LISTENING WITH A SPIRITUAL AND/OR AN EARTHLY MIND

Outside my Cottage-in-the-Trees Hermitage, I meet others in the Marketplace.

Because of my religious Habit, conversations in the Marketplace are opened whereas without the Holy Habit it may be closed.

Everyone I greet.  Smiles are abundant; although not always returned.  Some sneer or stare. That is OK; Jesus was spat upon and who am I to expect anything finer.

When folks share with me I put on my spiritual mind, that is, their worries and fears and stories go heaven-ward as I empty myself inside to offer a vehicle for God's grace and wisdom to flow. Ofttimes, I never make a comment or suggestion for people need to speak; need to share;  need to be heard and validated; need to feel as if someone has stopped and taken time to listen to just them.  

For me, placing my spiritual mind at moments such as above stated gives room for witnessing and experiencing the Christ in the other.  Honestly, I find and discover that I love them.  

The earthly mind is different; indeed, radically different.  The earthly mind has schedules to keep and agendas to make.  The earthly mind attempts to get something out of the conversation for themselves which they can take.  It tries to place an "I" in the way; instead, of "you".  That is ego; not the Christ.  That is Self; not God. For me, that may harm and hurt the soul at this moment in time.  

People at this moment are new blooms which are tender and fresh and their sweetness is flowering in time.  These are sacred, holy moments.  The souls are responding to a spiritual mind and an earthly mind has capability to squash and ruin.  

To not create an 'either/or' situation, this kind of listening is 'both/and'.  With practice, the weight of this listening falls upon the spiritual than earthly; however, since I am fallen and

never have the purity of motive as the Christ,  I imitate and fall short. 

HERMITAGE MAGDALENE

Tibi dixit cor meum, quaesivi vultum tuum
vultum tuum, Domine, requiram:
ne avertas faciem tuam a me.
Ps. 27


HERMITAGE MAGDALENE



In the muted silence of my Magdalene hermitage
In the greenness of my windows still,
migratory Mallards call and I stand.

GOD IS PRESENT i listen


HIS whereabouts are everywhere and
inside me felt.





And, what do I feel?
What do I see in my petite cell?
What is it that my Life is witnessing?



L O V E
THAT IS WHAT I KNOW.

L O V E
THAT IS HIS PURPOSE.

L O V E
THAT IS OUR NATURE.


My Hermitage Magdalene, enclosed in LOVE, condenses a consort of Happiness
and Freedom sought by but few!


THE ALMIGHTY ONE is here for the air is made thick by Him.
Viscous and sweet is He.
OH, so dewy Christ, come nearer to me.


Yes, I love so my greenery of God where do the lacy trees and eucalyptus bend to HIM.

I watch and tumble too.

GOD is not INvisible to me. GOD is seen.


For,
what moves the dust
and hastens the leaf
and birds to crackle
and rains to dampen
and dawning colors to come
and the shadows of dusk to widen so long?

It Is The Visible God: That is what It is. VISIBLE DEITY.


In my Hermitage in Magdala,
I perch inside peering for God;

I am secreted, buried behind a wall, within a window;
all day I whisper to His Majesty
as HE comes over me, pronouncing HIS REALM of Glory.


Shall I not open NOW to this LIGHT!


SILENCE:

It holds no-thing.
For my sins have occurred and
yet have settled long before the inception of me.
And, so past has HIS forgiveness sprinkled me anew.


That remains the SECRET of Hermitage Magdalene.

A START OF SOMETHING

For I do not fear

instead, I hope

For I do not struggle

instead, I dream

For I do not wince at the cool night

instead, I see clearly

For all eternity is graced

and All grace is but an Eternity

Returning is my path

for in You have I found my housing

MY CLOISTER WALK

Here, amongst the berries and birds of Paradise, I rest and sing.

The airs spin another tale of another day.

Holiest of Holy weeks is drawing near to me 

with

Stillness, recollection, reconciliation.

Christ is near/born.

GOOD LOVE

as juliet to romeo
flower to bee

stream to ocean
glacier to sea

as moon to earth

life to whitened death

I am yours, fair Jesus
come my winter, to bless

THE RAW BLADE

THE RAW BLADE



Being a semi-enclosed Contemplative in an exploded Active culture has created a quasi-pain in my living. Christ has called me to be apart in Him; to be apart for others; to be apart for my own sake. This reality has been in my being since the cradle years, the tender years of my hay-day. Those languishing days of peering over my tricycle handles into a water-puddle, dizzying me while at the same time showing me the great Blue and whitened skies above, as I bowed down in this watery mirror. It is that upside-down world which is my world now. I bow down deep to see heaven above me. To move toward God, I move into His great Silence, His grand vacuousness, His iconic being and blankness.

In the semi-enclosed Contemplative life which I live, everything makes sense. Everything has a name. All is loved. All is thought and being and blessing and prayer and Sacrament. All is new and born and living and all is dying and moving back to the Source which is love. I joyously celebrate this notion with all my being, each day and every day. Sharing it with all, I live this in my manner of life, my religious Habit, my gestures, my Reconciliation, my Service to God and humanity. I fall and stumble, confess my brokenness while still celebrating this living. However, to some outside my cloister, I am a mistake, a failure and out-of-step with any normal notion of what is real. I am a fool. Yes, I am a fool for Christ’s sake!

Standing amidst an Active culture, I witness seemingly to a purposeless living and to Actives, those burdened and driven by worldly strives, that is a problem. Remaining stilled, by grace, is anti-culture. The culture in that I live exists to move; exists to change and be dynamic. The Enclosed? This Contemplative? What kind of life is this? It is a do-nothing Life! Its life is staid, static and seeming stuck. To what does it witness? My friends, it witnesses to the empty Tomb. To: The question mark. To: The what happened here. To: The depth of wisdom, non-palpable and unknowable through human means.

My life is a monument to this anxiety: That I live a life inside a tension; inside a paradox between one existence and another. I live inside this silence of death into Life, of something else into something other. Standing by in emptiness, in the rawness at the bloodied Cross, I am becalmed into a dancing ballet of new Life to be; believing in the Good God-nature which is ever quickened and brought into being through wordlessness and love.

Sit still.
Peer over the handle bars.
Observe with gratitude.
Listen in utter silence and muteness.

Recall that all has occurred before and after and that this world is a reminder, a remembrance of that which has gone before; been already; and coming ever so soon.

WHEN MY WORLD WENT STILL

No, I cannot recall the time when it occurred; however, I remember the feel ... the wonder ... the newness ... the question and why of it.  

At first, I murmured:  

Illness?  

Oncoming Death?  

Insanity? 

Divine Abandonment?

No, not any of those darkened elements rudely striking the soul.

This was a gift of silence of heart: 

this is the Christ, living within. 

Suffering brought it for 

Suffering bought it.

His Cross, carried and coveted

created the patina over which

coated my spirit and changed it.

Flint golden light upon Him,

dazzling all who see; but

for me,

then wearied and so pained, 

now by Him rest,

as Nature in winter be.

  

MONOTONY OF A MONASTIC LIFE

The sheer singleness and repetition of a Monastic life is most highlighted in my Hermitage.

All things are over and over and over again.  The white molding, the beige plastered walls, sage colored drapes in my bedroom with pictures of Mary, ever-Virgin peering over... indeed, a nothing-ever-changes Life.  

My walks outside remain staid each day, 

seemingly unadorned and lifeless in purpose.

But, no ... 

It happens each second in a most miniscule way.  God is in the splinter of a glint, the flakiness of a light shown into my Hermitage,  my Cottage-in-the-Trees.  

God, I can smell` for he roams my kitchen in simmering Lentil soup with smoked turkey, apples and cinnamon wafting scents of good wholesome food!  

God, I can see` for each shine of the Western sunset breaking into my silent cell with His Royalty of purples, pinks, reds, crimsons, white, grays slashing about the darkening sky!

God, I can touch` upon each object I see for God is the God IN all things, THROUGH all things, and OF all things.

God, I can hear` through the motoring life outside, through movement of  green Peppercorn trees with winded ballets, their life I witness in my stillness. 

Oh, it may appear that no/thing changes in my Hermitage; however, those who see no/thing are Thomas.  Those Thomas'  necessitate proof of some/thing. 

However, those who need nothing, oh, so reach and further fly!  toward this Holiest of Holies! while unfettered wings blaze true bright 

in unquenchable fire.  

How Holy Is His Name!

 

A THIRD ENCOUNTER WITH MARY, VIRGIN

Sweet Mary came to me yet again.

Not in voice; yet in that same place of

stillness deep within my heart of

hearts.  In that place that Mary

resides.

Again, she came unto me while I was

in great distress and turmoil and she 

did comfort me, easing my mind.

This time it was while I dozed in 

unsettled sleep.

With suddenness, in the locus of her

voice was a small, lit, empty cross. It

appeared ... faded, then appeared a 

second time.   It was illumined on its

right side.

I knew it was Mary~bringing her Son

this time to me to show that my trials,

though small, are loved, are noticed,

and my spirit is not abandoned.

Inside that quiet time, in the 

profundity of pain, Mary's Son joined

me and entered into an inner sanctum

reserved for the Holiest of Holy.

May He ever be praised!

LISTENING TOWARD

No, you shall not know the word.

For, it is incendiary and troublesome; ofttimes a burden and anachronistic.

It is an awkward word, inside an orb of greed, 

narcissism, self-preservation, and con-artists. 

• However,
  

You shall know of its meaning:

/Listening toward/ 

again

/Listening toward/

 

What does that stand for  

and, 

                  what are its fruits does one suppose?

Oh, I know its glint and have savored its many flavors and sweets.

I have stood in its sweaty leafed tropics 

sensing the moistening rain upon my bent shoulders.

Many do fall by it; whereas, many do rise, lifting toward the God in Christ!

No ... No ...

I still shan't expose the word to you.   

Instead, the golden Fruits of it.  Its presents of Glory.

 Oh, how myriad/ 

and stark/ 

and needed/ 

and noble/ 

are its spiritual gifts.

These favors I have witnessed given to those living this word:

Peace.

Stability.

Inner Silence.

Civility 

Humility.

Grace.

Self-forgetting

Self-knowledge

Love.

  

We learn Love when we learn to be silent and 

/listen toward.

Oh, for it happens not in a vacuum;

 but, in a molten throbbing cauldron; 

transfiguring us through time and time's travail.

Seek this word. 

It lays in pitchy darkness 

upon your oh so muted lips.