Increasing Detachment or Loss of Love?

The nothing has noticed increased detachment (it hopes!). Or else, it is that the nothing does not love. The confessor can figure it out, hopefully.

There have been some friendships waft away lately, and the nothing is not inclined (or energized enough?) to run hither and thither to recollect these relationships. It has taken the stance of responding if someone contacts; otherwise, there is not a reaching in. The adult children might present exceptions, but with them, also, the nothing waits.

The detachment includes the trees and shrubs and perennials in the Mary Garden, although the nothing wonders if it loves these at least some, and perhaps more than much other. Yet, when the Samaritan Dogwood was not watered, along with the Bluebells of Scotland, Mary's Bedstraw, and various ground covers recently planted, to the point of their shriveled leaves' whispering in abject fragility "Help me! I'm dying!"--the nothing did not react much at all. Oh well, give some water, hope and pray, and wait.

The nothing has been asked several times to meet a person from the past for lunch when that person comes to the area this week. The nothing would as soon not, but it does not want to try to explain why not to the person, and especially to not mention that it is a hermit now. For one thing, the nothing sees no reason to eat out with the person, as e-mailing would suffice, couldn't it? And, the nothing cannot speak much at all, for the person is likely to share all with others, for that is the mode of the locale in which that person lives. It will take energy to dodge questions, charitably. The other mentioned how much the ties of the past mean; the nothing does not consider much the past but has perhaps come more to exist in the present moment.

And this is not NORMAL. Not for the nothing. Normally the nothing would have reacted to friends wafting off, would have made contact, even asked if there is something wrong or if the nothing had offended in some way. Normally the nothing would be upset some at the financial loss of so many specimen plants as well as, and more so, the sorrow at seeing otherwise healthy plants with beauty, come to a shrivel right at the threshold of summer. Normally the nothing would want to please others in their requests and be willing to endure to live up to the memories in others' perspectives.

Even at Mass today, the nothing was strangely inured to the typical noon Mass jostlings of some parishioners, the current of motives and whatever else we humans do in our adult nonverbal messages and manueverings. One apologized for having neglected subbing for the Sat. lectoring at Mass; oh well. One after Mass complimented the nothing; the nothing turned the compliment back to the other. It all meant nothing to the nothing.

Perhaps the nothing is simply becoming more or less, nothing.

Then the thought came that the nothing does not love anymore, especially does not have charity for human beings. Then it seemed that the love for self was even waning. Now, that is a hope but probably not so.

Everything seems to be an endurance test, a kind of grind to keep up the responsibilities in the hermitage, to keep up the pace with those few who contact and desire to meet. The remaining tendrils wrap around the adult children in their respective locations, but they are independent and capable, fulfilling their own vocations.

The phone rings once or twice. It is the nursery owner to discuss the final choices of additional trees and shrubs for the Mary Garden. Another call is one adult child. Another call is another adult child. It is rare to have two adult children call on the same day. Usually there is a call every couple or more weeks, with more frequent from only one. If the phone rings again, the nothing cringes, for there is no real need to converse with anyone other. A purpose for a call is one matter; but there seems no energy, no love, of conversation unless there is a reason. The adult children have reason.

The diagnosis could be any of the following or combination: lack of love for others; detachment from attachments; physical weariness and pain; contentment with the hermit life; depression; death process.

Depression is ruled out. The nothing is experienced in psychological and emotional disorders, having had some professional background and study in this field. It can hope beyond hope that it is progress in the spiritual life in attaining a degree of holy indifference/spiritual detachment as evidenced in detachment from the temporal. More likely it is a lack of charity and weariness and pain, plus, too, a very deep and growing contentment in this vocation.

Even news received via e-mail that the luthier is into his second week of construction on the harp (now named Rosa Mystica), does not twitter the nothing's heart strings. Yes, it will be very good and marvelous to learn to play the harp, but it is not arrived yet. There are trees and shrubs and perennials and ground cover to water now, and editing to be done, and much-needed sleep and laundry and reading a bit more about the hermit of Cat Island.

The nothing even forgot to call the spiritual da to see how he is doing. The cousin has not called in over ten days. Nothing seems to affect the nothing. All is fine as is. Someone left a message who had been rather a close friend for a time, but has not been in contact for increasingly long elipses. The nothing nearly forgets to respond, but sends a short, polite e-mail. There is no desire to share any aspects of its life, as it used to do.

The nothing is like a toddler (or nonogenarian) with its fingers loosely opened as in slumber pose, all concerns of waking hours slipped through and out and onto the sand-shores of the world.