SCIENTOLOGY, HINDUISM, BUDDHISM, CATHOLICISM, AND ME

Mission San Carlos Borromeo de Carmelo

location in Carmel, California

Many women find themselves, in middle or late age, longing to realize a strong monastic vocation that, for various reasons, they have been unable to pursue in their youth.  In my case, I was raised without any religion whatsoever.  In fact, my parents were hostile to religion in general and Catholicism in particular.  They were generally narcissistic people, who divorced when I was about 5 and spent the rest of their lives chasing sex, money and glamour.

Their children, my sister and I, were left to our own devices, to learn about life on our own. Consequently, I began to develop the inclination toward art, music and religion - all the beauties of life.

Me, at about age 8

We had a Cuban babysitter when I was about 6 or 7.  My mother was working at one of just a very few jobs she ever had.  The babysitter spoke no English, so we had to learn Spanish to communicate with her.  One day she took us out of the house and down to an enormous Catholic church to attend mass.  We were mystified by it all.  At one point, a man in a long robe at the front of the church was passing out cookies to lots of young children who were kneeling at a railing.  I was hungry.  I asked Iday if we could go get a cookie, but she didn't understand what I was saying.  I grabbed my little sister's hand and ran up the aisle, dutifully kneeling as I saw the other children doing.  When the priest got to me, he asked me, "Have you had your first communion?"  I said, "huh?" and looked at him, mouth agape in confusion.  He laughed to himself, cast a glance at me and then my sister, and walked past us with the cookies.  Red with embarrassment, I dragged my sister back to our seat.  We were hungry, darn it! (Food was typically scarce in our house. My body became conservative, and I got fat. My sister was thin as a rail. Go figure.)

When I was about 11 years old, my mother moved us to the beautiful Carmel Valley in California.  I was a lonely child and spent many hours riding around town on my little Schwin bicycle with its colorful "banana seat", long handle bars and plastic streamers flowing from the handles.  The Carmel Mission, though a long ride from my home, was my favorite haunt.  It was open every day and there was no fee to enter.

I loved to wander through the book store and admire the pretty medals and rosaries, knowing nothing of their use or meaning.  But I had a fascination for it all.  I sensed the mystical message behind the beautiful artistic presentation. The man behind the counter felt sorry for me, I think.  Every once in a while he would give me an inexpensive little book mark or a colorful medal of Saint Therese or the Virgin Mary.  I was an avid reader and I would hide the medals in my books at home.  I am still a collector of medals and holy cards, to a certain extent.  I like to keep the holy cards at my primary prayer corner and take a moment during the day to ask for the saints' intercession.  Holy cards also make great book markers!

One day, the nice man gave me a pamphlet about the Carmelite nuns. In it, there was an address to write to them.  Enchanted by the descriptions of the life of peace and silence, I sent them a letter.  This began a short period of correspondence that was brought to an abrupt halt by my mother, who cuttingly announced to me, "do you think they will want you when they find out your mother is DIVORCED?"  She pronounced the word with a distinct air of scandal. This would not be the last time that my love of God and my mystical bent would be crushed under the weight of worldly considerations and the pettiness of a woman with her own selfish agenda.

"We know the goal: union with God. You may ask,

'what is union with God and how do I attain it?"

Union with God means seeking to do the will of

God with every choice we make.'"

website of the Carmelites

Carmel, California

Indeed, the nuns did stop writing me.  I realize now that, in all likelihood, my mother had written them and told them to bug off, but I was left with the impression that she had been right, that I was somehow tainted by my mother's divorce.  Later in life, I would learn that Catholic people DO have a "thing" about divorce, and many Catholic people, lay and professed, use their own misunderstanding of it to discriminate against people, even where the faith itself does not. More about that later.

Carmelite Monastery of Our Lady and Saint Terese

Carmel, California

"Our life with God draws us to the deepest empathy

with the sorrows, the joys and the hopes so confidently

entrusted to our prayers each day."

At the tender age of 17, I left my abusive home and struck out on my own, with nothing but the clothes on my back.  My mother had hidden my car keys.  I had received the car as my high school graduation present.  It was a hand-me-down from my father's new wife who, he said, "deserved better."  It later went to my sibling, like nearly everything I had ever been given.  (It had been a bizarre home life in which my mother had labeled me the "bad" daughter because I was fat, mostly, but also because I really WAS different. I WAS the "outsider" in a home of bigoted and cruel narcissists.)

Life was very difficult, but despite continuing survival issues including a brief homeless stint, I continued to yearn for God, for peace, for a life of prayer, and a life that meant something.  My search was not what I would call successful.  I fell in with some Scientologists and spent some time working for L. Ron Hubbard on his "flagship" that traveled between Lisbon, Portugal, to the northern regions of Spain, in Basque country.  Franco was still in charge in those days, and Spain was more than a little tense.  In the end, L. Ron Hubbard made me tense, with his odd habits and very strange personal aura. I had originally fallen in with these people because of my feeling of love for mankind and a desire to devote my life to the betterment of the human race. I very soon lost confidence in this cultish group of well-meaning people, once I had interacted with its founder.

Scientology flagship "Apollo"

(I lived on this ship in 1974)

From the obvious drawbacks of the Scientologists, I flirted with a form of Buddhism that involved a lot of chanting.  An actress friend of mine was wild about this Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism, and pushed me to try it. That's all I remember about it, except that all the women I knew who practiced this religion were using it as a way to get things out of life...like cars and boyfriends.  It hardly seemed worth the effort and was obviously not a genuine pursuit. Using religion to obtain worldly things is pecuniary, when God is offering us so much more! Surely, there is a bit of The Lord in everything but it is not the THINGS in which He resides on which I set my sights. It is He alone that draws me.  In any case, there was no peace or joy for me, and it lasted a very short time.

To be fair, I did very little reading in connection with this religious sect, and the superficiality with which I approached it probably has something to do with my completely dismissive attitude toward it. I have yet to experience a religion that does not have something wonderful to recommend it, so please do not take my word for this religion or any other. It may be wonderful. It just was not wonderful for me.

After some extremely difficult life occurrences, I found myself in an apartment in Sacramento, working in a law firm and spending my free time in meditation and prayer.  I had a very big walk-in closet in this apartment on the second floor of a small apartment complex. It was not a very quiet neighborhood, so I used to close myself in this closet and meditate on my oneness with the Lord. I felt his presence within me, and I within him. I wanted more of this feeling. I also wanted to connect to other people who loved the Lord in this way.

I decided that I needed to learn how to meditate properly.  So, I picked up a phone book and found a group that sounded East Indian:  The Vedanta Society of Sacramento. Oddly enough, though I called the main number, my call somehow rolled over onto the Swami's private telephone and, although Swami Shraddhananda appeared to be alarmed that I was calling him on that number, he was also very warm and welcoming. He invited me to come to the temple and meet HIM.

Interior of the Temple

VEDANTA SOCIETY OF SACRAMENTO

That phone call was the beginning of more than a decade of close association with this group that posited the idea that "all religions lead to God."  Well, that sounded nice and tolerant and broad.  Plus, they taught meditation.  Just the ticket.  I became very involved because I did love the meditation and the peace that I felt on the premises.

Being service minded, and not having the distraction of husband or boyfriends, I immediately started volunteering in the beautiful gardens. My plot of land was the Saint Francis garden. I remember, specifically, the begonias. I had never seen begonias before, but these were lovely and I have been captivated by begonias ever since.

The pond at Vedanta Society, Sacramento Temple

I attended the celebrations in connection with various religious holidays (the "pujas") and made some friends, but Swami Shraddhananda was ill and didn't just initiate new "disciples" at the drop of a hat. He was a well respected guru, with many disciples.

On Saturdays, after doing my work, I would sit outside on the concrete while everyone else was inside with the swami, enjoying refreshments and his talk. I couldn't be there because I wasn't one of them. (Do we see a theme beginning to form?)

Swami Shraddhanandaji

Vedanta Society of Sacramento

(my first swami)

I did this for about a year, but then I was let go from my job. A client told me she liked me better than my boss, and he did not like this.  I decided to return to Los Angeles, where there was more work and better paying work. When I told the Swami that I was leaving, he seemed upset. Apparently, he had "just decided" to initiate me with a mantra, but it was too late. I was leaving and had no way to stay. (In later years, he would tease my guru, Swami Swahanandaji, saying that I really "belonged" to him! It was sweet.)

Shortly after relocating back to Hollywood, I threw myself into service projects at the Hollywood Vedanta Society. I met Swami Swahananda, who impressed me very much with his wisdom and his humor. We got along famously. I loved spending time with him, visiting in the afternoon after his work was completed, taking one or two walks a day, and basically soaking up everything I could of the Vedantic worldview, the breadth and depth of which continued to entrance me.

I absolutely fell in love with Vedanta philosophy and, after a couple years of involvement, decided to join the convent. There was resistance from the nuns. They told the swami they didn't want me because I was too old and too fat. I think I was 32 years old at this point.

Here I am, "fat" and happy

sitting with the swami and other "devotees."

Finally, he made them take me. They were being ridiculous. [At one point he had said I should try to lose some weight and "then return to your natural state." He was so funny.] Looking back on my experience with the nuns in the convent, I recognize this behavior as very typical of any American group, religious or secular. People want you to give them your youth, your beauty, or your money. If you don't have at least one of those, no one wants you. 

In the convent, we had a large library of books of most of the major religious traditions.  The darndest thing happened.  Every time I walked in there, I gravitated toward the Catholic books, especially the ones about the Catholic mystics and Catholic religious orders.  I also particularly loved the Eastern Orthodox magazines and books like, The Way of the Pilgrim, and the Philokalia.  I would tell myself that I "should" read the Hindu-based books, but they left me cold, for the most part.

In my experience, the Hindu books sacrificed love and warmth in the interest of justifying the religion through scientific allusions, which I do not believe it has to do.

These Catholic books were my first introduction to Christian history, theology and cosmology, except for the slim pamphlets I'd been sent from the Carmelites as a young girl.  In my childhood, I'd never had a friend who was Christian.  My mother moved us to another city every year, one step ahead of the creditors or the last boyfriend or whatever.  It wasn't enough time to get to know anyone.  No one in my family was overtly Christian.  My grandmother frequently said, "all you need is the golden rule," and that no one needed to go to church.  In my 20's, I had been working in the entertainment industry.  I didn't meet any Christians there either.

While mystics like Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and Therese of Lisieux were speaking to me through the many books in our catalog and our convent library, the nuns were doing their best to destroy my happiness. One of the younger ones was always screaming at me over petty things. I can't even remember her objections, they were so frivolous. Another spied on me. I would find her standing at my bedroom door, with her ear right there. (Many times, I discovered her standing in the stairwell behind the kitchen, avidly listening to the conversations of the other nuns.) This nun made me take the shower slot AFTER her but would fail to rise in time for it, and then harangue me for taking my shower before her, even though it was in my time slot. Stupid things like this. They generally did every petty thing that women do to ruin the serenity of other women. (My theory is that this is the reason why men are in charge of the world. Women are so busy gossiping about one another they fail to notice when the man takes the prize.

At the same time, the harsh physical requirements of the constant manual labor required from all the "younger" nuns had destroyed my back, my sclerotic hips, my knees and my varicose veins. At one point, I was in a wheelchair. The ersatz head of the convent, fueled by God only knows what, went to the swami and claimed I was "faking" it. He did not buy it for a minute, but he did tell me about it, and finally, I decided I'd had enough. I left the convent, ostensibly to become Catholic and then join a Catholic convent, but that did not work out. More about that later.

I will put a pin in my narrative at this point to make an observation. Mostly, I left the Vedanta convent because I mistakenly thought that the love of one another and the egalitarianism that is so clearly advocated by Jesus and his religion was missing from the groups with which I'd had some experience, up to that point, because of some failure of the religions themselves. I imagined that I had finally found my home in the Catholic faith, and that the meanness of the nuns, the dishonesty, the cruelty and the obsessions about superficial trivialities, would not be part of that shining beacon on the hill - the Catholic Church. Now at age 65, looking back, and having the wonderful opportunity to have delved deep into some form of each of the major religious traditions (as well as some cultish ones), I now see my mistake. I had attributed their merciless torment to some failing of the religion, when they were actually just being humans

After leaving the convent, I began taking RCIA classes at the large Catholic Church near my workplace in Beverly Hills.  About halfway through the classes, the nun in charge summoned me to her office and announced that it would be "years" before they would consent to baptize me because I had been divorced.

To be clear, I was leading a chaste life.  I had no boyfriend.  I wasn't dating.  There was no reason to deny me baptism (which is supposed to wash you clean of ALL sin), but this nun was under a misconception, which she gleefully transmitted to me.  Evidently, getting a divorce was so sinful in her mind, that baptism couldn't even fix me. I tried to refer her to certain sources that would disabuse her of her mistaken idea, but she was insistent and she was nasty about it. I gave up and walked away. I didn't know a single Catholic and I had no idea what else to do.

Heartbroken, but still wanting to be baptized Christian, I walked across the street to the big Episcopal Church, entered their class midway and was baptized on April 11, 1993.  This Episcopal Church was what they call "high church." The music was classical, gorgeous, and inspiring.

The minister was a very masculine woman who made me very uneasy and who rarely smiled.  Aside from the female minister, they had all the bells and smells of a Catholic Church but something was definitely missing.  Later, I would come to believe that it was possibly the apostolic succession that was so necessary but which was absent. Also absent? The mystical life.

I made some noises about joining an Episcopal convent, but there weren't that many of them, and the mystical life was not emphasized, that I could see. I remember a strange interview with a nun who had no joints in the middle of her fingers. She pointed out the aberration and I couldn't stop looking at them after she made a thing out of it. She was dismissive of my desire to be one of them. What IS it about groups that makes them want to exclude people? Jesus wasn't like that. Anyway, this is how groups are kept small. Perhaps that is the point.

One thing I particularly missed in the Episcopal Church (as in Vedanta and other religions) was Jesus' mandate that we love one another.  The Catholic Church had made it clear it didn't want me because I had been divorced, and what could be more unloving than that sort of rejection?  I just couldn't seem to find a religious "home". Not having a family, I didn't fit in. I understood that family is a great thing, but why is there no provision for those who do not HAVE one? This is a major failing of the Christian churches, in my mind.

After a period of sadness, confusion, and challenging life issues, I returned to the Hindus by taking sannyas vows by permission of my Hindu teacher.  These vows, essentially, make one a female swami.  You could say that they are the "final" vows of a Hindu monastic, some of whom live in monasteries, but most live ascetic lives by themselves.  I wanted to devote myself to God completely and felt that these vows would help me.

While living in a large apartment complex, I met a woman who was an Ursaline nun.  We became friends.  I did her genealogy and found that she was my 11th cousin.  When I confided to her what had happened to me when I had tried to become Catholic and how sad it had made me, she informed me that the nun who had refused me baptism had been completely wrong.  Unless I had been living in an "irregular" second marriage or living in sin with someone, there was absolutely no bar to baptism or confirmation in the church.  She offered to sponsor me if I still wanted to become Catholic, and I took her up on it.

Thus began my dual "citizenship," as it were. I was to be a mystic, a renunciate in the Vedantic tradition, as a sannyasini, and the Catholics would be my group.

Once again, I had problems, however, because of my physical health issues.  I was unable to sit through the classes and had to pursue a private course.  I wanted to be confirmed in the Byzantine Catholic Church that I loved so much but, while the priest was willing to have me pursue a private course, the deacon said he didn't have the time, and he refused me.  Once again, the door had been closed on me.

I wasn't going to let this rejection throw me off, however.  My cousin had an acquaintance at a large church near my house.  We had a meeting with her, made arrangements for my confirmation.

After a period of poor health, trying different Roman Catholic Churches, I returned to the Byzantine Catholic Church that I loved so much.  The Byzantines are, essentially, Orthodox style churches that either stayed with the Catholic Church or joined it.  I can't remember the specific history.  There is only one in New Mexico and it is in the town where I live.  The liturgy is very beautiful and is sung by the congregation, without instruments.

In this church, there was a handicapped, retired priest, who I hoped would be my new spiritual director, but he seemed out of his element when I tried to talk to him about it. He seemed to be a man of great spirituality and intelligence, but the mystical life was not something I could talk about with him.  He seemed puzzled that I would want to discuss my spiritual life with him. Shortly after joining that church, a new priest came on the scene and took over as the pastor.  He is just a couple years younger than the age of my son, if my son had not died, and I looked upon him with a motherly eye.

I offered to fill a need in the bookstore on Sundays, and was very happy to have a little role. It did not last long, however, because the young Ukrainian priest started harassing me in a shocking way, and my physical health became affected. 

Rituals are important in whatever faith you ascribe. The ritual of the yearly house blessing is something that the Byzantine Catholics do, and I invited this young priest to bless my apartment. When he arrived, we had a very strange conversation in which it became apparent that he was not terribly well informed about the faith because, when I told him about my history and how hard it had been to get baptized, he mistakenly said that I had to have my previous marriage annulled before baptism should have occurred. He was dead wrong but terribly egotistical. I was surprised that they had put someone in charge of the church who was so poorly catechized himself, but I understood that most Catholics who regularly attend church are married people with families and most had already been baptized as children. You rarely run into a Catholic who was baptized late in life, so there are some assumptions about one another in a parish that are not true for the person who is a convert.

From that time onward, he began to discriminate against me at church. I caught him whispering about me to the other men and sharing jokes with them about me, in small cliquish groups. These men and their wives then began to shun me when I attended church. If I spoke to any of them while in line for the meal after the liturgy, they would turn their backs on me. They would give me that 'look.' You know that look. The look that says that you are not worthy to speak to them. It is that same look from your middle school years, when the 'cool' kids were trying to cut an individual from the herd. I remember once standing in line behind one of the men of our parish - someone about the age of my son. One of the church busybodies inserted herself between me and this young man and very pointedly asked where his wife was! It was obvious that she believed I was "after" this man, but clueless that I was far too old for him to begin with. She did not know me and did not realize I am under vows.

At the same time, the young, callow priest began other strange behaviors, changing his mind constantly about what he wanted to have done in the bookstore and then haranguing me when I did exactly as he had previously told me to do. It was a test of my patience. Frankly, it was exhausting.

The problem with a little church like this, since it is the ONLY Byzantine Catholic Church in town, is that whoever is put in charge of it is, ipso facto, a little potentate in his own realm. You have no choice of other Byzantine Catholic Churches. There is only this ONE, and if you get a priest in there who is a poorly formed Christian with enormous ego needs, you can imagine what happens from there.

But, like a puppy trying to please its master, I did everything I could think of to propitiate the little tyrant. When both he and the retired priest were terribly sick with some virus, I arranged to make a big pot of chicken soup and other lunch items in the parish hall, with plenty left over to get them through the nights of coughing and sneezing. My physical condition was continuing to worsen, and it cost me dearly in pain, what to speak of the food itself, which cost a bit as well. But I was keen to be of use and show my loving nature. Believe me, it was not appreciated. Not a single "thank you" was uttered, and the tyrant continued to treat me like the outcast.

Finally, one day, I was discussing with him the need to have a chair in the book store that was more ergonomic. There was already agreement to buy one. A group of people were in the bookstore, men and their wives. Having an audience, the fledgling priest began a tortuously long puerile "joke" in which he imagined that my nether regions were too big to fit in the seat and how he and his friends would have to pull me out of it by my feet because my large butt would get stuck. To emphasize the point, he acted out all the parts. I couldn't believe it. All the men laughed. It was so funny to them! Their wives just looked at me, stunned, with their eyes widened like cartoon characters.

I was aghast, of course. The inappropriateness and, frankly, the cruelty of it, astonished me. You might expect some drunken wastrel in a tavern to make a loud joke about the size of a woman's ass, but a celibate, supposedly "religious" person? Never. It was completely outside my sphere of experience. I waited until the other people left the bookstore and, as kindly and gently as I could manage, I told him that, here in America, it is considered extremely bad manners to discuss the attributes of a woman's body, especially if you are a religious person. Of course, this isn't appropriate ANYWHERE in the world, but I tried to give him an "out" that would save his face, but I needn't have bothered. He gave a perfunctory apology but continued his brutal campaign. I appealed to the retired priest, but he was of no use.

Later, I learned that the young priest had lied to other parishioners about our interaction. I wasn't surprised. I had finally come to understand how very common it is for people in these groups to target the most vulnerable members and that, even the people highest up in the organization were often the cruelest and most brutal bullies of the lot.  This is why, when I considered reporting his behavior to his bishop, I decided not to both. Later, the parish members with whom I'd become friends furiously shunned me when they learned I was opposed to Donald Trump's cruelty toward the babies at the border more than 5,000 of whom he had stuffed into small cages.

As one might have expected, I had enough at that point and I left that church, never to return. 

This is where the Catholic Church, in general, has a real problem. Unless you fit into a very narrow "type" you are not easily welcomed. Most welcome are people with families, children and money. They could care less about late vocations of people who did not find the faith until late in life. They want youth, beauty or money - just like every other group. Do not be old, fat, disabled and poor if you expect to be accepted as part of the group. Jesus would take me - but not the good Christians.

I am not singling out the Catholic Church when I say this. It actually has nothing to do with the particular faith itself. This is the nature of people. And people do not alter themselves to accommodate religious precepts all that much. They will SAY that they do. "Oh, Catholicism changed my life" or something along those lines, but Catholic people aren't much different than secular people when it comes to forming cliques.

Hospitality of Abraham

I have recited the most obvious examples of the experiences that have led me to this understanding, but, when I look back on all my experiences with all the religions I have studied and practiced, this is very true. I have come to the conclusion that saints become famous because they're the only people who actually practice their faith unreservedly and, just as the behavior of the people in religious groups is pretty much the same, from one group to another, the saints ALSO have a lot in common with one another, regardless of the faith, whether Hindu, Buddhist or Christian.

There are many many instances of women who chose to absent themselves from society and live a vowed life, alone in the desert or the forest. I now understand completely why they did so because I find myself among them now.  I have written about many of my spiritual sisters throughout history, and will continue to do so, now and then, as their feast days occur to me and when I have the time to write.

The rest of my time is spent in prayer and meditation, writing my novel, and artistic pursuits. I have given up trying to become part of any religious group, church or parish. It is not meant to be.

But I DO have a message for the other mystics out there - the women who don't "fit in"



God bless,

Silver Rose Parnell

CHRISTMAS LETTER, 2014

MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM SILVER COTTAGE!

Last year at this time, it was a sad state of affairs.  My son, my only child, had just died.  Everything was colored with a dark pall.  During 2014 my service dog died, my television died, my cat contracted stage 3 kidney disease, and all sorts of other problems presented themselves.  It was bleak, but, thanks be to God, the pall has gradually lifted.  

My son, Jason Beasley

Shortly before his death in 2013

One significant event was the interment of my son's ashes at Mount Calvary Catholic Cemetery, free of charge (thanks to the efforts of our bishop!)  The Divine Liturgy that marked the occasion was exquisitely beautiful, respectful and uplifting.  I really DID feel that "closure" people talk about when discussing funerals and services.  I also began to feel an increase in gratitude, serenity and peace.  

Throughout 2014, I received the assistance of several good friends in my church community who fed me, transported me and comforted me in my grief.  Their steady companionship and love, in the spirit of Christ and his blessed mother, have strengthened me in my struggles, and I feel very blessed for the gift of their friendship.

Our Lady, Helper of Mothers

Icon located at Our Lady of Perpetual Help

Byzantine Catholic Church

Albuquerque, New Mexico

During this year, I have made progress, in fits and starts, in establishing my monastic prayer schedule. Due to illness, it is difficult to maintain.

I have always had an interest in languages, so have decided to learn Polish and Ukrainian (which is composed of 70% Polish words.) There are other languages I would like to learn, but I think I should stick to one at a time!

As my prayer life has deepened and increased, my prayer corners have also developed and taken on more space in my apartment.  The one in the living room has a tiny little ceramic creche set on the table.  This is the table where I used to have a television.  A prayer corner is a much better idea!

The prayer corner in the back room is where I do all my formal prayers.

The icons spill over onto the adjoining walls:

...and in the corner!

Another pending project involves learning how to paint icons.  Now, I have done a lot of painting in the past, and have sold a few things, but icons are another matter entirely.  There is a well developed process of producing these beautiful windows into heaven.  I have a couple of books to help me, and I am close to breaking out the acrylic paints and getting to work!

In addition to all of this, I will continue making baby blankets for donation to the Gabriel Project, perhaps some hats for the homeless, and some lace veils and scarves for ladies to wear to church.

It makes me very happy to have the wherewithal to learn some new things and to produce some works of art while helping others at the same time.  God is truly blessing me abundantly, and my spirits are light.

All in all, aside from the difficulties in getting some of my needs met, it is a happy Christmas, full of love and peace and plans for the future.  I pray that everyone is as happy as I am during this lovely time and that the joy of the Christ child is yours throughout the coming year.

God bless us, everyone!

Silver Rose Parnell
Copyright (c) 2014
All rights reserved.

LYING IS STILL A SIN

Saints in heaven

I am becoming alarmed that increasing numbers of people are lying and spreading rumors and defending the lies when they are found out.  They don't even have the good sense to be ashamed of it!

This is ever more true on Facebook which can be, at times, a scary ride.  Today a Facebook contact posted a story that has been making the rounds on Facebook for a long time.  Supposedly, a pastor, poses as a homeless man to see how his new congregation will treat him.  This "news" item is a hoax.  The events detailed never happened.  The picture that is provided is said to be that of Pastor Jeremiah Steepek (a fictitious name.)  In fact, the photo is one taken in 1970 on the streets of London, England.  The man pictured has no relation to the story whatsoever.  By including his photograph, the "news" item is geared to mislead people into believing that the story actually happened and that the characters are real.  The whole purpose of the story is to slam Christians for, supposedly, being hypocrites when confronted with the poor, which is ironic because most of the efforts to care for the poor throughout the world are conducted by Christian, and especially Catholic organizations.

Homeless man on a London Street

whose picture was used in the hoax.

He was falsely identified as "Pastor

Jeremiah Steepek"

When I offered the snopes.com link that exposed the hoax, the person posting the item defended it, saying that it was heart warming and insinuating that I was a scrooge.  According to the poster, I was offering "bah humbug."  The Facebook poster extolled the "beautiful message" that was contained in the bogus news item.  (See that item on the snopes.com website by searching for the name "Jeremiah Steepek.")

What is really sad is that the person posting this lie and defending it considers themselves a highly spiritual person with big credentials.  I wish I could say that I had never seen this kind of disconnect between what people claim to believe and what they actually defend.  More and more, I am seeing the deification of personal opinion at the expense of religion and sp

FOLLOW THE LIGHT

"The lamp of the body is the eye.  If your eye

is sound, your whole body will be filled with 

light; but if your eye is bad, your whole body

will be in darkness.  And if the light in you is

darkness, how great will the darkness be."

Matthew 6:22-23

I had a nightmare the other night in which Satan tried to allure me to his side.  The room was shadowy, the light meager and of a sickly dark yellow color.  The figure of the devil was tall and shrouded with a black cloak with a hood.  An angel warned me that I could not look upon that evil creature or else I might become enthralled, so the angel gave me a piece of parchment to put in front of my face to block the view of the dark one.  Even so, I could still make out that tall and ominous form.  I tried to leave, but the master of all lies drew near and asked me to sit with him.  I woke up, with a sense of foreboding and illness of spirit.

Satan is still pursuing me.  He wants all of us, actually, but the ones he pursues most diligently are those who are straining vigorously toward Jesus, who is the light of salvation.  The devil doesn't have to worry about the casual Christians.  They may walk themselves away from the light on their own, or with a gentle push from the evil one.  Likewise, the saints, the perfected ones, are likely past his reach.  The determined traveler who is struggling toward heaven, however, presents a challenge, and Satan pesters them unmercifully. 

He specializes in confusing the spiritual aspirant by either appealing to his ego or presenting visions and other supernatural phenomena in the guise of a message from God.  So, the sincere seeker gets sidetracked with this spiritual circus, stuck on the ferris wheel in which he occasionally sees a glimpse of glory from the top of the wheel, only to lose it again when the wheel goes around, and around, and around.  In this way we can understand "mystics" like Maria Divine Mercy or that Bayside woman who spout messages supposedly from heaven but which contradict Divine Inspiration of the Bible, Christian tradition, and the like.

It is so tempting to think that we are emanating the light and leading people to heaven when, in actuality, it is Christ who is the light and we live in his light when we are close to Him.

"He commanded us to follow Him, not because

He had any need of our service, but to grant us

salvation.  To follow the Savior, in fact,

means sharing in salvation, just as to follow 

the light means being surrounded by brightness.

He who is in the light is surely not the one to

create the light and make it shine, rather;

it is the light that shines on him and illuminates

him.  He gives nothing to the light, but he receives

from it the benefit of its splendor, as well as

all its other advantages."

~ Saint Irenaeus ~

I pray that we all remember to keep our eyes on the light of Christ and to follow Him most closely.  We have to keep custody of the eyes at all times and be cautious of all matters upon which we turn our vision, or else we may lock our gaze upon one of Satan's snares and become entangled in his mess.  Everything we read, everything we watch, everything we take in through the eyes has the potential to either divinize us or destroy us.

I pray that you all remain in the orbit of Christ's saving light.

Silver "Rose" Parnell

TORTURE IS A GRAVE MORAL EVIL

I continue to react in amazement at some of my Catholic brethren who are publicly expressing their opinion that torture of human beings is OK.  I am scandalized.

Unlike many people who became Catholic because their parents raised them in it, I became Catholic because I actually believe.  I want to follow Jesus and be like Him as much as possible.  I want to lead a life that he would recognize as a holy one.  I fail.  I fail a lot.  I pick myself up and keep trying though.  One thing I am very keen to do, and which I recommend to everyone, is not to deviate from the faith in my opinions about the faith.  2,000 years of history and a whole lot of saints have come before me.  Who am I to say I know better than they?  So, while I may fail to live up to the ideal in many many ways, I do not shift the ideal for my own convenience.

The Pope came out against torture this year:

"I repeat the firm condemnation of every form of torture and invite Christians to commit themselves to work together for its abolition and to support victims and their families," he said. "To torture persons is a mortal sin. A very grave sin."  Pope Francis

His words are not surprising.  Jesus said we should love our enemies and do good to those who harm us.  The Pope is reiterating Jesus' prescription.

I would ask all my Catholic readers to pray for the conversion of Christians who are publicly advocating that we torture people.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

THE EMBRACE OF THE PRESENT MOMENT

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord.  Be it

done to me, according to his word."

Luke 1:38

I used to know a woman who constantly fretted about God's will for her life.  She kept saying that she wanted to know what He wanted her to do, while at the same time entertaining dreams of gargantuan missions for which she did not have the requisite skills or the physical, mental or spiritual stamina.  He kept giving her the little mission that was suitable for her, but she refused to take it because it did not conform to her dream of greatness.  Many of us fail to hear God when He is speaking to us because we want to hear something else.  We are so busy telling Him what to say to us that we can't hear Him speak.

In the last year, my son has died, my service dog died, my television died, the computer died, and I learned that the cat I had raised from a kitten for more than 10 years will likely die soon because he has stage 3 renal disease.  All of my acquaintances who call themselves Christian but who do not actually practice their faith have blown out of my life, making more space for holy endeavors.  At the same time, I have been asking the Lord to show me his will for me, but He was already doing that.

During the time the computer was on the fritz, I had lots of time to pray, and I finally got around to listening to God AND to telling him that I officially abandon myself to his will.  I said it and really meant it.  Shortly after that, my eyes were opened and I saw that, for some reason, He is clearing the decks...or allowing them to be cleared.  In any case, my life was being simplified.  Instead of fighting it, I have decided I need to embrace it.

In the moment that I resolved to embrace it, I became calm...and joyful.  No longer wasting my energy on fighting what IS, I am fully available to participate in the work God is doing in me.  I am simplifying.

Even the "good" things can be too much.  There are a plethora of excellent Catholic newsletters from a host of inspiring sources, but how many can I actually read?  How many HAVE I read since signing up for them?  Very few, really, because my need for knowledge has its own flow, pace and direction.  I know where to find information and inspiration when I need it.  I went through my email box and unsubscribed from every newsletter today.  It took surprisingly little time, considering how many unread missives were in my inbox.

Kitchen gadgets; dusty old spices that have lost their flavor; clothes I no longer wear and will never wear again; multiple vases for flowers I can't afford to buy; filing that is so old it no longer needs to be filed, A bar-b-que set that has never been taken from the box, much less assembled; an old fabric cat-carrier; costume jewelry and boxes of other extraneous possessions are finding their way to St. Vincent de Paul for their thrift store.

Last week I sold all my silver jewelry except the necklaces of religious medals I wear.  The proceeds funded the cat's expensive new cat food and medicine.  The jewelry box is almost empty, and I couldn't be happier.

I am eyeing every possession with the calculating attitude of a corporate raider who takes over a corporation and then slashes all the excess personnel.

The less stuff I have to care for, the more serene I feel.  My monastic vocation, although it may not be realized in someone else's establishment, due to my health and age, has been rekindled nonetheless, and I am feeling a lightness of spirit that lends itself to more prayer and contemplation.

When I am finished simplifying, perhaps the Lord will reveal a little more of his plan...or maybe he won't!  Maybe I will just keep bumbling along, following his clues as best I can.  That's alright with me because I am not in charge, and I am glad about that.  I will just keep saying "yes" to Him, as did Mary, and maybe some day it will all make sense.

Silver Rose Parnell
Copyright (c) 2014
All rights reserved.

EVERYTHING DIES

This has been a rough year.  My son died.  My dog died.  My television died.  My computer died.  I just learned that my cat is dying of renal failure and I have to buy him super expensive cat food to keep him alive.  My eyeglasses broke.

This morning I attended a wonderful mass for the souls of about 40 people whose families could not afford to properly inter the cremains of their loved ones.  My son was among those whose cremains were interred.  The archbishop said the mass and he is the one responsible for arranging this free method of properly disposing of the sacred bodily remains in an appropriate way.  Human beings are made in the likeness and image of God, and therefore their remains are to be accorded the love and respect properly due them.

I do not know if I will be having any services for the television of the computer.  As for the dog, I am howling at the moon at night.

I won't be posting much until I get my computer fixed, but know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.

God love you.

Silver Rose Parnell

THE BLESSING OF ILLNESS

Saint Therese of Lisieux, 

in her sick bed

No one enjoys being sick, including me, but I find that a protracted illness gives me more-than-usual downtime in which to examine my life, count my blessings, and make some resolutions about possible changes to my lifestyle.

Currently, I have this wretched virus which, thanks to my asthma, is clinging to me like a baby monkey on its mum's back.  Illness, when it is particularly bad, makes me contemplate my impending death.  By "impending," I mean that we are all going to die in the relatively near future.  When it is relatively mild, such as the current malaise, I tend to review my eating and exercise habits with a view toward improving them and boosting my immune system.

First, however, I experience an overwhelming sense of gratitude.  Thanks be to be God, I live in a relatively secure apartment, and if I am rendered weak as  baby for a few days, no one is going to invade the place, dispose of me and then take up residence, as may happen in some primitive cultures.  I have clean, pure water that comes out of the taps and I don't have to trudge down to the local river and carry it home on my head, as is still done in many places.

Toilet tissue, facial tissues, saline water in a bottle, a thermometer, blood pressure cuff, a refrigerator/freezer containing a supply of foodstuffs, vitamins, over-the-counter and prescription medications, a comfortable, clean bed, and a host of other benefits of civilization are at hand.

When it is all over, I have a washer/dryer, a mop, some disinfectant, and other cleaning items I can use to chase the germs out of the house so that I don't reinfect myself or, God forbid, get someone else sick because they touched a germy doorknob.

Getting sick is a good opportunity to take a step back and acknowledge the overall situation, in a global context.  If I lived in a village in Africa, I could easily be dead by now.  This is a tremendous reason to be grateful to God that he chose to have me born here in the United States with all its lifestyle benefits.  Granted, we have some problems now, but the overall situation is pretty good, in comparison to other countries.

After running through my list of things for which I am grateful, the next thing I feel is a tremendous compassion for those people in the world who struggle with survival in ways that I probably never will.  Then I pray for them.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

INTERPRETIVE DANCE OF THE MIND

Saint Joseph of Cupertino, rising during prayer

Recently, a good friend has betrayed me, lied, and gossiped about me.  An acquaintance I had been helping became so abusive, my PTSD couldn't handle it, and I had to back away from her.  A neighbor screamed at me and called me vulgar names when I asked him to move his car from in front of my garage so I could go shopping.  I am still grieving from the loss of my dog, and now I have a fine virus which has inflamed my throat to the point that I can barely speak.  It all seems a bit much, and, oddly, most of it has happened after I finally was able to get my son's ashes interred in a holy space.  I had been very happy about that when I was deluged with evil.  How do I come to grips with this melange?

When I am overwhelmed with life's traumas, especially when they come in multiples, I have to carefully dissect my self-talk and discard what the PTSD would say in favor of what my Catholic faith says.

The PTSD would say, "I'm at war!  The world is out to get me!  I am not safe! Everything is dangerous!  I shouldn't leave the house or someone will get me!"

Fortunately, although the PTSD has a very loud and strident voice, urging me to flee or to fight,  I have a Catholic perspective that has been gradually taking over.

What I tell myself are varying versions of the following ideas, depending on the circumstance:

1. God allows evil to exist in the world because we have free will.  Some people choose evil and abuse others with it.  I just happened to get in the way.  Pray for my persecutors.  They need it.
2. Satan hates Christians and sends his demons out to torment them, as any good saint will say.
3. In the case of the interment of my son's ashes in a holy place, Satan is infuriated because my son had given voice to the idea that he did not believe in God, and Satan was sure that he would have him in hell.  With the bodily remains in a holy space and with me praying for him in reparation for his sins, Satan may not get his wish.
4. For some of us, life is very difficult, but it is also temporary.  Heaven, however, is permanent and eternal, and I look forward to it.
5. In one sense, I AM at war, but it is a holy war that has been going on for a very long time.  It is the war between good and evil and, although it is distressing in a temporal sense, I have to remember the big picture.  Jesus did not promise us sunshine and daisies.  He told us we would suffer for his name.
6. I am not alone.  Many saints suffered from depression, PTSD, and all manner of illnesses, physical and mental.
7. Traumas are a good incentive to pray, and are therefore a blessing.

Some of the saints literally rose above the traumas of the world during prayer.  Saint Joseph of Cupertino is well known for this.  Lesser known is one of my favorites, Blessed Margaret of Castello, whose personal condition and tragedies are far worse than I could ever imagine mine to be, yet she still dedicated herself to God by worshiping Him through the care of the poor and the sick.

By allowing this levitation during prayer to occur in view of others, I believe God was giving us stark visual instruction.  Prayer elevates the mind above the world.

Don't get me wrong.  I still avail myself of modern medicine and therapies to keep the PTSD in its cage, but good self-talk with a Christian slant is a crucial piece of my treatment, and I wanted to share it with you because, whether or not you have PTSD or you're just having a crappy week, it might be helpful.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

SATAN ATTACKS THE HOLY

Saint Marina, whacking one of 

Satan's demons

I LOVE the icon that I have featured on this blog post.  It is an excellent inspiration to remember to defend myself against the demons that Satan sends out to torment the holy.  Every Christian who struggles to reach perfection in spiritual life is, to one degree or another, a holy person.  Every moment in which our minds are immersed in the Divine, is a moment of holiness, and the more holy moments we can string together, the more it infuriates Satan.

1Peter 4:12-16

(New International Version)

"Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has

come on you to test you, as though something strange were 

happening to you.  But rejoice inasmuch as you participate 

in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed 

when his glory is revealed.  If you are insulted because of 

the name of Christ, you are blessed, for the Spirit of glory 

and of God rests on you.  If you suffer, it should not be as 

a murderer or thief or any other kind of criminal, or even 

as a meddler.  However, if you suffer as a Christian, do not 

be ashamed, but praise God that you bear that name."

Satan will tempt a deranged neighbor to harass us.  He will lead an acquaintance to lure us into unholy pursuits.  He will send demons to visit our dreams and tear down our confidence in the Lord.  He will do anything to weaken our devotion.

Satan does not have to prompt people who are devoted to sinful habits because they are already his minions on earth.  If a person devoted to sin learns that we are Christian, they will persecute us because our quest for holiness insults them.  They are taking a road that leads in the opposite direction, and they wish to justify their journey by taking as many people along with them as they can.

When we examine the lives of the saints, it becomes obvious that there is no earthly reward for being holy.  In fact, just the opposite is true.  Most saints had terrible sufferings.  Asking God to make us saints carries with it a great deal of suffering.  He is all too familiar with suffering, if you will remember, and we have to learn to link our sufferings with His.

Yes, we are all sinners.  I am not saying that all religious people are holy, but I am saying that we aspire to holiness.  We have our eyes on the Lord and we are straining toward him.  Our mind is inclined toward His point of view, His values, and His teachings.  Every step toward the Lord is a slap in the face to evil.

The last few weeks have been a suffering to me.  Nearly everything has gone wrong, with one notable exception, and I am slogging through persecutions.  Persecutions and sufferings are a distraction from my primary mission, which is to pray for the world and to spend time with the Lord in contemplation. Sometimes it is a struggle to tear myself away from thoughts of the persecutions to thoughts of our wonderful Lord.  I have to force myself to let go of the distractions and tune into the presence of God.  Having PTSD makes it much harder.

Reminding myself that Satan attacks the holy is somehow very calming, however.  Things are going wrong, therefore everything is right in my life!  It is an odd contradiction, but I know it is true.  If everything was comfortable, all my needs were easily met, and no one was screaming and yelling at me, gossiping about me and working against me, I would suspect that something was wrong with my spiritual life.

I just thought I would put this note of encouragement "out there" for all my contemplative friends whose lives sometimes look more like a demented circus than a spiritual wonderland.  You're doing alright.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

BREAKING NEWS: SHOCKING, SCANDALOUS DISCOVERIES IN OBAMA'S COMPUTER

A cappybarra and a dog FOUND IN THE TUB TOGETHER!!!!!

Oh, hi!  There you are.  SO nice to see you.

For the last several weeks, I have been posting and re-posting a fundraising blurb about my need for a service dog, asking people to just spread the word around so that I can get the fundraising site up and running.

YOU, however (and you know who you are), you can't be bothered to even make a supportive comment or "like" my post, what to speak of sharing it on your timeline, which is what I really need.

However, in that same span of time, you are very quick to put in your two cents' worth about political garbage that is at least mostly, if not wholly untrue.  As long as I post some kind of controversy, you are right in there with a quick retort.  Thus, the title of this blog post.  I have no breaking news about scandalous discoveries in Obama's computer.  I had to get your attention, and this was the only way to do it.

But I DO have a scandal!  The scandal is that there are so many people who call themselves Christian who, when the subject of the poor comes up, immediately have something nasty to say.  I am beginning to see that you are one of these people.  Usually, some anecdote is trotted out about people that you "know" who are "scamming the system."  Of course, you don't know them.  You don't even know their names.  You've certainly never seen their financial information or their medical records, and you DON'T have X-ray vision, don't even try to say you do.  No one knows the suffering going on inside another person.  No one knows another person's heart except God, and you ain't God, honey.

The only thing you know about these people who supposedly scam the system (if they exist at all) is what they look like.  You aren't up in their houses having tea with those folks.  They wouldn't want you there, anyway, considering the way you talk about them.

You know the Bible is FULL of references about being good to the poor and not judging.  Jesus, who was poor his whole life, is particularly fond of poor people.  He never said anywhere that you should criticize the poor, spread lies about them and gossip about their habits.  He said to help them, and if you DO help them, you are helping HIM.  He was very clear about that.

So let me be clear about this.  I am a poor person.  Yes, I am a nice old white lady with fairly good manners and a proper, modest wardrobe.  I don't smoke, drink or take drugs and you are pretty sure I don't even cuss, so when you criticize the poor, you automatically assume that I am not going to take it personally because I am not one of "them."  I've got news for you: I AM one of "them."  I am no more or less sinful than any other human being on earth, including the poor, to whom I belong.  In fact, compared to some poor people I know, I think I am much more sinful than they are.

If you can't bear to leave off criticizing the poor and spreading stories about people "scamming the system" instead of spreading God's love and compassion, I am tempted to tell you that you can just take me off your phony "friend" list on Facebook right now, because as far as I am concerned, concentrating on the sins of the poor is just another way of doing Satan's work, and I am not up for that.  On the other hand, I love you.  You are my fellow Christian, even if you are misguided.

I want to encourage you to work up some compassion for the poor and to concentrate on God's mercy instead of the (supposed) sins of others.  While you're at it, for the love of God, would you please just share the item about my service dog the next time it rolls by?  I need a proper service dog.  TWO doctors agree I need one.  The veterinarian and the breeder/trainer and the doctors are ALL on board as to the type of dog I need and the type of tasks it needs to perform.  The problem is that I am poor, and dogs, like everything else, are EXPENSIVE.

For the three people that did share my Facebook post, don't think I didn't notice.  I surely appreciate it and I thank you!

For all my other readers, please take a look at the last post of this blog and you will get the whole story about the service dog.

God bless you all

Silver Rose Parnell

PRAYING THROUGH THE CHAOS

I haven't written in a while because I have had to ride herd on the chaos and pray my way intently through it.  The month started out fairly well, with the sudden news that a local cemetery was opening up one of their crypts to a mass burial for those who could not afford to inter the cremains of loved ones in a standard crypt with their name on it and everything.  This is an opportunity for all those poor people who have uncle Fred or Grandma Jennie sitting in urns on the fireplace mantel, to put their loved ones to rest in an appropriate place, "hallowed ground," as it were...except it is above ground.

My son, who died in early December of last year, did not have an appropriate resting place.  His ashes were sitting in a box in the shrine cabinet of my prayer corner in my bedroom and I had no idea how I was going to afford to purchase even the cheapest portion of a crypt because it equaled a month's income for me.  It would have taken me years to save that up.

In an era when people are increasingly getting inventive with the cremains of their loved ones, spreading them in the garden, dumping them in a public park, scattering them over the waves, turning them into decorative art pieces, actually wearing them around their necks in tiny silver urns, and, in some cases, turning them into DIAMONDS to be worn in a ring or whatever, the essential sacredness of the human body has been lost.

Here is the important thing to know:  We are not a spirit IN a body.  That is a New Agey idea, or a Hindu notion.  We are BODY AND SOUL.  Big difference.  The Lord created us in his own likeness and image.  Our bodies are holy, as our spirits are meant to be holy.  It matters what we do with our bodies, when we are alive, and when we are dead.  Although cremation is allowed for Catholics, the church is not crazy about that option.  You are free to choose it, but we kinda wish you wouldn't.  If at all possible, the church prefers the traditional method of burial in the ground, but you can't ignore how expensive it has become to have a traditional burial.  I really wish I could be buried, but at this point I do not see how I am going to afford to do so.  That is another problem for another day, but I can't put it off TOO long because I turned 60 this year and time's a wastin'.

So, I was thrilled and grateful to be able to have my son interred.  The archbishop will give a nice little mass in their little chapel on the premises, so the whole affair will be blessed.  I was over the moon with relief, really.  Then all hell broke loose.

All kinds of things happened that, in their nature, were just crazy...and I am talking about crazy people dumping crazy things on me - screaming at me, calling me names, telling me what to do with myself and where to go.  All the nuts seem to come out at once, and I wonder if it was the full moon or something else but, suffice it to say, it was VERY difficult, especially for a nice church lady with a rotten case of PTSD.

Meanwhile, it had only been a month or two since the death of my dog, and I was really missing her.  My efforts to get a hypoallergenic service dog have turned up NO help.  I keep running blurbs for my fundraising site and, so far, out of 105 Facebook friends, I think 3 people have shared it to their timeline.  You would think I had asked them for their first born male child!  Not only is no one contributing, they won't even run it in their news feed on Facebook!  Obviously, no one understands how much I need this DOCTOR PRESCRIBED "item" or they don't care or both.

It was like an explosion of pressures and abuse that was so intense and so insane, I just knew that Satan was behind it, trying to break me down so that I would lose heart, let go of the Lord's hand or lose my religion.

The desert fathers and the desert mothers talk about demons attacking them.  Other saints also have had experience with this.  The demons come in the form of spirits that assail your dreams, or, in this case, disturbed people.  I am not saying that I am a saint, but I am saying that those of us who have devoted the rest of our lives to God, who pray a bit more than the normal gal, whose minds are more fixed on the Divine, are the prime target for Satan.

When this happens to you, my fellow solitaries, please don't let it unnerve you.  Just pray more.  Use the holy water a LOT.  Fix your minds on the Lord throughout the day, and if you feel unsettled at any point, quickly say short prayers aloud while you go about your business.  I will say, "Lord save me," very often.  "Lord have mercy" is a very good short prayer when I feel I am suffering much or am about to break under the sheer number of crazy attacks.  When I am doing my housework, I imagine I am cleaning for Jesus, as if he is about to step through the front door.  Sometimes I imagine that our holy mother is accompanying me in my household chores, as I have asked Jesus to send his mother to me so that I always have her example before me of a person who always said "yes" to God, no matter how difficult the task.  Sometimes I just practice the presence of God, attending to my work while resting in the Lord wordlessly.

I know this all sounds somewhat simplistic, but the simplest of disciplines can be the most profound. When the world gets to be just too much, retreating into a simple, reliable routine can be healing and uplifting.

Silver Rose

URGENT NEED

Standard poodle service dog from

Heritage Service Dogs

Thousands of people in America have post traumatic stress disorder, and most of them have not seen military service.  They have experienced a different type of life-altering, traumatic event.  Most of the sufferers are women who have endured kidnapping, imprisonment, beatings, rape, torture, threats, verbal and emotional abuse, and stalking.  Service dogs have proven to make normal life possible for sufferers of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

In addition to PTSD, I suffer from chronic physical issues that affect my mobility and my balance, both of which are helped by having a service dog to improve stability, especially when walking in public, on uneven sidewalks and pavement, and over rough ground.  The service dog will act as a complement to my cane and/or walker, walking on the other side of the cane and alerting to rough ground ahead.

I also have allergy-induced asthma, which is growing worse as time goes on, therefore, I need a dog that has hair that grows rather than fur that sheds.  The most hypoallergenic dog that also has the brains, temperament and size necessary for the job is the standard poodle.

With regard to the PTSD issues (and real life protection) a service dog can be trained to enter the home prior to the owner and check every room of the apartment to make sure there is no one lurking there.  There have been 6 attempted break ins of my apartment, so there is an actual threat, rather than an imaginary one.  Police officers who have responded to reports of attempted break-ins have advised me that the best deterrent is a watch dog.  They can also be trained to provide me extra space if my claustrophobia kicks in during shopping or other errands by circling me.

In addition, the service dog can sense when my body chemistry becomes unbalanced from the PTSD or my chronic low blood sugar.  The dog can easily sense/smell the chemical changes and alert me to take my medicine.  Dogs are a natural calming element, as well.   At night, I will be able to sleep in peace, knowing that the dog will alert me to the presence of any prowler outside the apartment.

My doctor has written me a prescription for a service dog.  Unfortunately, there are no agencies that supply these dogs without a fee.  I have researched this matter thoroughly and reached out to everyone I know who may have been able to help me get the right dog, to no avail.  I scoured the local shelters and found that this type of dog is just not available in the shelters in Albuquerque.  Plenty of pit bulls and chihuahuas and all kinds of little mutts, but no standard poodles.  I have inquired of breeders whether or not they will adopt out dogs that have exceeded the breeding age.  Basically, I have begged for a free dog everywhere, and that is just not happening.

After extensive research, I have found the least expensive option, which is a company that breeds and raises the poodles, places them with the patient, and then coaches them through the training steps.  The name of the company is Heritage Service Dogs.

Their fee is $3600.  It will cost about $400 to ship the puppy, and we anticipate needing another $500 in expenses, such as veterinary bills, a crate, a bed, harnesses for various sizes of a growing puppy, etc.  (The typical cost for a standard poodle puppy is $2,000.  The local agency that trains dogs charges $6,000.  That is DOUBLE what it would cost using Heritage Service dogs, so we feel we have made a good decision about the provider.)

PLEASE HELP me obtain the necessary service animal.  There is no government assistance for this.  There are no organizations that give away service dogs.  My income is very low, and I am unable to create more income (though I have tried!)

Please click the link to go to my fundraising site.


SILVER'S FUNDRAISING SITE FOR A SERVICE DOG

If you are not able to help, then please spread the word and pray for me.



God bless you,

Silver Rose Parnell

PTSD AND THE CONTEMPLATIVE LIFE

"Ghost Tree"

Silver Parnell, 1995

A good percentage of my fellow contemplatives are also sufferers of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD.)  While they may have had an interest in contemplative practice prior to the traumatic event that caused their PTSD, the quiet regularity and peace-inducing meditation, rituals and contemplative prayer are soothing to a person whose adrenal system has been sent into overdrive due to the witnessing or experiencing of a traumatic, violent event.

I encourage my brothers and sisters in Christ to embrace their PTSD as their peculiar port of entry into the beauty of contemplative life.  The Lord brings all things to the good for those that believe.  Because I have become disabled due to severe arthritis and some PTSD, I have the wonderful opportunity to spend my days in peace and blessedness, prayer and contemplation.  In this way, PTSD is a type of blessing.

 I used to hide my illness, mostly because I didn't know what it was and I was afraid of the stigma. After more than 7 years of continuous counseling and 10 years of medication, I have come to understand that it is not my fault.  In fact, PTSD is the only mental illness that is caused by OUTSIDE circumstances, rather than arising from within the person themselves.

Most people I meet do not understand PTSD.   When I mention that I have it, their first question is usually, "were you in the miliary?  You do not need to be part of a branch of the military in order to suffer from this illness.  Plenty of women experience more violence and torture than most military men will ever see.

According to the U.S. Department of Veteran's Affairs:

"Although most people who go through trauma will not get PTSD, you are more likely to develop PTSD if you:

(1)  Were directly exposed to the trauma as a victim or a witness
(2)  Were seriously hurt during the event
(3)  Went through a trauma that was long-lasting or very severe
(4)  Believed that you were in danger
(5)  Believed that a family member was in danger
(6)  Had a severe reaction during the event, such as crying, shaking, vomiting, or feeling apart from your surroundings
(7)  Felt helpless during the trauma and were not able to help yourself or a loved one

Women who have experienced severe domestic abuse or some other kind of attack often experience most, if not all of these circumstances. I know a woman with PTSD who had been held captive for 4 days, beaten with fists and the butt of a gun, beaten while being violently raped, verbally demeaned during the 4-day attack, tortured by continually being "choked out," brought back to consciousness, and then chocked into unconsciousness again, and threatened with a loaded gun in the face. She was unable to escape because her abuser had disabled her car in preparation for his attack. The fear, terror and physical and mental pain is obvious. But it can be hard to communicate the depth of the humiliation it causes when a person has to beg for her life from a violent drunken sociopath.

Once a person has PTSD, it is as if their system is permanently set on high. Continued anxiety has to be dealt with.   Hypervigilance is common, as is sensitivity to noise.  Crowds can be a difficult challenge for some.  Each person will have their own set of symptoms, according to the unique triggers of their case.  Managing those symptoms can be a challenge for the sufferer.

If you know someone with PTSD, don't try to have them tell you what caused their illness.  Repeating the story will likely heighten anxiety.  Just understand that they have been through at least one really horrendous thing in their life, and maybe more and that they need kindness and gentleness.  If they have some idiosyncrasies you do not understand, just accept them.  You are not able to cure them. Doctors cannot "cure" them.  This illness can only be managed.

If you are one of my home-bound contemplatives, and you have PTSD, I would just caution you to avoid stressing yourself with too many religious practices or a schedule that it is too rigid, unless that schedule soothes rather than stresses you.  That would be uncommon, however.  Most of us do well with a simplified schedule and prayer routine.  Don't punish yourself with too many forms of penance or acetic routines.  You've had enough suffering for one lifetime.

If you ever start to feel that your illness has rendered you in some way "useless," don't believe it! The world needs your compassionate prayers.  Even if you are having a high-anxiety day and all you can do is pace, recite the Jesus prayer to yourself, aloud or mentally.  Dedicate your pacing to your favorite intercessory prayer topic.  You can pray while you walk.  Pray while you have a soothing cup of tea.  Just pray, in whatever manner you are able to pray, within the limits of your PTSD.

JESUS PRAYER

Lord, Jesus Christ,

Son of God,

Have mercy upon me

a poor sinner

While contemplative life has a lot to offer us, we also have a LOT to offer to it because we are likely more compassionate than the average person, due to the great suffering we have endured.  That compassion is a great blessing to the world.  Spread it around and, while you're at it, please pray for me as I will pray for you.

Silver Rose Parnell

THERESE OF LISIEUX HAS A MESSAGE FOR DISABLED AND ELDERLY

Saint Therese as a novice

in the courtyard of the convent

I really love the above picture of Saint Therese because it echoes her philosophy of "the little way."  We see her here as a novice, alone under the cross.  She is dwarfed by the surroundings, hidden by her cloak that seems massive for her frame, her face appearing quite small underneath the billowy white veil.  The courtyard appears to me to be a little forlorn and unkempt, without much in the way of greenery to soften the view.  She clings to the cross with one arm slung around it.  You can just see her little hand coming around from the back.

"I will seek out a means of getting to Heaven by a little way

-very short and very straight, a little way that is wholly new.

We live in an age of inventions; nowadays the rich need not

trouble to climb the stairs, they have lifts instead.  Well, I

mean to try and find a lift by which I may be raised unto

God, for I am too tiny to climb the steep stairway of perfec-

tion.  [....]  Thine arms, then, O Jesus, are the lift which

must raise me up even unto Heaven.  to get there, I need

not grow; on the contrary, I must remain little.  I must

become still less."

Many of us have wanted to do something big and grand for God.  I really wanted to join a Catholic convent, but learned that because of divorce and disability I was not suited.  Then, I dreamed of starting a Christian "ashram" of sorts, with a special place for the disabled and elderly contemplatives.  I am poor, sick and old.  That big dream will not come true.  Like Therese of Lisieux, I am learning to embrace my disabilities and my smallness.  Inconsequentiality is a wonderful freedom.  If I am of no account, then people will not be knocking on my door at all hours, wanting things from me.  The phone rarely rings.  There are no parties, no dinners in restaurants, no travel, and few visitors.  Big dreams require big work and big money, neither of which I possess.

Consequently, I am free to spend time with God, free to pray unceasingly and to practice the continual presence of God.  Because of my disabilities, I am unable to keep a monastic schedule at home, so I am free from the stress of trying to maintain that schedule.

Instead of being unhappy about being unable to do the big things, I am grateful for the boundaries that have been thrust upon me.  I am grateful for my enforced smallness.  Instead of regretting it or fighting it, I am learning to cherish it instead.

I also think about how little time we have left.  We will all die. I turned 60 this year, which seemed a big milestone for me.  Anyway, at the same time that I am coming to grips with my smallness, I am aware of the clock ticking and that, whatever small thing I am able to do for Jesus, I must do it.

Today is the feast day of our little Saint Therese.  I am welcoming the day by meditating on my smallness and praising God for it.

In the meantime, I pray for you as I hope you pray for me.

God bless

Silver Rose Parnell