RIDICULOUS MIRACLES

 

The Missing Television Clicker

A few days ago, I lost the television clicker. I do not watch much television, except for the daily news on PBS, or Masterpiece Theater on Sunday evenings. If someone phones me or comes to the door, however, I have to clamber over the couch, lean against the back of it, and reach around the side of the TV to feel  my way to the correct button to press to turn it off or lower the sound.

Not only is it painful to perform these antics, but it is also not entirely safe, as I have had problems getting back up, once I have fallen to the floor, which happens occasionally.

Every day since that darn thing disappeared, I have spent some minutes rifling through drawers, cabinets, book cases, boxes and every other area I could imagine - looking for the television clicker - to no avail. I could not find it anywhere, looking twice or even THREE times in some places, such as the folds of the recliner, where I spend a good bit of time.

Finally, today, I had a conversation with GOD, and this is how it went:

"Dear Lord, I know this is ridiculous, and I don't usually

bother you for something so petty, but could you please help me 

with this clicker? I've looked everywhere and I simply can't

find it!"

I was standing in the middle of the living room - exasperated. I had looked in SO many places, and I couldn't find the darn thing. It is unlike me to give up on ANYTHING, but it had been many days, I was in a lot of pain, and I could not tolerate the prospect of spending money on a new clicker, only to find it somewhere arcane at a later date. My parsimoniuos nature rebelled at the idea.

It was time to take the dog out for his morning walk, but I decided to check the living room recliner AGAIN for that clicker. Sometimes, things get lost between the cushion and the arm or down the back of it, between the backrest and the seat cusion. I had already checked it throughly, but I tried it again - quite firmly and comprehensively. I pushed my hand down as far as it would go and checked every inch of space around the cushion. It was not there. It simply was not.

It is a very windy morning. The Arctic blast that has brought us freezing temps and snow for the last week or so has kicked up again, with the wind at about 25 miles per hour. I slipped on my parka, got the service dog into his adorable little down jacket, and braved the elements so he could have his morning constitutional. I hadn't even had my first cup of coffee because my insomnia had me running late again.

After a rather brisk and bracing meander to the mail boxes, I came home, unleashed the dog, and had him sit on the couch for his morning biscuit treat. When I turned away from him and faced the recliner, this is what I saw:

I was dumbfounded. As I have described to you, this clicker was not in the chair when I searched for it - and it certainly wasn't laying neatly on the cushion in this manner.

I had searched in the bowels of that chair several times already, and, in fact, I SLEEP in that chair and would most certainly have felt that uncomfortable object. But no. It was not in the chair when I left the apartment, but it was there when I returned, as if it had dropped out of the sky.

Processing this is going to take me some time, but it is almost comical, isn't it?

What I think is happening is that God is showing me that He is here with me, in even the smallest and most mundane and petty little frustrations of my life - that nothing is too small to seek his help and that all I have to do is ask. "Don't be so stubbornly independent. Don't hesitate to ask Me to help you," He seems to be saying.

Sceptics will try to dismiss this miraculous occurrence by positing something pedestrian. They will have to invent some insanity on my part - or perhaps some pervasive and extreme lack of attention. Perhaps they will assume that some quirk of physics made this chair belch up the clicker from its innards, or that "someone" simply came and dropped it there. None of this is true, of course. I practically assaulted that chair, with surgical precision, just before walking out the door, I am not insane, and I live alone.

Yogis would likely recognize this as just another example of yogic powers that come to a person after spending decades in solitary, concentrated meditation and prayer.

New Agers might attribute the appearance of this item to the obedience of the physical world to the intention of a spiritual adept.

The deeply cynical will assume I invented this story for some self-aggrandizement, in which case I would say that if I was going to invent a miraculous occurrence, I'd use a good deal more imagination and concoct an apparition of the Virgin Mary giving me some Divine Mission to the world that would make me look very special and important, instead of ridiculous. After all, what would we call my present tale? "The Miracle of the Missing Clicker?" It is ludicrous!

Christians, on the other hand, might easiy see this event as a response from the Divine to one of His beloved children.

Whatever is the "color" of the mind of the person reading about this is the color they'll paint it, but if there ever was a time when the assistance of the Lord is needed, it is NOW, during a worldwide pandemic in a situation of extreme political division and unrest, with global climate change causing freakish storms and temperatures that burst the water pipes and freeze the unprepared gizmos that bring power to houses in surprising locations like Texas! We NEED every hint of transcendence we can get right now, so I, for one, am not throwing this away.

It is no surprise that I feel stunned as I write this. It isn't every day that a physical object miraculously appears out of nowhere and almost drops in one's lap from the veritable clouds! As I said, I will be processing this for some time, but, without question, at least one of the messages and meanings from this bizarre event is a reassurance from the Divine that He is with us in everything - no matter how small or banal.

I send love and encouragement to you all. Hang in there! Our dark days will pass and, in the meantime, remember that the Lord is with us, loves us, and hears us when we entreat him for His Divine assistance.

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

BLESSED MARIA CRISTINA BRANDO IS MY EXAMPLE TODAY

 

BLESSED MARIA CRISTINA BRANDO

Of the dozen or so remarkable people whose feast day is today, Blessed Maria Cristina Brando is my easy choice because she and I have much in common, with one glaring difference. While she came from a devout family and already knew by the time she was 12 that she wanted to become "a saint," my family was rabidly anti-religious and anti-Catholic in particular. When I was 12, I felt the tug of desire for spiritual life but had no context in which to place it.

I have written in detail about my first experiences with religion in my previous blog post titled "SCIENTOLOGY, HINDUISM, BUDDHISM, CATHOLICISM AND ME." When you read that post, you see that, by the time I was 12, I was also yearning toward walking the path of perfection but while Blessed Maria Cristina Brando was supported by her early childhood experiences, mine were the type that have to be transcended and overcome over many years of investigation, study and experimentation.

My adoption by a spiritual father was crucial to this process, and I am forever grateful to Swami Swahananda of blessed memory, a celibate monk and swami who joined the Ramakrishna Math when he himself was only 13. When he originally initiated me into the meditation practices of the Hindus, he evidently saw my destiny and initially gave me a Christ mantra, despite my never having attended any Christian Church. I wondered why he had done that, and it only became obvious much later.

When I juxtapose the basic framework of my life experiences with those of Maria Cristina, it is glaringly obvious that early childhood education in faith is essential for the spiritual health of each individual so that they don't have to spin their wheels reinventing said wheels later in life.

Having studied and practiced major world religions and lived a curriculum of comparative religions, I have seen the remarkable similarities between them all. If the ground is prepared in childhood, any seed that is planted afterward more easily grows.

Maria Cristina used to say, "I must become holy; I want to be a saint." She kept trying to enter religious life but was turned back many times due to her poor health, a situation to which I can certainly relate. She was sent home by the Poor Clares AND the Sacramentine nuns.

This is what we have most in common - a strong vocation for monastic life, but having physical weakness and/or bodily disfunction that prevents us from being welcomed by any extant group we might like to join.

Most often when spiritual personalities encounter this difficulty (and many of them HAVE) they will typically form the center of a new organization that is formed when others start to follow, or they continue in a solitary state as a hermit or anchoress, which is my condition.

Blessed Maria Cristina Brando ultimately ended up starting her own congregation with her sister and a few others called the "Sisters-Expiatory Victims of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament." Their focus was both contemplative and active, concentrating on the adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in the Tabernacle and also the education of young women. The work of the contemplative, inner life seems contradictory to the outward going and very busy engagement of teaching children - but it obviously suited these young women who were still in their 20's when this occurred.

This is the wonderful thing about a monastic vocation. There is a monastic expression available for everyone who desires one because, while it is oft-times easier to conform one's life to a holy purpose when in the company of others in a deliberately "spiritual" atmosphere, we do not have to join a group  to live out that vocation. We can be like the desert fathers or desert mothers.  Who is going to tell you that you cannot live your life for God alone or dictate what work or service project you may legitimately pursue as an expression of your vocation? While Blessed Maria Cristina and her fellow sisters devoted themselves to the education of children, I paint and write about religious topics. I have become convinced that God prepares the ground for a monastic vocation from the very beginning.

God sees the barriers that other people or circumstances may erect in our path, interfering with an easy answer to His call but He provides us with the ability to overcome them in some fashion. What many do not understand is that because He has granted all of us free will, He does not force our hand, nor does He force others to accept us.

There ARE miracles, to be sure. I certainly believe in those, but I have yet to see a miracle that forces anyone to accept it. Think about the Virgin Mary. The entire Christian story was dependent upon her willingness - her "yes."

There were people in Blessed Maria Cristina's life who didn't think she was "suitable" for consecrated life. They rejected her for entry into the convent and they sent her home from other convents and they nattered about her in the town - but she didn't give up what her heart told her to do. If  none of the convents would accept her, she decided to start her own. Where there is a will, there is a way.

Although I have pursued my hermit-like vocation for more than 18 years, it is certainly not "perfected." That is a lifelong aspiration that can only be approached, but never accomplished. Even after all this time in this condition, I still require inspiration, and I am grateful to Blessed Maria Cristina for showing yet another example of a disabled woman who managed to live a life consecrated to God, despite the rejection or interference of others.

Ultimately, the monastic life is a conversation between the individual soul and the Lord. It is easiest to see this clearly when one is involved in a contemplative lifestyle, but it is true for all varieties of monasticism.

I derive great inspiration from this young blessed who simply did not give up on her dream to live for God alone.

May she and all the other holy people inspire us with their strength and determination!

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

Copyright (c) 2021
All rights reserved.

SAINT THORFINN VS. DONALD TRUMP

Reuters/Mark Theiler/File photo - January 6, 2021

A couple days ago, I watched as Donald Trump stood before a crowd of devotees and exhorted them to go to the Capitol building and take over the government, hammering out the drum beat of a fictional tale of an election "stolen" from their HERO (him) citing his tired old conspiracy theories calculated to inflame the crowd. Prior to this, he had primed the pump by announcing on Twitter that he was calling them to go to the Capitol building and that it was going to be "wild."

"He was oppressed and He was afflicted, 

yet he did not open his mouth,

Like a lamb that is led to slaughter,

And like a sheep that is silent before its shearers,

He did not open His mouth."

Isaiah 53:7

Two days later, we are still dealing with this unprecedented assault on our democracy.

Somehow this man captured the imaginations and hearts of people who feel left behind by society - a society that had moved on to welcome and embrace different "lifestyles" than theirs - a society they had grown to hate because it was - is - a society that ignored them, when they used to be its masters and its mythical heroes. The reins had been taken from their hands with a surly look and a patronizing, "Ok, Boomer."

This is why the average age of Trump's rage-fueled crowd that broke down the doors and invaded the Capitol building was considerably older than what you typically see in a protest event. But this was never intended to be a peaceful "protest." It was always meant to be a bloody holy crusade. Their bitterness and resentment had coalesced and hardened under an aging tyrant whose indignation at being left behind was even more intense than theirs and who was selling them a fantasy in which each one of them could be the savior of the American way of life - or at least their version of it. "Make America Great Again" really means "put us in charge again, like we were before."

"And I looked and behold, you had sinned against the Lord your God.

You had made yourselves a golden calf. You had turned aside quickly

from the way that the Lord had commanded you."

Deuteronomy 9:15

But Trump's followers are not a cohesive group because Trump's only requirement is that they be loyal to him. That's it. Different people come to him for different reasons. I know people who voted for him and supported him because they're very involved in the "pro-life" movement and they wanted him to appoint "pro-life" judges that they believed would reverse Roe v. Wade. They wouldn't be caught dead in a red MAGA hat while sitting in the bleachers of a Trump rally, and they were definitely not breaking into the Capitol building.

He had called his troops to Washington D.C. via Twitter, the internet platform that he adopted as his personal, exclusive mode of communication, eschewing the "official" channels of government that are curated and overseen by government professionals whose skill has been honed by years of managing official government edicts. Trump would have none of it. He alone would be in control. Typical of this attitude, when he was campaigning he had said "I alone can fix it."

(Twitter announced today that Trump is now permanently banned from their platform. Facebook had beat them to it on the day this happened.)

"He will not quarrel, nor cry out,

Nor will anyone hear His voice in the streets."

Matthew 12:19

I have known many Trumps in my life. Having been born into, raised up in, and worked in the entertainment industry until my late 20's, I met countless Trump clones - people with stars in their eyes and aspirations of fame in their souls - for whom reality is relative and "image" is everything. I have watched these people create fables about themselves and weave epic tales that overlay the truth of who they really are, yearning all the while for the adoration of a crowd. They want to be a star. They want to be THE star.

This is why I knew that a Trump presidency was going to be a nightmare - and I was right.

Trump told the crowd that he would accompany them to the Capitol, that he would be there beside them, but in classic coward's fashion, he slipped into a waiting car that took him in the opposite direction. He had given marching orders to his troops and probably didn't even give a backward glance to watch them parading off toward the capitol, with their flags flying: Trump flags, American flags - and the ominous Confederate flags that telegraph The South's "lost cause" to anyone with an historical perspective.

"But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, 

as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, 

idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be 

in the lake that burns with fire and sulphur, 

which is the second death."

Revelation 21:8

The Confederate flags are a dead giveaway as to the genesis of a very active portion of Trump's followers. His blatant racism and xenophobia had activated the sons of The South. The Civil War never ended here in America, so when the Ku Klux Klan, the Proud Boys, the Neo-Nazis, anti-Semites and the generic white supremacists heard Trump's racist dog-whistles, they jumped to follow him. I suspect that a good portion of Trump's younger devotees belong to this general group that showed up fully costumed in military kit, complete with long guns. One of the men brought 11 "Molotov cocktails." Among the weapons were long guns, hand guns and  i.e.d.'s, as would be recognized by anyone with recent military experience, and a number of pipe bombs.

Among the flags were numerous signs and T-Shirts with slogans emblazed on them, of course, at least one of which read: "6 million Jews is not enough."

Outside the Capitol building, the crowd appeared to grow in frenetic energy. An angry group attacked a black passer-by, demanding to know who she voted for and why she was there. They tore out her hair extensions, sprayed pepper spray into her eyes from close-up, and man-handled her. She was eventually rescued. 

Journalists were accosted, questioned and assaulted, their equipment, in many cases, destroyed or damaged.

By the end of the day, fifty police officers had been injured and one was on life support (he later died.) One woman was shot and killed by police. Three other rioters were killed from some aspect of their involvement in the insurrection.

From their midst, I heard someone blowing the shofar - a ram's horn that was used as a wind instrument during Biblical times in order to signal battle instructions during war time. The crowd pressed forward and began to fight the few police that were there. The pitiful little iron barricades were quickly dispensed with and it didn't take long before the anarchists were streaming into the building. There were more than a hundred of them, by my estimation.

(Later, I learned that, right about the time that I heard the shofar being blown, Trump had issued a tweet of disappointment that Mike Pence had not done what Trump had urged him to do, which was to violate the Constitution and interfere with the counting of the votes of the Electors that had been delivered. The Vice President was basically supposed to open the envelopes - like a presenter at the Academy Awards. It is a ceremonial function and it would not have been possible for him to change the outcome, but Trump refused to believe it. I suspect that the blowing of the shofar was the signal for the mob to break into the Capitol, as per a pre-arranged plan. I will be following the hearings in the months to come and will be interested in the back story on all of it.)

"If anyone loves me he will keep my word and my father 

will love him,and we will come to him and 

make our home with him."

John 14:23

Absent a leader, the madding crowd didn't know what to do after they broke into the Capitol building and random chaos ensued. I watched them wandering around, yelling frenetically, this slogan or that one. "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" or "Stop the steal!" They destroyed benches, desks and chairs, walked away with lecterns under their arms, rifled through papers and generally acted like dogs pissing all over the furniture, in an effort to mask the scent of those in power and proclaim dominance over them.

The picture of a middle-aged, bearded yahoo, kicking back in the chair in the office of the speaker of the house, with his clodhopper boots casually planted on the government papers on her desk, is the perfect icon for this event. It was an expression of contempt for our government. (That man stole some of those papers off her desk, and it didn't take long for the police to find him.)

"Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which

no one will see the Lord."

Hebrews 12:14

A lot of selfies were taken and most likely uploaded to social media, where law enforcement can easily find them, if they care to do so. I was shocked that some officers were too few and too friendly with this violent mob, even after one of them was beaten to death by a Trumper wielding a heavy fire extinguisher.  Some of the officers took selfies with intruders inside the Capitol! Oh, boy. Recent reports are beginning to report on government officials and police officers having been involved in the melee inside the building, and people are losing their jobs as a result.

"But as He who has called you is holy, you also be holy in all 

your conduct, since it is written, "You shall be holy, 

for I am holy."

1 Peter 1:15-16

There is video of most of this attempted coup, and I have seen it all. But later I learned that five people died as a result of the insurrection. One of them was that police officer I mentioned. In the midst of carnage and death, there was a celebratory, carnival-level jocularity that was insane. One man jumped onto the pedestal of a statue of one of our former presidents that had been decorated with a protester's flag and some other junk so he could have his picture taken.

Outside, when reporters asked them what they hoped to achieve, the answers were incomprehensible. Some of them yelled, "This is OUR government!" One woman stumbled for a response and finally said, "We pay them. This is ours." A wild-eyed man inside the building yelled his response that was  something similar - that the Capitol belonged to him. Another said, "this is all we can do." It was an unfocused but violent and chaotic mob.

"Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by 

the renewal of your mid, that by testing you may discern 

what is good and acceptable

and perfect."

Romans 12:2

If they had intended to actually make a change in government, there would have been a focused plan of attack, a specific mission, with a target. But because their leader was cowering, in safety, at another property far away, nothing but anarchy could result.  I keep thinking about the plastic flex cuffs that bristled from the belt of a man dressed in tactical gear and wonder just how many Senators and Representatives he intended to handcuff with them and what he would do with them once they were captured and restrained. Thank God our people were safely harbored in a secure place, otherwise this could have been even worse.

It took hours for the military to arrive and quell the insurrection, a fact that is going to require a significant and far-reaching study and probably numerous prosecutions. MANY heads will roll by the time the investigations are concluded. There were some arrests on that day and early evening, but they were mostly arrests of people who violated the curfew after the rioters were ejected. For some inexplicable reason, the police allowed the violent protesters to leave the building without being taken into custody. I watched, in real time, as these traitors sauntered out the front door with smug looks on their faces. I could easily see their expressions because they weren't wearing masks in the middle of a pandemic. So, not only was this a terrorist attack against our government, it was a super-spreader event.

Earlier this summer, the police employed thousands of officers, fully equipped for a riot, to come down on PEACEFUL black protesters in the wake of the recent murder of a black man by officers (another horrifying murder preserved for posterity on videotape.) I saw these officers knock over elderly people, unarmed people, mothers and others. It was a nightmare. Then, too, there was the really harsh treatment of the peaceful protesters that Trump had violently pushed aside so that he could walk over to the nearby church and wave a Bible around so that he could get a good photograph taken for publicity purposes. Incredibly, he advertises himself as a "Christian." (I can barely type that sentence without my stomach tensing, the idea of Trump being a big Christian is so ridiculous.) But the white insurrectionists that came to hurt our government and who caused the deaths of 5 people, were allowed to wander out the front door of the Capitol building they had just trashed - with smiles on their faces.

"Therefore, prepare your minds for action, and being 

sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace 

that will be brought to you at the revelation

of Jesus Christ. As obedient children, do not 

be conformed to the passions of your former 

ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, 

you also be holy in all your conduct, 

since it is written, 

"You shall be holy, for I am holy."

1 Peter 1:13-16

Since these events, our country has been in turmoil. Trump is reported to be raging, like a hurt and caged animal. Even after all this, he refuses to admit that he lost the election. He continues to spout ridiculous illogical and disproven conspiracy theories that have been rejected by a majority of the American people, by the election officials in every state (from both major parties), by the courts, and by the official electors. He is giving the appearance of someone who actually believes the yarn he has been spinning since before the election.

I wonder if he will ever realize that the conspiracy theories were never even close to being realistic and that he himself had been led down the garden path by dark characters in the shadows of the internet whose imaginations and twisted way of analyzing innocent events captured something very needy and craven within Trump's psyche. As malignantly narcissistic and evil as he has demonstrated himself to be, he is not even the architect of his own demise. I am betting that the people who created and promoted these absurd conspiracy theories and tried to "prove" those theories with transparently implausible, logistically impossible rationales, are pleased and surprised that their "influence" is so far reaching. Who knows if even they believe the nonsense they have manufactured and disseminated.

Today the Democrats, aided by Republicans who have not sold their souls to Trump, are trying to restore and strengthen our Democracy. Some Republicans who have aided and abetted this monster over the last 4 years are only now walking away - 12 days before the end of his tenure - probably so that they won't be associated with any insane thing he does between now and his ignominious exit. Some people are positing that they do not want to be in the position of having to vote about whether or not Trump should be removed. They're cowards - just like him.

The leader of the house, Nancy Pelosi, upon whose desk one of Trump's men had placed his jackboots, has announced that unless the vice president and others remove Trump from office with the 25th amendment, The House may impeach. There are discussions all over tv, in the newspapers and on the internet about which method (or both) may be appropriate because it is generally agreed that Trump is a dangerous, unhinged man that cannot be trusted not to create another crisis during the last 13 days. He has the nuclear codes, after all.

Whatever is done, I have been praying that cooler heads have found a way to restrain Trump and prevent him from acting in any capacity for the next 12 days. He has announced that he will not be present for the inauguration, but he has not issued any message to his followers that would deter them from attacking that event, at which our entire governmental edifice will be present. I hope to God that whoever was in charge of securing the Capitol is not the same person in charge of security for this event, otherwise our government is doomed because I feel sure that, given the ease with which these domestic terrorists were able to break into the Capitol and into the most sacred halls of democracy, and how smooth their exit, completely without consequences, they are certainly emboldened to continue in this vein, especially since Trump has continued to bleat his pathetic lies about the election being stolen from him, even during "his" announcement that was supposed to call off the dogs.

"Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully

are his delight."

Proverbs 12:22

I had previously vowed not to think much or write much about politics. After all, I reasoned, remember the politics of Jesus' day. There have always been cruel despots in power at various times in history - and Trump is just another one - but this is historic, and I feel that my diary would be inauthentic if I ignored it. It's just too big. While there have been plenty of events in the public sphere worth discussing in conversation - this event is one for the history books, so I am not going to be all precious and pretend it doesn't affect me. It does.

In stark contrast with today's political and societal atmosphere, the saint of the day for January 8th was a retiring fellow that we knew very little about until after his tomb was opened, a beautiful fragrance wafted from the grave and miracles began to occur when his name was invoked.

Saints - the real heroes - do not stoke the petty resentments and animosities of their admirers. In fact, they avoid admirers, if there is any way to do so. Their humility is a feature of their spiritual disciplines and a response to the humble nature of Jesus Himself.

"Take my yoke upon you and learn from me
for I am gentle and humble in heart and you
will find rest for your souls."
Matthew 11:29

SAINT THORFINN

Saint Thorfinn of Hamar, Norway

BISHOP

Saint Thorfinn was probably a Cistercian monk before being made bishop in medieval times. Along with several other priests, he was involved in negotiations with King Eric II of Norway, who was nicknamed "priest hater." We can imagine how he may have gotten that moniker! 

(As it happens, King Eric is another one of my "shirt tail relations, as he was married to my 2nd cousin, 24 times removed!)

King Eric II had repudiated the Tonsberg Concord that regulated issues between church and state, especially episcopal elections. Evidently, things got heated between King Eric II and the Archbishop, so he banished the archbishop and his two supporters, one of whom was Saint Thorfinn. With his "glamorous" and weighty work concluded, Thorfinn was happy to return to the state of a humble monk.

On the way to the Abbey of Ter Doest (near Bruges), Bishop Thorfinn encountered many difficulties, and was even shipwrecked, but evidently he took it all in stride and settled into his new life without complaint. It wasn't long before he died there, on this day in 1285.

His was a mind of equanimity, whether he was conversing with kings or commoners, bishops or monks. Becoming ill and sensing he was not long for the world, he made out his will, divided what little he had, and prepared for death, which came fairly soon thereafter.

Saint Thorfinn had not done anything to attract attention to himself during his time in the monastery, and he was soon forgotten, but something like 50 years after he died, his tomb was broken into in connection with some building project and that is how the "odor of sanctity" was perceived coming from his body.

An aged monk who had known Thorfinn in his youth recalled a man of gentle goodness and strength, so he wrote a poem about Thorfinn in Latin and it was hung over his tomb. In it, Saint Thorfinn is described as a kind patient generous monk, whose mild demeanor belied a strong will that stood solidly against anything that smacked of evil.

"He will not cry out or raise his voice,

Nor make his voice heard in the street."

Isaiah 42:2

There were miracles associated with his relics, people began to visit his tomb (which was later moved) and gradually he became one of Norway's few Catholic saints, and a very popular one. (Norway is not a big Catholic country.)

If Donald Trump had chosen a holy life marked by honesty, kindness, generosity and equanimity, as did today's Saint Thorfinn, the "eternal praise" he yearned for would have been his.

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom;

All who follow his precepts have good understanding.

To him belongs eternal praise."

May we all be blessed, and may out country be healed

Silver Rose

SAINT PAULA OF TUSCANY AND SYNCLETICA OF ALEXANDRIA - JANUARY 5TH - MAKING USE OF ONE'S CIRCUMSTANCES

 

Saint Paula

I am delving into the lives of two of the nineteen saints who share a feast day of January 5th, along with 17 other holy people. The two I have chosen, Saint Paula of Tuscany and Syncletica of Alexandria, were not linked in life, but I see some parallels in the way in which they made use of the circumstances that were thrust upon them. 

In the case of Saint Paula (d. 1368), she was "given" to the Camaldolese nuns when she was very young - which is usually an indication that the parents had no dowry for the girl or they were too poor to feed and house her. The death of a parent could also result in the girl being given to the nuns to raise. I haven't found any details about that.

Saint Syncletica, however, was born into a Macedonian family of means. Being both wealthy and beautiful, she had many suitors for her hand, but at a young age she dedicated herself to The Lord and refused all offers of marriage. As it happens, the entirety of her parents' estate was given to her, as both of her brothers died and her blind sister was dependent upon her and put into her care.

Saint Syncletica

While Saint Paula was placed in religious life due to lack of resources, Saint Syncletica came to it with quite a bit of money. She could have had any sort of life she wanted, but chose the contemplative life instead.

Bad circumstances can lead us to religious life just as well as happy ones, as today's saints can attest. It is a question of access and livelihood that would allow it.

In my own case, I had spent some time in a Vedanta (Hindu-based) convent in my 30's and loved the life but ended up leaving, which is a long story in itself. Suffice it to say that, for many reasons, I was in the wrong place, so I got a job and took an apartment. In my late 40's, the disabilities that have plagued me since childhood exerted so much pressure on me that I had to stop working. I simply could not work outside the home any more. The disabilities had worsened, increased in chronic pain, and multiplied. It was more than I could handle.

After my initial dismay, I prayed about my situation and suddenly realized that I could re-dedicate myself to the contemplative life, turning lemons into lemonade thereby. I was going to be stuck at home ANYWAY, and my retirement income, though very small, would be enough for food and a roof over my head, so I took the plunge.

In one sense, it was "easy" for me because I am temperamentally suited to contemplative life and I had always intended to return to it "full time" and perhaps even start a group for contemplative women of a certain age.

The day of my vows.
(I've lost a bit of weight since then.)

Every day is a new opportunity to make the choice to put my mind on the Divine. There are many days when my body interferes with that process. (It is demanding, this envelope of flesh!) The choices one is allowed consist of opportunities outside the parameters of earthly limitations, and I have quite a few of those - especially now that I have begun to lose my vision. But I ask myself every day if I am taking advantage of whatever choices are available to me at this time. I ask myself if my attention is on the Divine? If it is, then my choices will reflect that reality because whatever decision I make, large or small, is colored by the inclination of my mind.

Both Paula and Syncletica became known for their holiness, and many women came to them for instruction. In addition, Paula is best known for also easing tensions between Pisa and Florence, acting as a peacemaker between the two warring cities.  See: CATHOLIC SAINTS INFO - "BLESSED PAULA OF TUSCANY" You would think that, with such a weighty accomplishment there would be more written about her - but no. In fact, there are so many Saints called Paula that many of the writers have mixed them all up.

Saint Syncletica

Syncletica gave away her fortune to the poor and withdrew to a lonely spot with her blind sister whom she still had to care for. She was widely known for her devotion to humility and spoke frequently about this spiritual quality. She died of a terrible cancer that ate away a portion of her face. Her last few months, understandably, were excruciatingly painful, but she was gifted with the consolations of visions from God and left this earthly plane in a heavenly state. See: CATHOLIC ONLINE - SAINT SYNCLETICA

Every day, I try to remember to study at least one of the saints of the day, so that I can celebrate a feast every day! There are usually ten to twenty of them, but I will choose one that appeals to me - usually a female monastic - and then I imagine that the saint walks with me throughout that day. Their story becomes intertwined with my boring life.

My New Year's resolution to simplify my life, more and more, is proving increasingly complicated because modern life itself is complicated. I am struggling against my physical conditions. They taunt my aspirations and torment my mood, challenging the patience that I have worked so hard to develop over so many years! But at least my face isn't being eaten away, like poor Saint Syncletica!

Today I had to pick up groceries from the market across town. It took hours to get myself showered, dressed and prepared, with the dog walked, morning pills consumed, hair washed, etc. I had to drive through the bank to get a few $5 bills to save for tipping the people who load my car. By the time I swing by my friend's house to drop off some old clothing made of good fabric she could use in her sewing projects, she was worried about me and told me she had thought about calling me but didn't want to distract me while driving. It had taken me hours to get out of the house.

By the time I got home with the groceries and unloaded them, I was exhausted and in terrible pain. I sat in my reclining chair, and I remain there until this minute. I really need someone to shop for me but the professional shoppers won't go to the stores that I choose. They will only shop at the very closest stores, and the ones in my low-rent neighborhood do not have healthy food. I am almost in a food desert. So I have to order the groceries online, then get in the car and drive across town, and they load it into my trunk. Today, I was supposed to be there between 9 am and 10 am. I got there about 3:30.

Not being able to pick out the groceries myself is turning out to be a real trial. I have had to throw away at least 2 or 3 items in each shopping trip because they pick rotten food or expired food or they substitute with something that is FULL of chemicals. I had two nightmare food items in the bags today and I had to throw them away.

I can feel myself slowly, gradually, losing my abilities. Driving will soon be impossible, thanks to my vision loss. I am just praying that I can keep all the plates spinning in the air until after Covid has been vanquished and it will be safe to have an attendant in the car with me or in the house with me. I keep telling myself "then I can fall apart!"

On difficult days like today, I think about how, if my inheritance hadn't been stolen from me when my father got Alzheimer's, I would be better able to take care of myself - but this is what happens when one's parent is a flaming narcissist with millions of dollars, a glamorous career, and a stable of women in which he was unfaithful to every one of them. The woman with the most access is bound to retaliate. Resentful of his "miserliness" or that he refused to buy her a fur coat, they feel that the man owes them everything - even the inheritance he promised to his children. My inheritance would have enabled me to better prepare for the impending blindness and other issues, with plenty left over to help others, instead of paying for some woman's fur coat.

I have to assume, however, that, after promising myself to God, he isn't going to make it impossible for me to follow him. I have to assume that He will attend to my needs and that the money won't be necessary. So I pray for the souls of the people who stole it and try not to wish it hadn't happened.

I am stuck in the chair for the rest of the evening but, fortunately, there is much I can do while sitting in this chair, aside from prayer, meditation and holy reading. I am crocheting some pillow covers to match the blanket I made for a dear friend. I write this blog, my novel and some poems. Sometimes I practice music (if you can call it that) on my guitalele (6-string ukelele.)

Later, I have to fight my recalcitrant body once more and take the service dog for a walk. Then we had to move the car into the garage because I couldn't unload the car if it is in there. There isn't enough room. 

Poor Charlemagne must find me very boring. I have too much pain to spend much time outside with the poor little fuzzy boy. But, right now, he is snoozing away happily on my left leg while the laptop is propped on my right. It often crosses my mind that my circumstances could be far worse. A surge of gratitude courses through me. Much of the world is much less comfortable than I am, even considering my considerable pain and handicaps.

Earlier today, when I slipped the $5 bill into the hands of the young man who loaded my car for me, he wished me a happy new year. I promised him that 2021 would be a better year - not perfect - and maybe not even a "good" year - but things should be measurably better by January of 2022. And this is what I offer you. I do believe that the nightmare of the last few years will fall away, bit by bit, and we will eventually conquer Covid.

In the meantime, I pray to God that people stop dying from this awful scourge.

May god bless us all.

Silver Rose

BLESSED MARIE-ANNE HACHER DU BOIS - At the Mercy of Circumstance - New Years' Resolutions

 

Blessed Marie-Anne Hacher du Bois

being dragged to her death during the French Revolution

The ONE woman on the Catholic calendar of saints for whom November 2 is the feast has almost nothing written about her that I can find on the internet. Imagine this: that you give up your life, to die in an horrific manner, for the sake of your religion, and the Church in which you do this doesn't bother to retain information about your life story.

As usual, the official "Saint of the Day" is Basil "The Great" and there are all sorts of things written about him. Historians might say that more is known about this man than Marie-Anne Hacher du Bois, who was martyred for her faith - but I would contend there is a reason for that as well. Historians are traditionally men, and men ignore the accomplishments and saintliness of women. Yes, I am expressing a broad generalization, but this generalization is far more true than not.

Despite the paucity of information for this female "blessed," I am taking her up anyway. Oddly enough, we have her actual birth date, April 3, 1765, and her death date: February 10, 1794, in Avrille, France. As an expert genealogist, I will tell you that knowing the exact birth date of someone born in the mid 18th century is fairly unusual, with the exception of those born into the royal houses of Europe. As far as I know, this blessed was an ordinary woman of Anjou, France. Some of her "biographies" say she was a laywoman. A few claim her as a nun. In any case, she died during the French Revolution for the sake of her faith.

Whenever I am studying a saintly person from history, I always try to align myself with their circumstances, and in this respect, with this particular woman, I feel like she and I were each caught up in the turmoil of general societal circumstances over which we have no control. In her life, it was the French revolution, and in mine it is a world-wide pandemic and, to a lesser degree, a government that has gone mad in the hands of a wealthy despot.

Spiritual life transcends every other aspect of existence, as far as I am concerned. Those of us who have given ourselves over entirely to our faith must opt to follow the dictates of that faith rather than occupy our hearts and minds with anger toward our circumstances. Most Americans are distracted by the dangers of the "novel" Covid virus and the implied perils and pitfalls of a surprisingly fascist government, but Jesus himself was killed at the hands of misguided government, and his inner peace and sense of mission were not thrown off by it. Other than educating the powers-that-be when they accosted him, he stayed focused on the matters of God.

I am too easily distracted by the failures of everyone else, specifically with regard to orders I place for various survival items. None of the merchants I deal with seem to be able to produce the items they claim they have for sale, but they go ahead and send me SOMETHING ELSE I cannot use. Food prepared or picked by others arrives rotten or unpleasant or otherwise WRONG in some way. This is all complicated by the fact that when I prepare my own meals or make my own supplies, I am unable to clean up after myself, as it requires more standing than I am able to tolerate while washing pots and pans.

As I write this, pots and pans from CHRISTMAS DAY remain in the sink, moldering away. (The nuns of the Vedanta Convent could tell you about my messy cooking habits, which have not changed. They would always ask me plaintively, "can't you wash your OWN pots and pans?" I could not. Standing on my crumbling bones to cook the meal for a dozen women was all I could manage because, even though I was only in my mid-30's, the arthritis I inherited from my mother's side of the family had already taken hold and was eating away at my bones and joints. Thank God I was a fairly good cook.)

I COULD have an attendant come to help me from the agency. Medicaid will pay for it. But it is far too dangerous to have someone come into my house when there is a deadly pandemic virus coursing through the population. The world and everyone in it has become dangerous.

These pressures have taken their toll on my mood. I have become irritated far too easily - and this corresponds with my failure to discipline myself better with my meditation routine. Like many elderly disabled people who suffer constant pain, I am having trouble sleeping, and it is throwing me off my schedule. This has been going on for a very long time, and whenever I push myself very hard to adjust my sleep, I not only fail to do what I aim to do but I also have an even greater difficulty restraining the irritation.

It has become obvious that two things are now necessary. I need to give up many of my "do it yourself" decisions and habits. I can no longer "do it myself" no matter how hard I try. My body has retaliated against me.

As was once suggested to me by a very spiritually advanced priest, I need to use the many painful circumstances of my life to push me closer to the Divine, and this is, indeed, the job of the mystic.

For instance, since I am determined to simplify while at the same time eating very healthy, I can also develop a type of ascetic eating habit that involves as much raw fruit and veg as possible. To some degree, some of my food has to be prepared by others, so I have decided to try a food delivery service called DAILY HARVEST, which is rather expensive and will really cut into my food supplies. Therefore, I will also use this as an opportunity to lose more weight - though perhaps in a faster mode than previously. Mostly, I have ordered some frozen fruits and veg that, combined with some soy milk in the blender, will be a nutritious breakfast. They ship it to you in dry ice, after the fresh fruit and veg have been frozen "at the farm." We shall see.

Secondly, I need to work on my decision to avoid complaining.  To qualify that term, I would say that reporting what has happened is not the same thing as complaining. Frankly, I have found that for poor people, most news is "bad" news. Nearly every saint I have studied had a life liberally peppered with unfortunate circumstances. It is how you greet your circumstances that is the key. Everyone has to decide for themselves what this means, but I think that desiring too much sympathy may be a warning sign, at times. But mostly, I would say that one's mood is the real indicator.

Now - what if you have what is called a "mood disorder?" I am not a psychiatrist and I don't have a mood disorder myself, so I can't say. I do have a big case of PTSD, dating back to childhood, and this comes with its own baggage, but my personal experience is that the decision to manage it is the tell-tale indicator of whether or not one is complaining or simply reporting the daily goings on of life.

The most important signal to watch for, I would imagine, is whether or not one remains curious about the welfare of OTHERS. If you lose track of the needs and circumstances of other humans and remain focused on your own disappointments, selfishness has taken hold.

As with all spiritual disciplines, it is not one's success in overcoming all these obstacles that is the most important thing. It is our aspiration and our attempts that matter. What do we intend to do? How sincerely do we work at it?

One thing I particularly love about New Year's observances is the tradition of committing to New Years "resolutions." Everything I have talked about in this post pertains to my New Year's resolutions for 2021. As usual, it all centers around my spiritual disciplines.

I would love to hear your resolutions for this new year. Take a minute to write me and let me know.

In the meantime, may God bless us all.

Silver Rose