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

 

    

Saint Wiborada of Saint Gallens Abbey

Died 926

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

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

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

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

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

Wiborada and Bishop Salomon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God bless us all

Silver Rose

SELFISHNESS

 

I took my dog out for our late evening potty break but was unable to use my electric "mobility scooter" because a large car had parked right on top of the handicap ramp that is the only way to have access to the majority of the parking lot and walking areas. I had to fight back groans of pain while I hobbled with my cane instead of being able to USE the scooter. 

The ramp was OBVIOUSLY meant for disabled people - but whoever parked there did not consider anyone else's needs and desires but their own.

When I got close to the back gate, I noticed that someone had left a car parked directly in front of and completely blocking our one and only fire exit. There is a wide expanse of space where they could have parked instead - space that would not block our fire exit. As I passed, I wondered why they didn't consider anyone else's needs and desires but their own?

A little further on, I was unhappy to see that the movie company that is filming outside our gates decided to install their outdoor toilet right up against our fence,  two inches from the access gate the residents use to take their walks along the irrigation ditch and down to the dog park and just two feet from my neighbors' front door. Again, there are acres of room out there and they could have chosen to toilet themselves AWAY from our doors, sidewalks and walkways, but they didn't. I could almost SEE the stench rising from the latrine .  I wonder why they didn't consider anyone else's needs and desires but their own?

As I turned toward home, I thought about how life "themes" tend to strike me within the daily happenings, and I can see a string of meaning - a life course, of sorts. The last few months, I have been getting teachings about selfishness. It is easy to recall many examples of it For instance:

Last week, a visitor parked their car in front of my garage so I could not enter or exit - and when I asked her to move, three people joined her in some very frightening intimidation, screaming and yelling at me, calling me vulgar names and making reference to my being "old." They kept me prisoner in my car for 20 minutes, blocking me from going forward by moving the traffic cone in front of my car and then leaning over the hood while they screamed at me and made filthy faces and hand gestures. It was a nightmare.  Their belief appears to be that their comfort and convenience supersedes the rights and needs of everyone - even a disabled senior lady who pays rent for that space the interloper misappropriated. Their own parking space is just a few feet further away than the one they covet, and apparently this is of great insult to them, these newcomers to the building who drive a vehicle that sports, in LARGE letters, the motto, "F - - K THE POPULATION," an anti-social modern saying.

I had an experience recently in which other shoppers have been so absorbed in their own mental processes that they have banged into me, jostled me, reached across my body to get something they wanted - and all of this happened during a pandemic in which consciousness of one's proximity to other people is really important. When I asked one woman to stop touching me and to give me some space, she stood over me and glowered at me. She was awfully tall - at least six feet. Most women aren't that tall, and I remember wondering if her height had helped to turn her into a bully. She must have been an awful creature on the playground. She refused to get out of my space, so I had to leave and circle back later for the vegetables I had been picking when she accosted  me.

This is how gangs take charge of neighborhoods, I imagine. No one wants to go near these anti-social cretins, so everyone is forced to just give them what they want.

Something that happens as you progress in meditation practice is the ability to see the condition of other humans - the darkness and preoccupation of their minds - and how cut off they are from consciousness. Selfishness makes these people spin around inside their own minds, orbiting around the mania of the moment. Buddhists call this "monkey mind."  It is a terrible ordeal and torment for them.

Lately, I feel surrounded by these lost souls, as I have had to go to the doctor many times for a skin cancer that needs to be removed, and I am out in the public much more than is customary. In the process of getting my medical needs met, I have had to interact with some of these "monkey minds" including that of a very young surgeon I met with yesterday. She was manic and used hyperbole to mask her lack of concentration. The "conversation" was disturbing, as she repeated answers to questions I had not asked, ignored some of the questions I DID ask, and misinterpreted some things I had said - ostensibly because she was not paying proper attention. Recognizing the signs of "monkey mind", I have scheduled an appointment with a different surgeon.

I was very glad to interact with a man at the Cancer Center who DID seem completely present and conscious - the man who had been tasked with pushing my wheelchair around the facility. He took some time to show me some of the art on the walls, and then took me to my car. I was sad not to have had any cash to give him and made a mental note to carry some with me next time I go to the hospital. Their valet parking and other services are "free" but I am sure a tip would be welcome. It was a psychic relief to interact with someone who was present and selfless.

Tonight, while I walked and prayed and thought, I held the dog's leash with one hand and the recently purchased cannister of pepper spray attached to my key chain in my other. I am idealistic, but I am also practical. Now that people have started aggressing on me, I need to be prepared. I had no idea that some disabled and senior folks are routinely faced with abuse simply because they aren't vigorous enough to defend themselves. It's a sad commentary on human nature, and one that gives me great pain to observe.

Cherishing the delights of being able to help other human beings, and mourning the loss of this ability, through disability and its resultant poverty, makes me very sad for myself but especially for these people who apparently are ignorant of one of the most dazzling pleasures that being human provides.

Of all the memories I cherish in my old age, it is the memory of the handful of times I have been able to help other sentient beings get some need met or some long cherished desire realized. I can't imagine a life in which this is not experienced, desired or pursued.

The beauty of selflessness, of loving one's neighbor, of kindness and consideration, is sublime - exquisite - and supremely satisfying. I pray that everyone gets to experience its pleasures because it changes one's outlook on life entirely. I am betting that all my readers are well aware of this, as you all tend to be highly evolved people, I have observed. Please join me in my prayer that the bullies of the world get to experience and be transformed by selflessness, something Jesus talked about more than any other topic.

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

FREEDOM

Just because God allows something to happen doesn't mean he wills or desires it. Without giving us freedom - free will - we would not have the power to give Him our love and attention of our own volition. Who wants to be forced to love? Could one even call it "love" under that circumstance? If God created the World and all things in it, He had to give us all our freedom so that He could be chosen for Himself, loved for Himself, and worshipped for Himself. Otherwise, we would be slaves.

I watched a television episode earlier this week in which a young woman, previously on fire with love of the Lord, decided she no longer believed in Him because something unpleasant happened to her. She had to have a surgery that rendered her sterile, and she blamed God for it. She had her heart set on having children and she decided that because God allowed her to become sterile, God did not therefore exist at all  because a loving God would give her everything she wanted. She expected to be repaid for her "faith" and because God didn't deliver, she had no further use for Him. This is a mercenary type of religion that is nothing more than an exercise in selfishness.

I have always found the story of Job to be inspiring during difficult times such as these. Dealing with multiple physical illnesses, blindness, disability, deaths of loved ones and pets, assaults and thievery by neighborhood hoodlums: If hadn't some faith in God, I would be weeping every day. 

In the Bible, God allowed all sorts of suffering to be brought down on Job's head, despite the fact that Job did not deserve it. The Lord told Satan that He was sure of Job's love and allegiance and that, no matter what Satan visited on him, Job would remain faithful - and that is exactly what happened. Job was tormented with sore boils all over his body. His sons and daughters and servants were all killed. His entire world was destroyed.

Job had always "feared God" and "avoided evil," and therefore none of the harsh disasters that were visited on him were warranted. He didn't greet those calamities with a sanguine calm. He openly expressed his suffering and wore the signs of it on his person.

"Then Job rose up and rent his garments, and having

shaven his head fell down upon the ground and worshipped."

Job 1: 20

Shaving one's head and ripping one's garments are symbols of extreme grief or anguish. Despite being established in the Lord and firm in faith, Job felt the pain of these earthly torments and he expressed his misery. Wearing these emblems of gloom, he fell to the ground in humility of surrender and praised the Lord, as was his firm habit.

It is perfectly understandable to feel unhappiness and to express it, but what is crucial is that, despite misfortunes falling upon us, it is our attachment to The Lord that is key. Do we keep company with the Lord and have faith in His Love, despite what happens to us in this "veil of tears." This is where spiritual disciplines come into play. If we have the habit of inclining the mind to God, deliberately and regularly, it is to Him we will automatically turn when we are burdened with woes. 

There is a tendency among spiritual folk to assume that if your faith is solid, you don't suffer at all - that you meet hardships like an automaton or a Mona Lisa painting - serene in the midst of it all. I am sure some people may behave like that. Certainly others aspire to it. But it isn't necessary. Whether or not you express suffering doesn't matter in the slightest. What DOES matter is whether or not you continue to keep faith with your Lord. The rest of it is window dressing.

Of course, as our practices become finer and finer, it is natural that we mourn less frequently and for shorter periods of time, until one day we may remain peaceful in the face of catastrophe, but it isn't a sin to be unhappy or express it. Instead, it is human. God does not guarantee that earthly circumstances will go our way, but He can be relied upon to comfort us. All we have to do is turn to Him.

Several of Job's friends wept with him, ripped their clothing, sprinkled the dusts of the earth over themselves, and then sat with him for 7 days and 7 nights. Other friends harassed him with criticisms - insinuating that if he was actually a holy man, he would not have these misfortunes visited upon him. They added to his torment instead of accompanying him and sitting with him. God can be relied upon to comfort us when our friends abandon us through their selfishness and insensitivity.

"Blessed are they that mourn for they shall

be comforted."

Matthew 5:4

In the "New Age", the emphasis tends to be on the wrong aspect of the thing entirely. Instead of accompanying a suffering person in their sorrow, people will often accuse them of not being "spiritual" enough when it is actually the attachment of the person to the Lord that matters. Some of these people are so confused that they believe that if you feel any emotion other than kumbaya happy clappy sentiment, you will "attract" to yourself (and deserve) further suffering. Forget the weeping, the cutting of hair, the rending of garments, and the mournful vigils. They want you to wear a happy façade or they blame you for every misfortune. The selfish ignorance of these people can be annoying, at the very least, and an incredible burden in one's darkest days - but continuing to return to thoughts of the Lord will soothe us when humans can't be bothered to sympathize.

It is also common among the misguided and unlearned to tell you (or to insinuate broadly) that your suffering is nothing in comparison to such-and-such a person. Indeed, it is almost impossible to experience any suffering for which there is not someone in the world who is experiencing far worse. It may be helpful, during a more philosophical time, when the initial reaction to misfortune has worn off a bit, for the recipient of bad luck to contemplate those type of facts, but for others to foist it on you in place of sympathy is just another cruelty, heaped upon someone already afflicted.

"Will the wild ass bray when he hath grass?

or will the ox low when he standeth before 

a full manger?"

Job 6: 5

I suppose the point of all this is that regular meditative practice, both formal and informal throughout the day, prepares us for the difficulties of life.

On Monday, I will be going to the Cancer Center with regard to a melanoma that has suddenly appeared on my scalp. As a religious hermit without community, I have no one to accompany me on this appointment. Every time the clerks call me to "remind" me about this upcoming appointment, they mention that I am allowed one person to come with me, but there is no one I would burden with it, especially now, with Covid pandemic raging across the globe. I wouldn't want anyone to risk their life just so I could have the comfort of a calm and supportive presence. It wouldn't be fair. Instead, I will take myself and rely upon the presence of God within my heart to sustain me. After decades of training the mind to return to the feet of the Lord, I tell myself that I can do this. God will be with me.

I suppose it does not seem "fair" to me that, on top of everything else, I have skin cancer to deal with, but this is my life.

A particularly good little book, THE PRACTICE OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD, is one which I've turned to over the years for inspiration. It is about Brother Lawrence, a friar who was deemed nearly useless to the monastery and was relegated to the kitchen. He couldn't be a priest. He couldn't chant the office. I get the impression that his brother monks treated him with disdain and looked down upon him. But he, on the other hand, said that he felt as close to his Lord among the pots and pans as he would have been in the choir stall, singing the beautiful hymns.

Practicing the presence of God throughout the day is very similar to the Buddhist practice of "walking meditation," in that the mind is kept with the Divine during an activity that is pedestrian - not thought of as particularly spiritual. The practice yokes the mental activity with the breath and the body's movement, so that the three spheres act upon one another. It is very helpful.

Another "easy" prayer that inclines the mind to God without requiring intellectual exercise, and which can be recited mentally throughout the day, directing the mind to the Divine, is the Jesus Prayer:

Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God
Have mercy upon me, a poor sinner

This prayer is widely prayed by the Orthodox monks, who carry a prayer rope that is knotted at close intervals, to count the number of times the prayer is said.

I highly recommend giving these things a try. Read the little book I mentioned above. It is widely available. If I remember correctly, it was written by a fellow monk who knew Brother Lawrence. I think perhaps Brother Lawrence was illiterate.

As usual, if you have rudimentary questions about meditation, I will be available. Just make a comment and I will respond.

In the meantime, I ask that you pray for me, just as I pray for you.

God bless us all

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

FIGHTING EVIL IN THE WORLD

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

According to the Urban Dictionary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God bless us all.

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

DEATH

 

VIKING FUNERAL PYRE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now I leave you for the pursuit.

God bless us all.

Silver Rose
Sannyasini Kaliprana

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"
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