SAINT OLGA OF KYIV - MY 34TH GREAT GRANDMOTHER - JULY 11, 2022

 

Saint Olga

"Equal to the Apostles"

July 11th

Patron Saint of Widows and Converts

My 34th Great Grandmother

Patron saint of converts

As as convert, I would naturally have an affinity for this saint, but knowing that she is ALSO my 34th great grandmother makes me very happy! I hope that I have inherited from her DNA some of the strength and one-pointedness that she exhibited in her life, as well as the willingness to turn a corner in life and to CHANGE - to become BETTER - and to aspire to something higher and finer. I ALSO hope that, as my loving great grandmother, she is interceding for me at the throne of God, pleading with Him to help me along on my spiritual path, and that when I speak to her in prayer, she listens to me and is present with me in the many trials I endure.

She is, in fact, one of several saints from whom I descend, including Saint Margaret of Scotland, an English Plantagenet princess who had intended to become a nun, but who was pursued by the king of Scotland when her ship went aground on his land, something that changed her destiny forever. There are several saints I've studied who had initially planned to become a monastic, but their life path made it impossible, yet that strong impulse toward the Lord remained a feature in their lives, even when their plans were thwarted.

Catholicism was in my genes, if not my household

I think back to when I was 11, and I was first enthralled with stories of the lives of the contemplative Carmelite nuns with whom I was corresponding. I had wanted to be one of them - but the only problem is that my parents hated religion, and hated the Catholic church, in particular, and they forbade me from communicating with those lovely nuns or becoming one of them. They were not even Christian. It was not possible.

Yet I am sure the Lord knew all this before it happened because I was born with a number of creative gifts that appeared when I was very young, because by the time I discovered the Carmelites, I was already painting oil paints, making beaded jewelry, and writing haiku poems. All of these things, I find myself doing in my current life circumstances. We all have some kind of work we are called to do, and I was given the gift of ART AND WRITING as mine.

Every monastic institution has a certain amount of work that the residents do to support themselves, as well as a certain amount of recreation. Those of us disabled and/or senior ladies who seek to emulate the monastic routines can easily follow along those lines. It does not LOOK the same as the lovely nuns with their obvious costumes, living in the institutions that communicate the life of the spirit in their very walls - but looks are not everything - and I want to encourage all of my far-flung sisters in spirit not to become dismayed by appearances and the limitations of trying to live a monastic life surrounded by secular nonsense, because what matters is what goes on within your souls.  You know that, of course, but I want to remind you and support you.  You can live a life in union with the Divine, but by necessity, each of you will express it in your own unique way.

The religion of unlimited "do-overs"

Another thing I love to keep in mind is that the religion of Jesus the Christ is the religion of perpetual "second chances." The process of stumbling, repenting, confessing, getting absolution, and then rising again, is unlimited in this faith. It is a religion of constant encouragement for Our Father who Art in Heaven! We are never doomed forever. Babies stumble and fall while Father encourages us to walk to Him and fall, instead, into his arms.

Saint Olga, before becoming Christian, was a wicked woman. In retaliation for the murder of her husband, King Igor, by the Drevlians, she embarked upon her campaign of revenge with cold fury and incredibly treacherous and cruel chicanery, killing most of those people and reducing the demoralized remnant to an enslaved population.

Rather than reinvent the wheel, I will give you this link to some of my sources for information about my great grandmother, and you can read about her more in depth.

Articles about Saint Olga

WIKIPEDIA

BRITANNICA

ORTHODOX WIKI

NATIONAL CATHOLIC REGISTER

CATHOLIC ONLINE

So complete was her conversion and subsequent efforts to Christianize Kievan Rus, that the Eastern Churches have named her "Equal to the Apostles,: which is a rare appellation. If SHE could turn herself around so thoroughly, there is certainly hope for each one of us, no matter how far behind we lag in our spiritual advancement.

One thing in particular that I find inspiring about her is that she was the first female leader of what is now partially considered Russia. Some of her lands were Ukraine. To dedicate oneself to God while in control of vast wealth and power is a stunning achievement of personal will and determination. It tells me that her conversion was very real and that her devotion to the faith changed her from the inside out.

When you have as much power as she did, the temptation to succumb to selfish and dictatorial behavior is intense. That woman must have had some grit, don't you think? Of course, she was of Viking heritage.

I ask for the intercession of this strong and powerful queen and saint who was brave enough to seek forgiveness for incredible crimes against the people. I pray that she advocates for me at the foot of the throne of our Lord.

Also, I pray that some of the strength of her particular DNA has been communicated to me so that I can pull myself out of this tailspin I am in because the last 12 years have stripped me of every ounce of reserves that I possess.

Personal emergencies

This has been an incredibly difficult few weeks for me. The physical struggles and constant pain have worn me down. The financial difficulties add more stress, but I hasten to point out that every disabled senior lady is probably dealing with much of the same problems.

A couple days ago, while driving in my 28 year-old car to an errand, I heard and felt a loud THWACK against the driver's door. I thought someone had thrown something at the car or that an errant golf ball had found its way to me, but after I visited the drive-through ATM and then tried to roll up the window, it would not budge. The loud noise I had heard was the spontaneous breakage of the mechanism inside the car door.

I absolutely must get the car fixed

I do have groceries delivered, when possible, but this is extremely expensive. Between the membership monthly fee, the service fee, and the tip for the shopper/delivery person, I am now running out of food money before the end of the month. Aggravating this situation is the fact that we are ALL suffering through an enormous uptick in the cost of groceries, due to all sorts of factors, mostly having to do with Covid pandemic.

I am not able to use public transport

Most important to understand is that I am not able to use public transport. This is something that the uninitiated ALWAYS offer as the "obvious" solution - but I absolutely cannot do that. It is physically impossible for me - for many reasons. 

We do have senior buses that are sometimes available, but I am unable to use these also - not only because of the bumpy ride that throws out my back, but also because I am unable to stand for any length of time WAITING for the bus when it comes to pick me up. They tell you that you must be prepared to stand from 15 minutes BEFORE the pickup time until 15 minutes AFTER the pickup time. That is 1/2 hour of standing. I am lucky to stand for 5....ESPECIALLY if I am on an errand and have to stand inside an office or walk the aisles during a short shopping trip. I always need to have a car "at the ready" for when my body gives out.

Catholic Charities Transportation Department is very limited

I do have people to drive me to some of my doctor appointments but there are a lot of different sorts of errands, such as taking the service dog to the vet or the groomer, that Catholic Charities will not do.  

In addition, their Transportation Department rigidly require a full weeks' notice of any errand and there are only a few types of trips they will do. Furthermore - they will not STAY with you while you do your errand. You have to call them to come and pick you up, and you run the risk of waiting for a really long time.

Cheaper to repair than to buy new

As a friend pointed out to me, it is always cheaper to repair the old car, until parts can no longer be found for it, and since Toyotas are fairly plentiful in the U.S., we SHOULD be able to get it repaired - but this repair is only the latest, albeit the most urgent repair that must be done. There is an entire list. 

A vehicle that could carry my mobility scooter would be the best option

A Toyota Rav 4, with an electronic scooter carrying on the back, would work for me, but what would probably be the best is a van in which I can drive up the electric mobility scooter into the belly, so that I can be independent and go anywhere without having to cajole someone into driving me and carrying a walker with us. 

Since it now appears that my right eye is holding strong at 20/25 vision, and since my retina specialist says there is no problem with driving, especially during the day, I do want to try to get that van, when possible, or at least the Toyota Rav 4, but I don't even have the money for the repairs to the OLD car, what to speak of something new! But someday in future, if I manage to sell my novel and it does well, then these are the plans I have.  In the meantime:

Social Security Retirement Income barely covers survival mode

I loathe having to beg for help, but the novel proceeds very slowly, and the proposed new jewelry making "side hustle" is faltering a bit, since even the most ordinary beads and equipment are becoming hugely more expensive, more and more, every day. Decades ago, when I first learned how to make jewelry, the ingredients were affordable and a great way to start a small business. No more! In order to get any discount, one has to buy in huge quantity. The startup costs are enormous.

In addition, because I am disabled, I will have to do the majority of my sales and delivery of merchandise THROUGH THE MAIL, which has also gotten extremely expensive. Obviously, I would need a car to get the merchandise to the post office on those days when I am unable to put the parcel through the very small slot in the mailbox here at the apartment complex or arrange for a pickup by the mailman. Mailing it from my location also eliminates the possibility of providing a tracking number, which seems rather essential these days, with all the shipping snafus. There is a way to do that from home, of course, but that requires that you have a working printer to print postage, but the ink cartridges are so expensive I have not had one since the original half cartridge that came with my small printer wore out.

These are the sort of petty details that can drive one mad.

There is a small store in town that may take some of my things, but anytime you introduce a middle-man, you run the risk of making no profit at all because their conditions make it so that most or nearly all profit goes to them as the seller. If they buy the items outright, they only give you 50% of the final sale price, but the maker absorbs ALL the costs of the merchandise.

As an "artist," making one-of-a-kind jewelry, rosaries and wall art, I have a chance of turning a profit at someone else's store that a friend of mine has introduced me to. They sell some items in their small store/gallery - and on the weekends they go to a large craft/art fair with some of their wares. Small jewelry items that are affordable for the general population have to be dealt with in the manner described above. Up til now, I've taken my startup costs from a refund that I received (long story) that was money I had not counted on having. A few hundred dollars.

I have sold my paintings in the past and will also be producing some of those, God willing. FRAMING the paintings is a big expense that I will try to deal with by making my own. I am still designing that part in my head. Even if I make my own, there will be an expense.

Some day, I plan to get a gallery to handle the more expensive items, but I stand the best chance for the less expensive items if I get a business up and running on Facebook. Many people are doing it these days.

One could legitimately ask why don't I just forget all this and molder away in my apartment 'as is," praying the day away. After all, I am old, and how many more years do I have? Also, there is the fact that I've already lost the vision in one eye and may lose the vision in another. Why not just GIVE UP like so many others do in their retirement?

All I can say is that no one can tell me how long I will live, and as far as I can see, it could be DECADES more. I do not want to deliberately organize my life so that other people will be forced to care for me to a greater and greater degree. I have no family to speak of and there is NO SAFTEY NET. Plus, I still have an active mind and it is not my temperament to just sit and wait for death. I must at least TRY to make a success of things so that I do not presume on the generosity of others. It is not fair to them.

Between the prayer schedule, physical household tasks, writing the novel and making the art projects, my life is jam packed and, if I do not think too much about the razor's edge on which I walk, it is a happy life. But this week, the razor is a bit too sharp for me, and I've had the weepies for a few days. I am stressed and have been crying on the shoulders of friends - something that has not been characteristic of me during my life, but everyone has their breaking point.

I will have to get some help

I am contemplating another GOFUNDME campaign to get the car fixed and get some more tools to sell the art and jewelry. My independent temperament finds this VERY hard - to have to resort to this. I have been self-supporting my entire life. I never received financial help from family. 

Though my father was wealthy, he was a selfish man, and the one time I asked him for help in my early 20's, he screamed at me, "I don't owe you ANYTHING!" At the same time, he lied to his wife that he was giving me money so that he could hide the fact that he was spending a lot on other women and hotel bills for his many and frequent assignations. It is no wonder that he died under such suspicious circumstances. The wages of sin. 

One sociopathic family member did offer to help me, on two occasions, but both involved schemes to rob me of whatever minimal amount of money and dignity I had left. So there has never been a safety net. I have always walked the tight rope over a pit of ravening wolves.

Anyway, when one's family is so egocentric they won't throw a cup of water on you if you're on fire, it teaches you not to rely on humans, and I spent my previous working life in that mode, so that now, when I simply must ask for help, it is an extremely uncomfortable thing to do. Combine my experiences outlined above with my autonomous temperament and disability and you have a recipe for an extremely stressful situation. I am sure I am learning from it, though. It is chastening me and providing plenty of opportunity to learn humility through forced and constant humiliations.

I do have a handful of remarkable Catholic friends that have been very helpful - but they can't do EVERYTHING....especially when it involves car repairs that I estimate will cost between 1 and 2 thousand dollars. Everything has its limit and, as one person pointed out to me the other day, it really is too bad that I come from such an awful family because they have cohesive families that require their attention, and I am not part of that group. While I always advocate for a more family-friendly government in my country, I wish, at the same time, that more thought was given to the many many seniors who come from very small or miserly and despicable families. I see these people all the time. They are the invisible older folks that walk their remaining years alone.

The other day, a very old man came wandering into the apartment complex, on foot, with a wooden walking stick. He was looking for the office and was saying that he had to move out of his place the very next day. I didn't quiz him. I was walking my little service dog with a good friend of mine who had come to visit. I urged the man to ask about the waiting list and about the low-income program. I am still worrying about the poor old guy and sending up prayers for him. Unlike me, he is able to walk with no problem, it seems, but he is obviously in extremis and there is little real help for someone in emergencies at that age. When one is younger, it is easier to find shelter.

On the other hand, there is that wonderful passage that I have found so helpful for so many years:

"For my father and my mother have left me,

but the Lord hath taken me up."

Psalm 27:10

We are never really alone. Even for those of us for whom our parents were absent, even when in the same room, when parents have not behaved as parents, the moment they abandon us, even if we are babies or toddlers or teens, the Lord takes us up at that time - and He is the best parent of all.

A matter of urgency

I live in a crime-ridden neighborhood. I can't keep my car in the garage all the time because unless I move it, I can't use my mobility scooter or my walker. I can't get them out of the garage because it is too tight a squeeze. I have no room for them in the house.

The garage also houses the trash and I cannot move it out of there without also removing the car. Meanwhile, this is the land of the giant cockroach and enormous black widow spiders. I have had no one to help me tidy up the trash area or the garage - and God only knows what will crawl into my car while it sits there with no window all night!

The small triangular window in to the back seat is also missing from a night when I forgot to move the car into the garage and hoodlums broke in and stole EVERYTHING, including the service dog's car seat! (I thought that was particularly mean.)

The list of work that needs doing:

Fix the mechanical mechanism inside the door that raises the window.

Replace the back little window piece.

Replace the catalytic converter

The turn signals do not work.

The power steering has not really worked for some time, although we jerry rigged a partial solution some years ago, and it hurts my arms and shoulders any time I have to do much of a turn.

The brakes have not been examined in YEARS.

The fluids should probably be checked.

The tires are low in air.

I am estimating that I will need $2,000. It could be more, if I can't find someone to do it "on the cheap," but once I have the $2,000 I can start, at least. It sounds like a lot, but it is a heck of a lot cheaper than buying a new car, so what choice do I have?

I have reached out to a couple people in search of someone to do repairs "on the cheap," but so far no luck. It's just as well, however, because when I have done that in the past, it has not worked out well. It is best to pay for a legitimate mechanic/repair person and get the job done right the first time.

I will start working on the GOFUNDME

In the meantime, if you are able to donate to the car repair project, I would be most grateful. You could use the DONATION button ABOVE RIGHT, UNDER MY PHOTO. It is a bit rusty, as no one has contributed in more than a year, but Paypal is reliable.

If you have any questions, you can certainly contact me on Facebook at:

THIS FACEBOOK LINK

Just send me a message there, and I will try to be routinely available for chatting most of the time.

I hope ya'll are having a better week than I am at this point in time. It is only through prayer, gritting my teeth, and pushing on that I am able to endure.

I hope you all have a beautiful Sunday

God bless you all!

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

Silver Cottage Hermitage

P.S. All of the blog posts I write are independently researched and written by me and all of them are protected by legal copyright and may not be copied for any purpose by any person for any reason, so please just enjoy them here and leave them here where you found them.

(c) Copyright 2022, Silver S. Parnell

All rights reserved.

No copying for any purpose by anyone is allowed.

SAINT WIBORADA - MY INSPIRATION OF THE DAY - MAY 2, 2021

 

    

Saint Wiborada of Saint Gallens Abbey

Died 926

I have recently been unable to post on this blog due to a broken computer and surgery for melanoma cancer and subsequent healing. The computer and I are in fine condition now, and I have returned to the musings.

Every day, I try to examine the list of saints who share the feast day. Typically, it is a list of about a dozen men. Every once in a while, one or two women will be included, but they're usually obscure, little-known women for whom not much is known.

Men have traditionally made a fuss over the saintliness of other men, while giving short shrift to the women.

In about 80% of cases, there is almost nothing known about the female saint mentioned, except perhaps if she is a virgin, which is made a big fuss over, but men are never congratulated for it in those lists of saints. Mostly, we will know that she is a virgin and rebuked the offers of marriage. That's the most popular story...that the parents wanted her to marry and she refused because she belongs to God alone - and then she goes on to become an anchoress, a hermit or an abbess.

But seriously - what about the men? Why is a man never lauded as a "virgin?" I really want to know why this is such a big deal for a woman but not even worth mentioning for men. Chastity is equally expected of all Christians (ostensibly), so why this stark difference between the men and women? Perhaps one of our readers will chime in with some information I've never read.

Wiborada and Bishop Salomon

The women we do tend to hear about are the wealthy ones who endowed convents and monasteries - or the women are are related or linked to a male saint of some renown. My response to all this is to ignore the male saints, except for my direct ancestors, concentrating on the more obscure women, taking their stories to heart and using them to inspire my monastic inclinations and doing my part to bring attention to them.

I look to the unknown saints - the silent ones - for inspiration about the monastic life that I am living alone because what I am doing is very similar to what most of them did, and that is to ignore the typical demands of our culture for women to attach ourselves to men and orbit around them, attempting to live in the reflected life of the glory of the male triumphs. This mode of life is so unique, that people often fail to understand the motivation.

I live for God alone, and there is little to no support for that idea in modern society. In fact, even religious who should know better sometimes consider it kooky - especially if it is a woman who has set foot on this path. They seem to quickly get over this reticence to dignify the aspirations of a female monastic if the woman has money and wants to endow an institution, which is how many of my sainted ancestors got support for their vocations. While women are dismissed out of hand in many cases, men are fawned over and revered without the jaundiced, critical eye customarily used when regarding the women. This sounds harsh, I know, but it is historically accurate, for the most part. (Yes, there are exceptions for every rule of life, but not many for this one.)

Obviously, ignoring women's accomplishments isn't reserved to the Catholic hierarchy. It is a cultural thing all over the world and has been for some time. Every endeavor in every arena is submerged in the idea of women's inferiority, and this has been going on for so long that even women have internalized this idea that they are naturally subservient peons. I think this may be why females have such a hard time supporting and encouraging one another. Instead, some women will try to destroy another of their sex who dares to attempt the remarkable. There is so little respect to go around that it puts us all into competition with one another. In response to this deficit, women have resorted to spreading rumors and engaging in petty and juvenile character assassinations, like the mean girls in the schoolyard. I feel sad about the number of times I have seen this drama played out.

At the same time, I have been privileged to know exceptional women who have transcended this sad reality. They are holy women - women for whom gossip and spite are far beneath them. They fly through life on angel wings. I would like to mention one of these women today.

Our dear friend, Iris, avid reader of this blog and sometimes meditation student, has left us. Unbeknownst to most of us, she suffered stage 4 liver cancer for the last year or so. She hid it from us, and I wish she hadn't, but I believe she was afraid we would try to talk her into cooperating with the doctors. I respect the wishes of others when it comes to their own health care, but I just wish I had the opportunity to say goodbye to her and to tell her how much her friendship meant to me. I would have welcomed the opportunity to help her transition to her new life in Christ. I ask that you all please pray for her soul. 

Today's saint appeals to me because she and I have some interests and conditions in common. First, she was a descendant of a noble Swabian family (now Switzerland.) I am also descended from Swabian nobility way way back in time, so at some point she and I shared some ancestors. (I am related to and descended from many of the European noble families because they were forever marrying one another. In fact, I am a cousin to myself many times over!) 

As a writer, I have always been mad about books, and Wiborada is the patron saint of libraries and librarians because she spent some time binding books for her brother, who was a priest.

Wiborada lived for some time with her brother Hatto at the Abbey of Saint Gall/Gallen. She made some of his clothes, and I am also a seamstress of sorts, having designed and made clothing for my own small clothing shop in Hollywood in the 1970's. I have lost most of my vision in my left eye, so it is much more difficult to sew, but I am gamely giving it a try, making some linen dresses for a simple monastic wardrobe.

Wiborada was also credited with visions and premonitions and predicted the Hungarian invasion of her region, which helped them hide the books (and the wine!) She refused to flee for her life, and when the Magyar marauders later reached St. Gall Abbey, they found her kneeling in prayer in her cell and immediately killed her with a blow to her head with a shepherd's axe. Because she played a pivotal role in saving the library and the lives of others while refusing to do what would be necessary to save her own, she was given the status of martyr.

Saint Wiborada is far braver than I. To be honest, I don't see me becoming a martyr under any circumstances, even though I have become rather accustomed to offering up chronic pain. Those of you who are disabled, in similar circumstances, know what I mean. Even though life can be excruciatingly uncomfortable when saddled with continuous aches, I am not anxious to experience the afterlife any sooner than necessary. There is a reason we have been given life, and it is important to live out our destinies here.

When I write about these female saints and draw parallels to myself, it is because it inspires me to improve my spiritual disciplines and, well, everything else too! The similarities draw my interest and attention to her, only so that the ways in which I fall short can be highlighted. Give it a try with a saint that appeals to you also and see if it doesn't produce similar results.

I have a request that you also pray for some special needs I heard about today.  First of all, a family that has not been together for a long time is looking forward to spending time together and traveling to another state. The mother is in her 90's, and who knows how long she will remain as she is? I am praying to the Lord that he protect all of them and facilitate a very happy and healthy reunion. This family is very special to me. Please pray for them.

Secondly, I know of a husband and wife from a former parish of mine who are currently hospitalized with Covid.  Evidently, the two of them had bought into the anti-vaccination propaganda of a certain section of the right wing. Consequently, they BOTH became quite ill and  are now hospitalized. I believe they are in their late 70's, and the wife had previously been a smoker, so her lungs are compromised. I just have this feeling that now is not the time for them to go. They need time. I think you know what I mean. Please pray for them.

Thirdly, there is a lady in my apartment complex who I have known for ten years, and she has become quite ill with some kind of dementia. She is on a long, slow slide, and it is painful to see. It is also very uncomfortable to deal with because she has become sharp, angry, critical and often hostile - especially when someone is trying to help her. She needs the help and wants it, but I think somewhere inside her she resents needing the help. She knows that her mind is "going." Please pray for her.

Fourth, I ask for your prayers for the wonderful people who recently bought me a new computer so that I could continue with my writing. I am more grateful to them than I can say. Will you join me in prayer for their welfare, that their generosity be rewarded?

As for myself, I ask prayers for healing. Since I last wrote a blog post, I had surgery to remove a melanoma cancer tumor from my scalp. It was much bigger than any of us anticipated when they first found it...but it is certainly smaller than the wound to Wiborada's scalp when the marauders split it with that axe! (Another fine example of how the examples found in stories about the saints help us to live ours!)

I hope you'll try to make use of the lives of the stories about the saints to help and encourage you on your journey, and please write us and let us know how it goes for you also! I would love to hear from you about this.

God bless us all

Silver Rose

FIGHTING EVIL IN THE WORLD

 

There is a tendency among some to assume that humans have been on earth for so long that we have evolved to the point where evil instincts and character have become nearly extinct. We no longer put people in the stocks in the middle of town and throw garbage at them. We don't draw and quarter criminals in the public square, and we've stopped labeling women as "witches" and burning them alive as a civic act.

Despite the paucity of these outward extreme demonstrations of evil, the instincts still remain in the hearts of people who have chosen that path. I call it a path because it IS a road to a destination that still exists. Yes, I am talking about Hell.

Most people do not want to "believe in" Hell, and I grew up disputing it also. Despite a brutal childhood in which I was tortured by one parent and neglected by the other, I was certain that my parents were the rare exception and that most people operated from a position of love and peace, and that no one was perfect and therefore most people weren't actually evil, per se, but only failed to accomplish the good that I assumed was the aspiration of all. Consequently, I spent the first 2 decades of my adult life looking for those good people and failing most of the time.

I went out into the world imagining that most of society's families were represented by John Boy and his kin from "The Waltons" and not by the members of my natal family, who behaved in a maleficent way toward me. In my 20's, I remember frequently expounding on the nature of humans and insisting that "everyone is basically good," and things of that nature. Kumbaya, let's all hold hands and dance and sing happy songs.

As any reader might expect, I was a sitting duck for every con artist, thief and predator in the neighborhood. To this day, the evil of this world still has the capacity to occasionally surprise or shock me, but instead of having faith in the goodness of humans, I now only have faith in the goodness of God, and I have dedicated myself entirely to Him for the last twenty years.

Like many religious "hermits" not fortunate enough to be in possession of family money, I live in  a "low-income apartment" on the edge of town and try to live as quietly as possible, duplicating the ashram experience I had while living with the Vedantists, to the extent possible. Naturally, the worldly folk with whom I share a somewhat cramped space, are not in tune with my aspirations, and some are actively hostile toward them.

Two young women have moved into my building and immediately began causing chaos. During a freak arctic weather event, when snow and ice covered the property for several days, they parked in the middle of the driveway, blocking 5 residents' cars, rather than parking in their assigned space. Across the windshield of that car in LARGE white letters, is the very odd saying, spelled out in full, "F--K THE POPULATION."

This is a puzzling saying that I'd never seen before, and I was surprised to see anyone displaying such a blatantly hostile and anti-social motto on their windshield. 

According to the Urban Dictionary:

"A term used by a person who has seen through the bulls..t of humans who do not think and cause harm because they are so brainless.

It means that you highly dislike humans as a whole because of the way they about doing things.

“Hey do you wanna go out to make more friends?”
“No f--k the population they’re all sheeple anyway."

I also learned that there is a company  that uses that epithet as its moniker for its line of clothing (togs for the angry youth, I expect!)

Despite being warned to keep their cars in their own space, the other day they had a woman park in front of my garage and block me from being able to put my car in there. When I asked the visitor to move, she became belligerent and ridiculous, telling me that the space belonged to the apartment building,  anyone could park there, and other nonsense, in utter disregard for all the prominent signs that say "no parking," what to speak of the OBVIOUS garage between the two "no parking" signs on the wall right in front of her nose. (I call this "convenience blindness" - a condition in which the sufferer only sees, hears or perceives what is pleasant and conducive to their own interests and designs.)

When I told her to move her car (again) she became enraged and flipped out. She set upon me with filthy words, insinuations of imminent harm that was to come to me, at the same time that three others flew out of the building to join her in harassing me. They descended on me like demons from hell, pressing in on me within inches, flailing and shrieking - pushing finger gestures into my face. One of them, the owner of that car that displays that awful saying, (or the partner of the other woman who owns it), had patches of old pink and blue dye in her hair. Her eyes were wild, her blotchy skin advertised her degraded habits. She kept turning to her companions and whooping loudly, "I told you that f--king old b--ch was gonna be a problem."  I could almost see the spit flying from her mouth during her flagitious assault and I was glad I'd had my 2nd Covid shot.

My car door was slightly ajar, and they tried to block me from getting into it to get away from them. The stout middle-aged woman who'd started all this pressed her body into the car door, trying to keep me from getting into my vehicle. I could smell the odor of stale alcohol. When I finally managed to squeeze between the open door and the door jam, she again threatened to do something to me, I'm not quite sure what. It was a big word salad. All I wanted to do was get away from this insane crowd of raving maniacs.

I honked my horn, in the vain hope that someone would come and make them stop - but despite plenty of people witnessing this - they let it go on. There were no heroes that day, and very often this is the case. Few will come to the aid of the vulnerable when they are being bushwhacked. Meanwhile, I was stuck in my car, without my telephone, unable to leave, with the faces of four people pressed against my windows who continued to gesture wildly. They were like rabid animals.

Thinking I would drive away and just escape this situation, I turned on the car and two of them jumped in front of it, pulling my traffic cone in front of my bumper so I could not leave. Meanwhile, the other two pressed their faces into the glass, while they cursed and used vulgar hand gestures. All sorts of things were said.

Eventually, after about 20 minutes of haranguing me, they got bored I suppose and moved away. I got out of my car and limped into my apartment, called the police, emailed the apartment management, and gathered my wits.

Shortly afterward, a resident who saw the whole thing, came down to check on me and make sure I was OK. She told me that her husband didn't want her to "get involved" because he was "afraid that those neighbors would target them." The vulnerable are left without protection or advocate, most of the time.

The crux of the problem is that there is no visitor parking in this entire complex of 75 units, save for about 4 spots near the mail boxes in the middle of the property - none of which are labeled as such. There is a very convenient looking space in front of my garage door, right next to the building, and despite plenty of signage saying "no parking" etc., people park there anyway. If/when I place a physical blockage in front of it, I will have to greatly inconvenience myself by having to get out of the car and move it every time I came in or out. After this recent experience, if the management doesn't provide them, I will have to find the money somewhere to get some large and heavy traffic cones myself. (I have requested them before, but they refused me.)

Unfortunately, as I have reported before, the fairly new manager of this complex is in harmony with those who are breaking the law, flouting the rules and hurting the elderly and disabled residents who are forced to live here by virtue of the poverty that provides them few choices. The other elderly and disabled residents tell me that they are afraid to complain, for fear of retaliation, and I don't blame them. It is a real concern, when the person charged with sheltering the vulnerable appears to despise them.

Many times I have scoured the town for other affordable housing that would provide more space and a safer environment, but wishing doesn't make it so. The other "low-income" housing facilities are even worse than this one.

After the incident, I did consult with a police officer about what had happened. He told me that "in this town," people have been killed for less than asking someone to leave a parking spot, that assaults on elderly and disabled people "happen all the time in Albuquerque," and that the legal process isn't much help, unless someone kills you. Welcome to the wild west.

Given the motto emblazoned across the windshield of my assailants' car in big letters, none of this should be a surprise, but I have to say that it is very difficult to live a retired life of prayer under these circumstances. It is no wonder that cenobitic monasticism became a "thing" and the previously hermit-like nuns and monks began to live together. In addition to other benefits, protection from the evil of the world is at least a possibility. But I am not a good candidate for inclusion in someone else's group, for several reasons - not the least of which is that I am of no practical use to any institution, unless they value my spiritual gifts highly. No one is THAT other-worldly. In addition, I have my own mission, and my writing and creative art projects. After spending decades as an independent monastic, and ruling myself alone, it isn't likely I could easily come under the domination of any other group, even if they wanted me, which no one does.

Given all the circumstances, it does not seem possible to escape the aggressions of antisocial humans without some outside help and, since that is clearly  not being offered, I will need to adopt a coping tactic. Jesus, Buddha, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi all advocated for peaceful nonviolence, which isn't easy, of course - but I can't go the route of retaliation because then I would also be in harmony with evil people, and I do not want that. Besides which, it isn't my temperament and never has been.

The moment I would give myself over to retaliation, I would literally be on the road to Hell, in company with villainous companions. At the very least, I have to submerge my mind in the Divine, even if I cannot take my body to a safe place. I must continue to maintain sacred mental and spiritual space around me, if sacred physical space is not possible. At the same time, I rely on God's sure hand to guide me and the intercessory prayers of Mary and my well-wishers to give power to the spiritual space. I hope it will be enough to protect me from real harm. If not, I will be in good company.

I hope you will pray for my success in doing so.

God bless us all.

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

DEATH

 

VIKING FUNERAL PYRE

One always knows that death awaits us all. We see death around us, we hear about the deaths of others, beloved pets even die when we are children, and we have to cope with that. But it isn't until one starts to feel death in one's own body that it becomes a real "thing." Welcome to the existential crisis.

If you don't have a religious philosophy in place when the existential crisis hits, God save you, because it is easy for me to imagine the emotional crisis that would likely ensue.

When I was very young, I imagined that I would die peacefully in my sleep at a very advanced age, hopefully after saying goodbye to scores of loved ones, tidying up my affairs, and giving away the heirlooms. 

Once I had discovered meditation and spiritual life in my late 20's, my death plans changed to a more spiritual version. Gradually, I grew to imagine I would give sage advice to my meditation students during the day, and at night I would work on aligning all my thoughts with the movement of the Divine. With the pinpoint concentration that comes of decades of meditation practice, I would try to ready myself to catch a ride on that spiritual wave, for what I imagined would be the experience of union with the divine at the end of it all.

Well, it is all very embarrassing now that the reality of impending death has begun to creep through the body, because there are many things I didn't anticipate. One doesn't foresee how unattractive it can be.

You don't envision the humiliation of your eyelashes suddenly migrating to arbitrary spots on one's chin - and growing there like strong little trees that make your eyes water when you pluck them out. Nor do you anticipate a giant random "sun spot" browning a swathe of skin on your cheek. One never thinks that our most constant companion will be crippling pain, and the barely adequate little morphine pills that give you terrible constipation for the first time in your life.

I was horrified about having to have a molar pulled out but lacking the resources to replace it, leaving the teeth on the top row to float around, willy nilly, while my gap-toothed smile suffered for it. (One does not want to frighten the children!) Dental floss became my constant companion after the removal of that big molar. I keep a bag of those little floss picks near the recliner, with kleenex, and a tiny little pink dust bin to throw them away. The detritus of this process is far from glamorous because it is a reminder of where we are all going, cute pink dust bin or not.

At first, I made fun of the cane I had to use to compensate for the knees that had been destroyed by inherited arthritis, and a lifetime of hiking, horseback riding, and walking. The scoliosis I was born with didn't help any of that. So I got a cane that was decorated with pink roses and made fun of having to use one - gamely declaring that I wasn't going to let it get me down and would just turn lemons into lemonade by using remarkably decorated canes. I would be that artistic and somewhat wacky nun with the canes and the sun hats

When I graduated from sporting a flashy little number covered with roses, to a commodious walker complete with padded seat, and finally to an electric scooter, all pretext of being that cool old lady nun vanished. All anyone sees is someone who is aging "badly" by not taking any measures to ameliorate the telltale signs - such as that ever widening "sun spot" that is known, more commonly, as an "age spot."

If I still lived in Los Angeles, people would be bugging me to go to the dermatologist to have the sun spot bleached and sloughed off, to have a dental implant to replace the missing tooth, etc.

A few weeks ago, I suddenly noticed the appearance of a weird dark spot on my scalp, of a bizarre, irregular shape, like a mole that has been blasted to bits - about the size of a quarter. Hoping it was a sun spot, but instinctively knowing it was not, I arranged for it to be biopsied and, sure enough, it came back as suspicious for melanoma cancer, and I now have an appointment at the cancer center where they will, no doubt about it, remove it, some skin around and beneath it, and forever destroy my one remaining physical attribute of some beauty - my hair.

We are not supposed to care about our physical selves, as nuns. Devoting oneself to spiritual life is supposed to eliminate considerations like that. But it isn't the loss of beauty that is the problem for me. Instead, it is the reminder of approaching death, on my part, which is not entirely devoid of aversion for me. I am not so "other worldly" that I am sanguine about passing away in the near future.

As a young nun I read about how several world religions recommend meditating upon death - and I had no problem with that. Death is easy. It is dying that is hard.

While I am looking forward to meeting my maker, I would still rather do it much later. I really would not mind living another 60 years because it is going to take me that long to do all the creative projects I have in mind.

We are not two-dimensional people, and the commitment to living a life for God doesn't preclude all worldly pursuits (though some people justify their lack of imagination and paucity of talents with that excuse that makes them look ever so holy!)   But few people are so lacking in interests! As an artist and a writer, I have parallel lives to that of my life as a nun and meditation teacher - especially now that we are all hunkered down in our bunkers, trying to avoid death by Covid19. I am writing a novel, some song lyrics and various types of poetry. I have no less than 3 series of acrylic paintings in the queue. I even love to make prayer beads, rosaries and "healing" necklaces using semi-precious natural stones. 

On top of all this is a love of study and of learning on various topics. I am a world-class genealogist with more than 40 years experience, a family tree of more than 75,000 people, and a handful of distant cousins I am helping with THEIR trees. Having played the piano, the guitar and the flute in the past, I am now teaching myself the guitalele. I have even contemplated learning at least one foreign language, but God only knows when I would find the time for it or on whom I would practice, since I am fascinated with the Welsh language of my beloved Grammy's ancestors, and there is nary a Welsh speaker in sight!

Other humans, likewise uncomfortable with reminders of death, find the reminders of it writ large on the faces of old people to be repellant, most of the time. This is one of the reasons why older folks are so often the victims of hate crimes - that, and the fact that they are less able to defend themselves, while people who commit hate crimes are vile bullies with cowardly hearts.

Keeping up an image of some semblance of health and vigor is essential to survival. We need to all pretend, to some extent, that we will live forever, otherwise our impending doom is all we'd think about and prepare for. I do not think that our entire lives are meant to be spent in this fashion because, if we were all created by a benign and loving creator, as I believe, then it would be uncharacteristic of Him to arrange it in such a way.

Just think how boring and dismal it would be to have only tragedies to watch on television. I often imagine that the Lord watches us as we watch television, and that His joy thrills to our our joy, etc. It is hard to be joyful unless we put death on the back burner until and unless we meet it in a dark hallway in the middle of the night, on our way to the bathroom or the kitchen, pursuing some need or want.

Yes, the reality of dying is typically a long, drawn-out affair. If you are lucky enough to make it past middle age, it announces itself long before it is actually knocking on your front door. I remember now, with some embarrassment, a much younger me who announced that I wouldn't be complaining about old age and that I intended to "grow old gracefully," but what did I knew? I'd never seen anyone die. .Heck, I barely knew anyone who died at all! There isn't much that is graceful about what is going on over here. My apartment is in chaos, and instead of a gathering of students and loved ones around my bed, There is a viral pandemic stalking the land, and all the teaching is on the phone or on Facebook. I am falling asleep in my reclining chair, wearing the same clothes I was wearing during the day. At least, that's how last night turned out - and who am I kidding? Many nights end that way. Thank God no one is here to witness the snoring I feel sure must be part of that lovely tableaux!

Things are bound to improve after I get my second Covid vaccination next week. I'll feel more comfortable about having an attendant come to my house, but I don't take it for granted that someone will be available during this wickedly difficult era, and the mess has piled up around me for the last year, so much that it will take some time before "graceful" is possible!

It is my guess that the spiritual equivalent of a juggling act has to be conducted throughout each of our lives. We must plan for death but thumb our noses at it at the same time, by living for the natural beauty of life - a beauty rendered more precious and gorgeous by the temporary nature of it all.

Now I leave you for the pursuit.

God bless us all.

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

SIDE EFFECTS OF MEDITATION AND THE CONTEMPLATIVE LIFE

 

Saint Scholastica

Mystic, visionary, wonderworker

and twin sister of Saint Benedict

(480-543)

Today is the feast of Saint Scholastica, twin sister of Saint Benedict, born a little more than 400 years after Christ, when the imprint of His passing was very fresh, and the conversion of the Western World to Him was in its infancy. It was largely due to saints such as these that we have such a strong monastic tradition. These people grew up knowing about Christ, usually in pious households, but certainly in a rich Christian environment close enough to the source for the echo of Christ's footsteps on earth to reverberate in and tantalize the soul.

When I read about these lovely saints who got an early start on their monastic quest, I often reflect on them and compare their circumstances to mine. Often I wish I would have known something of religion and contemplative life when I was a child and not just my own inner feelings and directions from the Divine, but I remind myself that even those that approach God in the 11th hour are welcomed and accepted in. This is true in all religious traditions, though I see in the way that these saints are memorialized that the very human tendency to expect perfection from childhood is often reflected in the stories told about them.

What about ordinary people born in non-pious households and raised by committed heathens in an atmosphere of utter worldliness, greed and competition? It just takes longer to wend ones way to a holy life. As in my own experience, traveling through various religious expressions, depending upon the people and circumstances with which I found myself, enduring the torments that the devotees of various organizations heaped upon me, I eventually found my way. 

Just as in meditation, when one is required to continually direct the mind to the "feet of the Lord," the key has always been to keep my attention on the Lord in my life circumstances and to follow Him, ignoring as much as possible the "pin pricks of jealousy" (as my swami often called them) of people also not yet perfected but who imagine they are completely cooked, despite their half-baked ideas, and who, no matter what religion they follow, do their best to try and keep it small, constricted, and exclusive, since they cannot handle the enormity of God. They try to bite Him off into managable pieces, and hold those little pieces close, jealously guarding them, but this doesn't work. We cannot, nor should we try, to manipulate God in this way. No good can come of it.

Meditation and the contemplative life allow you to merge into the Divine, and not feel overwhelmed by the vast, unending Magnificence. In the process, there are some side effects and, in typical human fashion, some people can become enamored of those petty benefits and become entranced with them, mistakenly imagining that THIS is the whole show - so we have a lot of people teaching "meditation" these days, having removed all trace of the religions that created this practice.

(One of my students once asked me, "can't I just meditate without all this religious stuff?" She wanted to use God but had not yet gotten to the place where she was willing for God to use HER."

This is a common problem with humans because natural selfishness and instincts for self-preservation impede spiritual progress. At first, no one wants to LOSE themselves in the Divine. They want to use God to gain worldly pleasures and a modicum of control over their fate. I remember, in the early days, someone talking to me about "merging into the Divine," and I retorted something to the effect that it sounded "revolting." I was still in the phase when I couldn't imagine doing anything but lopping off a piece of bliss, installing it in my heart, and proceeding on my way.

We are called by religious life to give up our puny selves and merge into the bliss of God, but it does take some practice, and some faith that one isn't going to go mad in the process. At any rate, there ARE side effects for which one should be prepared, when embarking on a serious quest, and one needs to decide not to become entranced by these small gifts. It is tempting to turn one's attention toward these little tokens and get lost in fascination on them. Unfortunately, spiritual progress ceases when this happens, because you've taken your mind off of your Goal and have become diverted by a side show.

But we love the side show. Stories of the saints are full of them, and it is these stories that we treasure and hold up as proof of saintliness. For instance, the most famous story told about St. Scholastica is how, one day very shortly before her death, she entreated her brother not to leave and go back to his monastery that night, but instead to stay with her and continue their conversations about spiritual matters. Saint Benedict, not wanting to break his own rule, demurred and began to make arrangements to return to his monastery.

Saint Scholastica attempted to restrain him with her prayers, which were immediately answered by a tremendous storm that suddenly swept up, ostensibly in response to her fervent invocations.

In India, there are yogis (a type of Hindu saint) who make a specialty out of their ability to manipulate their bodies in odd ways, and I can attest that some meditation techniques can have an affect on the central nervous system, in particular. I have had some experience with it this week.

When I was a child, I was terrified of needles, and to this day I put myself into a meditative state in order not to faint when I get a shot. Yesterday, I had to have a biopsy done at the doctor's office. There is a dark spot on my scalp, which I was fairly sure was a sun spot but which my doctor said should be tested.

I slowed my breathing and put myself into a meditative state, but the resulting relaxation caused my blood vessels to relax a bit too much so that when the doctor inserted the lidocaine shots into my scalp, blood spurted out and began flowing down my face.

"I wasn't expecting that!" the doctor said, as she scrambled for something to soak up the blood. They really WEREN'T prepared, as there were no sterile dressings with which to sop up the blood - just a few tiny pieces of gauze. So I had to stop my relaxation technique and go on blood detail, dabbing at the blood that was drenching my long hair. (As I write this, there is still blood caked in my hair, as I was so exhausted after all this that I fell asleep before I could wash it out.)

The pain shots only last a little while, so the doctor had to continue with the surgery while I kept trying to staunch the blood with those pitiful little pieces of gauze. She lost her nerve or was inexperienced with the cutting tool that she called a "punch," and was unable to get a clean cut, so had to go back in with scissors to free the flap of skin, which was difficult to see because of all the blood. As she worked, the blood kept pouring down my face in rivulets that I myself had to try and stop.

Then, once she'd gotten the piece of skin dropped into a sterile vial for transfer to the testing site, the nurse went and got some more pitiful little pieces of gauze and some little saline capsules that the doctor used (in vain) to get the blood out of my hair.

On my end of things, I had no idea that my relaxation techniques were going to cause this kind of thing. It just didnt' occur to me. Looking back on it now, I understand what happened and would be prepared for it if I ever had to have this type of procedure again.

I was also feeling a bit of an allergic reaction to the lidocaine, and I asked them if they could give me a benadryl for it, so the doctor called in the head nurse, a lovely man named "Joe," who told me that usually, these lidocaine shots will tighten the blood vessels and may increase blood pressure, as does the benadryl, so he wanted to take my pulse. It was 65 - a very respectable and low pulse rate. My blood pressure was 104 over 60, which is quite low. The nurse was surprised. I wasn't.

So, my meditation and breathing techniques brought too much calm to my system and, while I was certainly relaxed and had no fear of the needles and knives, it wreaked havoc with the surgical procedure. Next time, perhaps I will work on staying a bit more "uptight."

On the way home, I decided to grab a lemonade from a local drive-through and, while I was mentally musing over the events and congratulating myself on my yogic abilities, I failed to concentrate on what I was doing and managed to spill the entirety of a giant glass of lemonade onto the floor of my car, where it remains this morning and I have no idea what to do about it except perhaps to leave my car windows open and pray that it dries and doesn't get moldy. It will need to be shampooed, I suppose, which is more than my pathetic knees and scoliotic back can handle right now and would cost some amount of money to have someone else do and which I cannot afford to pay for, at the moment (or any moment, actually.)

This is a perfect example of what happens when you allow yourself to be distracted by the side show. When I am driving, I need to concentrate on driving. When I am reading, concentrate on the reading. Whatever I am doing at the moment, that is the thing on which I should fix my mind, otherwise it is a disaaster - not just in the amount of lemonade that gets spilled on the floor of my vehicle, but in the degree to which my mind becomes lax and flabby in its habits.

The secret of spiritual practice is that it does not have a beginning nor an ending. It is constant. What we do with our minds is crucially important - every minute of the day.

May you have all the blissful minutes in all your days.

Silver Rose
"Sannyasini Kaliprana"
Copyright (c) 2021, All rights reserved.

SAINT PAULA OF ROME - DESERT MOTHER - JANUARY 26

 

SAINT PAULA OF ROME

(347-404)

Saint Paula of Rome is one of the few early female saints for whom we have a fair bit of information, likely because of her association with and support from Saint Jerome. In addition, As a part of a wealthy senatorial family, she was a descendant of Agamemnon. She is considered one of the early "Desert Mothers" in the solitary monastic tradition of Christianity.

The Desert Mothers and Desert Fathers were ascetics that lived in the deserts of  Egypt, Palestine, and Syria in the 4th and 5th centuries. Women who were highly influential on this important monastic tradition but were living outside of those desert locations are also described as Desert Mothers.

When I lived in the Vedanta Convent 30 years ago, I gobbled up the writings that featured these stellar monastics who remind me very much of the traditional Hindu holy men and women who dedicate themselves to the Lord and live as solitaries. [Even when lived in community, the vocation of a monastics is considered to be a solitary one. Monastics, though they had often been married prior to putting on monastic robes, do not marry or engage in extensive social contact. The "Divine Spouse" is the sole focus of their life.)

Paula herself had been married and widowed by her early 30's. She had led a life of comfort and luxury, with all the trappings, even to being carried around the city on a palanquin carried by eunuch slaves. She and her husband had 4 daughters and 1 son and, although she did not abandon her family, she placed her mind at the foot of the Lord.

With Saint Jerome and her daughter Eustochium, she set out on a pilgrimage the year after the death of her husband, and Jerome recounted, at a later time, how she was moved to see visions of Biblical era happenings as they visited each location. As a result of what she experienced there, she resolved to stay in Bethlehem to establish a retreat center there. As a wealthy woman with great status, this was easy for her. Paula headed a monastery for women, while Saint Jerome managed the monastery given over to the men. Large crowds visited both. It wasn't long before finances became strained, however, since the crowds were so large. Jerome had to sell some of his properties in order to continue to fund the venture.

Apparently, Paula subjected herself to a strict fasting regime and practiced a "destitute lifestyle," but considering that she was a very wealthy woman with power and status, it is hard to imagine. In any case, she became somewhat of a rock star in the Christian community.

I have to mention that Paula and Saint Jerome were the object of much scandalous gossip and dirty tricks. No matter what sort of religious organization is being discussed, there is ALWAYS this tendency for gossip about holy men and women. I am assuming that jealousy is the customary incentive. Also, normal human beings seem to have a hard time imagining a life without sexuality and relationships between men and women as being anything other than romantic or sexual. I keep thinking that I should write a post about Divine Love and Agape, but I wonder how many would understand the concept.

Saint Paula, her daughter Saint Eustochium, and Saint Paul

This has also been my experience in the various religious traditions I have experienced. I myself was the object of scorn, derision and idle gossip - all of it untrue, and all of it spread by people who spend a lot of their energy trying to polish their image as supposedly holy people. Whether Scientologists, Hindu, Buddhist or Christian, many people cannot seem to restraint themselves from gossiping and spreading rumors. It is a toxic habit. You have to feel sorry for these people, though, because it is clear that, had they experienced the direct presence of the Lord, they would not be fixated on the baser aspects of life.

There is also some degree of misunderstanding about the possibilities of conversion of human beings and the degree to which a person can be radically changed by spiritual practices. Some people believe that you have to ALWAYS have been perfect in order to become perfected in spiritual life, which makes NO sense whatsoever, but there is this temptation. It was common for a long time that Catholic monastic institutions would not accept women who were not either virgins or wealthy widows.

Those who have been married and have experienced the baser pleasures of life, such as Saint Paula, are assumed to be untrustworthy in the minds of short-sighted people of limited experience with the union of the soul with God. But to the person who is pursuing the Lord with all their heart, it probably doesn't affect them. They're too focused on the prize and too wrapped up in the inner journey to debase their minds by giving attention to this sort of tawdry thinking.

It is very likely that theirs was a combination of intellectual and spiritual companionship. She helped him with his translation of the Bible into Latin, since she had some facility with Hebrew. She and her daughter helped with the copying and the circulation of copies.

In the end, Jerome was buried next to Paula and her daughter Eustochium. We do not know the full extent of their relationship. After all, how COULD we, really? But I, for one, don't buy the rumors and slander. In fact, Jerome's contemporary, Palladius, insinuated that Jerome was actually jealous of Saint Paula's massive intellectual and spiritual gifts and that his "support" of her spiritual vocation was actually something of a suppression of her talents, rather than a support to them. We will never know for sure.

It DOES go to show, however, that the saints and their companions lives are not that much different than our own, and it is therefore a bit easier to follow in the footprints of the saints than what we might have imagined in the days before we knew them a bit better. All of this is an encouragement to me, personally and, once again, I was thrilled to learn a bit more about a saint with whom I wasn't much familiar previously.

I hope that MY contemporaries who follow a similar path are likewise inspired to stay on it and not wander.

God bless us all.
Silver Rose

Sannyasini Kaliprana
(C) Copyright 2021
All rights reserved.

The Embarkation of Saint Paula