Bow Down Before the Holy Mountain

The weeping Norwegian spruce bows down its cones.

Trees do not have senses of "self".

Nothing still has too much sense of self, and there is nothing to be done, for no matter the conversation with the da yesterday, taking him to lunch, it was "There you go again, speaking of self!"

When asked what his homilies had been lately, and he began, the waitress came and asked if there would be anything more desired. Nothing asked if there was ice cream, for it remembered when the restaurant had been in previous ownership (and a favorite place of the da's), he had liked ice cream. But no, he did not want it but said the nothing wanted it, and pointed. But no, nothing does not like ice cream. Lost its taste for it a few years ago. The waitress said there were brownies and puddings at the buffet, so nothing went off to get something for the da and a brownie for "self", as the pain needed anything--sugar might help.

But the da said, "There you go--go on, now--just as I was telling about the homilies!" Nothing thought the desert he would like, but upon setting it before him, he said repeatedly, "It's sinful! It's sinful! No, I don't want it!" Of course, he sort of laughed as he said the deserts were sinful, but nothing sat down (ah, pain on those padded seats), and took up with the point of his homily, left off by the sweets run. He spoke of some excellent points made regarding enshrouding ourselves with Christ's shroud, and to do so at the time of reception of Christ in Communion. He had been reading some thoughts written by the last Pope's retreat master.

The da did not touch his dessert other than eventually a spoonful of butterscotch pudding, but shoved it aside; and when the waitress came to take the plates and asked if he wasn't going to eat the brownie (nothing had downed two), he said "No, I didn't want it--she did"--and pointed to the nothing once more.

Obviously, he isn't feeling well a'tall, and he spoke of his heart and his back pain. Rarely does he, if ever, speak of his not feeling well, although he's had back pain most his life, he confided. Well, since a young priest. And at his age that is most his life. He also confided how he made a bargain with God to suffer a bit longer if the Lord would keep him around a few more years--and we laughed for it was humorous in the way we do try to outsmart the Lord. The nothing then mentioned just that morning as it put on its costume, it said to the Lord that none of it matters, that the Lord is welcome to whatever of its life--and when its time is up, is up to the Lord.

"There you go again! Speaking of self! You must think of the Lord, not self!" the da exclaimed.''
Later, nothing commented in regard to something the da said about how we restrict Christ--that He is inside wanting us to come in with Him.

Nothing said that it seems it has come too much back into the world, that it is half or more protruding from the Sacred Heart, as if in a kind of partial birth abortion--and the da piped in, "See? You are talking of self! You need to focus on God, not self!"

After some repeats of this truthful accusation, nothing said, "I know, I know I am full of self! It is too much self! Please pray for me--pray that God take away my 'self'!"

Even when nothing explained it knew it had fallen back, was not pleasing to the Lord and had lost much zeal--the da said, "There you go again--speaking of self!

There seemed nothing nothing could say: the da (and then the nothing) saw its self. Self, self, self. Even going to confession this morning was self. It was self confessing the self's sin of too much self. It was the self confessing its hindrance of the Holy Spirit in its life--more self. It was confessing extreme detachment--perhaps too much detachment?--of its self.

St. Dorotheos of Gaza pointed out that when a hermit has the opportunity to be with others, which is not often, one must take what it learns of oneself, of one's faults, back to the cell and ponder them, and work on how to improve.

Nothing has pondered the doubts which have constricted its soul from being more utilized by the Holy Spirit. Nothing has wondered at the extreme detachment. Nothing has considered, now, too much self.

The confessor said to keep working on it, on not having so much self. But nothing asked, "Don't you see? Don't you see? It is at the point that I see too much self, but cannot do more about it other than to ask the Lord to remove the self. For I can do no more, for if I do, it is me and more self trying. All that is left for me, self, I, to do is to suffer and pray. There is nothing else to be done--other than to wait for the Lord in His mercy and grace to get rid of my self."

The confessor sort of leaned back and half shut his eyes, and nothing still isn't sure he could see, so it repeated that there seems a certain point that a person cannot "do" more to be rid of self, and that only God through the Holy Spirit can empty it.

So nothing prayed an act of contrition begging the Lord to get rid of nothing's self--the I, I, I and the me, me, me, and the my, my, my and the I feel, I feel, I feel. And it was very sorry for its faults that prohibit cooperation with the Holy Spirit for its soul's utilization, and it offered again the only thing possible to do--pray and suffer for sins. Nothing is a huge sinner, and said so aloud; but the Lord already knows. And the confessor surely has deduced it by now.

The confessor had pointed out that we go through various periods in our spiritual lives, and said nothing must keep going (when it said it may have taken on a bit much with the upkeep of its hermitage) and then reminded nothing to enjoy the beauty of the trees it has planted, and to praise God for His creation. And to keep focused on God as the goal--and here he sort of put his hand out and up, as if grasping one-handed--like a caught basketball or maybe the sun--God Himself, and he looked with his eyes out and up in a direct focus. The da had brought up the three ways of the spiritual life, also: purgation of senses, illumination of virtues, and the unitive way. Both priests separately had spoken of our goal being union with Christ. Yes, it is the goal.

Nothing admitted it is a bit drained by pain, and that is fine. St. Catherine of Siena was just quoted in the pages read (by self!) last evening, as saying that suffering is the means of union with Christ's suffering, or to that effect. They all say it, the saints, because it is true.

Driving back to Agnus Dei after its penance, nothing wondered again if the confessor could comprehend what is so clear to nothing: nothing more to be done but to suffer and pray! There is no other recourse for the world--for the da's process of dying, for the consumers in despair over being scammed, ripped off and disrespected, for the man with major dysfunctions trying to squeeze his way back into a position for which he is not suitable, or for nothing getting rid of self.

So it saw itself, as a small, black bag of stones, plopped at the foot of the Holy Mountain of God. Is that close enough to bowing down? The inner feels plopped and bowed, broken by pain and the harsh reality of the seeming impotence in self to rid out self. Only to pray and suffer. Silence and penance. And in prayer and silence, is praise of God's mercy and love.

Nothing more can be done for the da's weak heart and back pain, for the woman whose complaint included a suicide message, for the man deluding himself of his disorders, for the self's selfishness--than to suffer and pray.

Bend down the bows as in all the weeping specimen trees--but self does not bend them. They are bent by nature of how the world and souls are created; and bows of weeping specimen trees just bow, that's all. God created them to weep and bow. Souls are created to bow down. And this nothing just bows from suffering, and prays; God created it to do that, despite its self.

On this 13th anniversary of it's wounded and consecrated heart, nothing does as the confessor says; ponders in its cell the repeated exclamations of the da; and knows in its wounded and consecrated heart, that it is at it's final cadence of what more to do about self, other than to suffer and pray. And the Holy Spirit will allow the bows to bend low, pine cones to droop, and in that surely there is praise of God's creation.