that He could explain but that not everyone would understand.

Unity with perfection, unity with redemption, unity with that which cannot be marred beyond the physical. That same man, through the Word, with the Word, leads me to believe, to understand, that it is, to quote the prayer, “In giving that we receive.”

Everyone has a belief. Even a nihilist who calls himself by that title has a belief. Some believe that the acquisition of wealth will bring them happiness. Some believe that the law is the law and only enforced adherence with no exceptions, no forgiveness, will bring safety through fear of retribution. There is a belief that the acquisition of goods and the constant upgrading of those goods is a road to happiness. Whether it is belief in the immutable or confidence in the mutable. Belief is in the balance. People believe.

In these days, it is fashionable to offer the down-turned thumb and all our vicious disdain to all that we do not personally believe in. The God of Abraham and Moses, my God, is greeted with that ‘rational’ thumb, that legendary and mythical Roman gesture, more and more. But, since the early evangelization of Rome and especially since Rome washed their hands of Him,

(Mat 27:24 And Pilate seeing that he prevailed nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, taking water washed his hands before the people, saying: I am innocent of the blood of this just man. Look you to it. )

that has often been the case. Now, there are those who consider themselves innocent of the blood of a man who was not what they believe in. A man that they never met. Someone that no photographs exist of. An incarnation that is considered to taint the rules of their society. A Word whose words therefore do not exist for them.

But I believe that the meek shall indeed inherit the earth. That those who are merciful will obtain mercy. That this mystic, this Rabbi, this Lamb of God was who he said he was. That this teacher who taught love and peace was ‘on to something’ as my friend “Kenny” said. Now I seek understanding of that belief.

Stagnation is worse than no belief at all. If I believe, I need to labor within that belief.

(Jas 2:26 For even as the body without the spirit is dead: so also faith without works is dead. )

A ship without a rudder sails aimlessly. A kite without a tail will fly high only briefly before crashing in ruin. A riverbed without water cannot sustain the life it shelters and so all within it passes out of life and into rot. Love without expression sours and diminishes.

Now you may have more of an idea of why I am so set on my course and it’s from a more traditional viewpoint, the real viewpoint. It’s a desire to seek and serve within the mystical body and to hear the song of the Word. It’s a belief, it’s bigger than me and there is joy for me and good to be done for others along the way. As others have done good for us in the past. For two millennia they have done good for us.

In life, we may be the plow or the earth or the seed. We are not the sun. We may be the hammer or the anvil or the ore. We are not the fire. We never know from encounter to encounter which one we may be. We should never lose sight of what we are not. But if we seek to accept what we are and labor in our role with peace and joy and the knowledge of acceptance in our souls and our hearts, we will be what we need to be. And there will be harmony in the song of the Word.

And if, to address the question I know some of you will ask, have indeed asked before, I come to the end and none of it is true? Will I have done anything wrong by serving and aiding those who needed it? Will I have misused my time by seeking an answer? Will I have wasted time by seeking to share what I gain through love with those who need love? I’ve found my faith. Now I seek to find unity with what drives it. It’s that simple.

Okay, now that I’ve waxed theological and touched on how the gravity of faith keeps me held onto a path. Described the nasty personal habits of my roommates and hinted at my enjoyment of wine. I hope I’ve assured you that faith doesn’t make me feel any form of personal perfection. I slip and slide like everyone else. I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t be distracted with a smile, a wink and an invitation. But I pick myself up, dust myself off and carry on. That’s what faith does. You live not only from Moment to Moment but also from human moment to human moment. And you learn to appreciate every M/moment for what it is. Now that I’ve done all those things, let me invite you all to come sit on my front step.

There’s usually a box of wine, if you don’t mind drinking out of a jelly glass or a tea cup. Sometimes there’s a bottle of Limoncello if you like something more summery and stronger. There’s a cup of tea for the abstemious. Regardless, there’s conversation, a quiet neighborhood, a couple of stinky ol’ dogs and an odd old hermit. A gypsy. A peasant. Catch me on the right day and I’ll take the time to bake a little bread. Even if you don’t like me, the door is always open to you.

When you are denied, turn the other cheek. When you are denied, shake the dust from your sandals. When you are denied, and charity is requested of you, give. With bruised cheek and clean sandals, give. The life of the world, the life of a single soul, may depend on it. Remember, mercy is seldom given but almost always accepted. Give.

Peace and Joy,

Morgan