Catholic Hermit, an Uncommon Hermit

Well, perhaps.  What is a common hermit, anyway?  Ought not all hermits fit into the category of being "uncommon"?

Regardless, this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit is not the dour type.  I've lost a lot of forced piety over time, as in not as rigorous and more going with God's flow.  That can include music--and not just the classical music of Bach's Masses and Mozart's.  They are packed away, although I could find them on YouTube, perhaps?

I was never one to keep up with the latest in-groups when younger.  But in the past couple or so years I came across "The Beach Boys."  I started reading about them on Wikpedia, and I watched some online documentaries of their lives.  

Always fascinated with people and lives, perhaps it is in my later years and my interest in souls, that I have found the lives of others to be of great interest.  And music is peaceful, healing, soothing with its harmonies when I am in a pain siege.

Today is one such day. This is actually the third day of it, but I have toughed it out by pushing the body at least to hook up soaker hoses and pick strawberries to put out on the roadside table.  Yesterday I awoke thinking I'd passed through the siege, gotten off "easy" with but one day of spinal headache and difficulty handling situations.  

But by Mass last evening, the spinal headache had erupted; the newer muscle pain, sharp, revved with driving to the church.  Even though the ecstasy provided the gift of no pain, and I had great refreshment into the evening, this morning I awoke socked in with awful pain.  Darkness battles light.

Anyway, I took an extra med hoping to avoid the big-gun meds that would sedate me for the day and night.  Hate to have to do that, for at least this way I have moved about, such as the soaker hoses every hour or two, and picked two more quarts of berries awhile ago.  So I have tried to distract the darkness that threatens my thoughts by listening to music.

Beach Boys!  I came across a video of a concert they had 33 years ago.  The city was about 40 miles from where I lived at the time.  Life was quite different then, for me, for them.  A year later I would have the life-altering car accident--hit by teen drunk driver.  Well, anyone who has followed my blogs knows the bulk of all that ensued. 

As to the Beach Boys, that very year, a few months later, the middle brother, Dennis, would die from drowning.  He'd had too much to drink, dove, hit his head, remained under too long.  Brian, the eldest and musical genius, composer, song-writer brother, had rejoined the group publicly after more than a decade of emotional and weight problems.  Fifteen years later, the youngest brother, Carl--the one with "the voice of an angel" (truly!) would die at age 51 or so from cancer.  He had been a cigarette smoker.

I consider all their lives--their upbringing, their rise to stardom, their enduring even to this year, going on a tour, I think, their last, perhaps.  The harmonies are stellar yet.  The words mostly not the message; the music, the compositions, the sound is what resonates, uplifts, takes the mind easily from such as severe bodily pain, headache, foot pain, spinal pain, leg pain.  Nerves are on fire, burning.  

The music and thoughts of these men's lives--abusive dad, some drug experimentation, drinking, emotional and mental problems Brian had to endure, pass through.  Yes, they persevered in what was a life that had its loopholes in which they got entangled when younger.

On my part, I have endured thus far, but my suffering continues.  There is no way to overcome it physically.  I do feel as if I am wearing down, the muscles de-conditioned from a winter of too much pain and a spring of additional areas of pain, and some injuries included, like slipping thrice on the pole barn roof, or the blood poisoning from the splinter in the left thumb.  Or the on-going flare ups of the right thumb when the drill whipped back on it last December.

I did not cause the car accident years ago. I did not drink and drive, nor did I smoke.  I did not experiment with drugs, nor did I have an abusive father.  I did not run around on my spouse, was faithful, hard-working, serious about God, yes, but fun-loving.  So I have been blessed even though I did get myself into tough situations.  Mostly, the tough ones found me, though.

So it goes, that not always can we say that our lives are as they are, due to something we did or should not have done.  There are other forces involved.  Some call it our destinies; I call it God's plan, His Will, the mission marked out for us.  And, such as with the Beach Boys and others like Glen Campbell, despite some choosing to live in certain health- and morally risky ways, we can endure; we can overcome ourselves.

These musicians are proof of it, as even Dennis, the rebellious Beach Boy who went through a rough drinking period, had started to turn it around some, had come back to the security of the group, was starting to play the drums again, such as he was drumming at the concert in early summer 1983.

Should a hermit be watching and listening to the likes of pop-rock music, involving mind with lives of music stars?  (Yes, I have researched the life of Glen Campbell, too, and have listened to various songs--what a savant guitarist from early age, a poor background, and major issues with drugs and alcohol with a Jesus-conversion experience in post-midlife!)

I have wondered that today, myself. Should I be spending time here on the mattress, listening to the Beach Boys, picking up a few more details of their life histories, reminiscing with amazement that I was close by that very day of that concert--and had not an interest in it then at all.  No, it is the length and breadth and depth of life experiences that intrigue me.

I like to see from near the end of lives, back through, sifting the ashes, so to speak, to glean the bits of gold filling or whatever, that show the brilliance of a life lived that was filled with suffering of one type or another, regardless if we brought it on ourselves or God orchestrated matters to bring us to His Will for us, or a bit of both.

I like to watch the ones yet alive--Al Jardine, Brian Wilson, Mike Love, and now Al Jardine's son Matt who helps with vocals. I like to watch and listen to their old bodies and old voices, the latter amazingly strong yet.  I appreciated deeply the performances of Glen Campbell in later years, especially the documentary of his good-bye tour, suffering Alzheimer's.

I like to see how these people persevered and endured, how they overcame the darkness in their lives, or at least tried and were on their way upward.  What is this hermit's song to be?  A dirge, or one of uplift?  Perhaps it will be more on the lines of "God Only Knows," or "Love and Mercy."  Something simple, yet I had better hang on here today, in order to sing it to God.

Sometimes it is very difficult to endure through such pain.  Perhaps I should take a big-gun med, as this might drag on longer than if I'd just knock myself out for awhile, be sedated.  I don't know.  I hate the medication effects, and I want to try to do without.  Might not be wise nor caring of the body that with prolonged high-level pain is stressed, and then the emotions are stressed.

Darkness is all part of it.  The doubts, the feelings of hopelessness, particularly of if I will be able to do the manual labor necessary here.  Need to do some mowing, finish painting the exterior, the whole interior is studs mostly, with some drywall in some areas, not taped nor mudded yet.  I have a load of laundry to do and hang on the line.  Ought to brush the teeth--the bathtub the only source of water now until the end of September.

Don't ask me--ask Lowe's!  My aunt yesterday questioned me, as if I was somehow not ordering cabinets properly.  "Now, just how is that Lowe's keeps getting the cabinets wrong???"  I responded simply:  "The employees are incompetent."  My aunt responded simply, also, "Oh."  My cousin called today.  I knew she'd talked with her mother.  She questioned me as to why I still do not have a sink.  

It becomes too much to go over the negativity that does not matter, anyway.  Nothing to be done about it but wait and hope and pray that the situation gets worked out, sometime.  Right?  I've ceased being upset about it, but with high-level pain, that is not easy!  

Anyway, to some I might seem an uncommon hermit, listening to Beach Boys music and Glen Campbell songs at this phase of my life and nearly 16 years since profession of hermit vows.  Why not read more into St. Teresa's Way of Perfection  for the third time (does wonders with each read) or try to continue with St. Hildegard's Scivias (Visions)?

Maybe it has to do with just needing music today, harmony, and a sense of the passage of time and lives lived, and some joyful upbeat to remind me to keep fighting the darkness that this type of pain can levy upon a person.  Perhaps it is to remain with a finger on the pulse of the world out there, too, and with people whose lives might have seemed as if nothing ever should go wrong with all that physical health, money, and talent.  

But things do happen, and how joyful to see others try to overcome and that they succeed into their later years or else turn within the time given of shorter lifespans.  I might try Teresa yet this evening; she is not as mind-testing as Hildegard's visions.  For those, not only does one use the verbal spheres of the brain but also the image-related spheres--and yes, I know that "spheres" is not the proper term. I simply cannot think past the headache enough to grasp the physiological term--quadrant is not correct, either.  Hemisphere?  That is closer--lobe?  Maybe.

Well, uncommon or common, it does not matter to me whichever the term for a hermit who listens to and watches some impious YouTube videos on a Sunday afternoon when struggling with darkness, struggling with way too much pain of body and head--which I often categorize as separate from the body, depending on how severe the spinal headache.  Today's has it separated out, for it is too much for me to consider all that pain connected.

God bless His Real Presence in us!  Little children, let us love one another as Jesus loves us, whether we are common or uncommon to our views and perspectives.

Catholic Hermit Has a Helper!

This nothing consecrated Catholic hermit has read numerous biographies of Catholic hermits--saints, mystics, male and female--covering the two millennia.  Often, in the details, it is shared that the hermit had a helper.  The helper would provide assistance now and then, or sometimes more as a caretaker, living in an adjoining cell or room.  If a hermit priest, the helper would often assist at Mass as sacristan and altar server, celebrant being the hermit priest.  Often there would be no others present.

It has crossed this hermit's mind now and then, the thought of a hermit helper.  Why did not God provide a helper here--someone sharing the Catholic faith, with a sweet soul, loving God, and desirous of being a helper.  So a few weeks ago the hermit cast the net again toward the local parish, which the hermit does about once a year.  Not expecting a return call from message left on voicemail, a call did come but not from the office manager.  No, it was a woman who was filling in and heard the message and realized the office manager had neglected to respond.  

So the hermit explained to her that it is seeking a young person who might want a little job being a second pair of hands and an additional back to help the hermit with some lifting, carpentry, and whatever other tasks around this hermitage--bounteous tasks!  (Of course, the hermit did not say "hermitage" nor explain any of its circumstances vocationally: not necessary then.)  In the course of conversation, the woman realized she has a son, age 14, just out of middle school and might just enjoy this as a first job, learning some skills and working just 3 hours in the mornings with much leeway if something in his schedule comes up as well as leeway for the hermit due to the pain unpredictability.  The mother said she'd call back in a day or two.

No call, so the hermit figured God was not going to put a fish in the net.  But two weeks later, unexpectedly came the phone call in which the mother said yes, her son would like to try the job.  We made arrangements to meet; that went well so we set a start date.  On the first morning, the mother stayed the full time as she and her husband were being wisely careful, considering they really did not know much about the person their son would be working with.  And it was providential that the mother stayed, as we needed help heaving up a couple of huge sheets of drywall, as well as carrying in several sheets of green board for drywalling a bathroom....

Then the mother recognized the hermit from the first summer the hermit was here and went to Mass a few times before persecutions began and the ecstatic state during Mass was registering within alarm with what was occurring during the Mass at the altar.  Regardless, the mother recognized the hermit as that person who was relegated to the cry room, and seemed as if not aware during Mass--just silent and there.

So the hermit said it would lay out the situation, as we may as well get it over with, and then the parents could decide if they still wanted their son to be the helper here.  And at that point, the hermit explained its vocation and a few aspects of mystic existence.  Perhaps since we'd been working together for a couple or more hours when the recognition occurred, there was a sense of assurance and a rapport developed even in that short time.  The mother asked questions, and she felt fine about her son returning.  

The hermit and helper worked at various tasks.  Soon the hermit was realizing that the hourly pay and what ever we accomplished (albeit slowly as the lad had no experience and the hermit only what it had learned through study, youtube videos, and observing men workers) was not the point of our efforts together.  No, it has to do with the spiritual life, and what the hermit might impart of its life and what little it is learning of construction skills, and the helper would share his perspective and rather fine spiritual insights, as well as his everyday life.

Thus far we have hung green-board in the downstairs hermitage bathroom, leveled part of the floor in there, hung some drywall on the stairway wall, prepared the rest of the porch for completion, put some insulation in the crawlspace (about one-fourth of the effort completed thus far and messy, dirty job it is) and put most of the house wrap on the last two, short exterior walls needing yet to be sided.

Last Friday, the mother brought the father to meet the hermit.  Yes, he, too, had some questions of the hermit's life and vocation as well as its being a Catholic mystic.  So the hermit discussed and probably said even more than necessary, sharing a couple profound experiences and revealing some of the progression of its existence.  The dad asked about having someone bring communion, for he, too, had recalled the hermit and seemed now to understand better the situation.  This is an exile, and God knows what He is doing.  

[So we shall see if the priest agrees, as another has asked with no success. The hermit prays for the priest, but accepts the exile as willed by God and its spiritual father, for a time.  There is more to the situation at the parish, but it has been touched upon previously and no need to repeat.]

The mom, dad, and the hermit's young helper all left, seemingly all right with the hermit being a Catholic hermit mystic with the incumbent mystical experiences.  That's just how it is for a mystic.  One is born that way and nothing to be done about it but accept and offer oneself to God's will and way.

Over the weekend the hermit wondered if its helper would not be back.  Not sure why the thought was brewing, but it seems as if most Catholics (priests included) have difficulty coping with that kind of reality in someone.  The hermit used to never say a peep, not answer questions, but that did not work out well.  Caused more misunderstandings, and made the hermit seem withdrawn and odd.  For things would occur that others would see or experience, and the hermit would not or could not explain.

The result was a stoved-up hermit trying without success to live a double life, and people misunderstanding and then persecuting, shunning, gossiping, and making up untruths about the hermit.  No, it drew more attention in the wrong way, to what is simply a mystic who is also a hermit.

___________________


A long-time friend called on the Fourth of July.  We discussed the dilemma.  "It has just come to a point," explained the hermit, "that leading a double life is not working.  It did not work with its own children, it did not work in parishes, it is not working insofar as being fully open to God's utilization in its mission and vocation."

"So you are 'coming out'?" asked the friend, guffawing heartily.  

"Well, yes--but only mostly to self and in the rare situation that it is necessary to 'clear the chickens off the street.'  Just get it over with--just answer the questions and explain the situation, and not prolong the reaction, such as if these people decide to also judge and don't want their son working here.  Just lay the cards out on the table, and let them decide, and be done with it."  

Then the friend and the hermit discussed how the gay population and the transgender population are allowed to be as they are.  If people persecute or bash, they are called out as bigots and can get law suits for bullying....  We reviewed the life of Glen Campbell who is stricken with Alzheimer's and deciding to come forward with his illness, to lay it out as it is, and perform for a final "goodbye tour" for as long as his mind could possibly do it.  A documentary is now released, titled, I'll Be Me.  His family was concerned that some concert attendees would laugh or ridicule the errors and confusion the great singer and guitarist would make with his memory issues--could be quite embarrassing.  But people valued and had compassion for his contribution as well as his courage in being himself, in sharing his reality.

"Yeah," the hermit commented after we discussed these examples,"it just seems time to stop using so much energy in trying to be what am not and in trying to sublimate the spiritual and the mystical real self, and it is just not working.  It is not working,  We Catholics ought to grow in acceptance and maybe after centuries of mistreating them and feeling it necessary to interrogate and persecute people who happen to be mystics, and downright abuse them emotionally, mentally and sometimes physically.   But not that they will ever stop.  But it is worth a try to stop the judging and bullying."

The friend brought up how priests and bishops--and there are always those Catholics in the pews and religious life, as well--feel a need to take matters into their own hands and decide if someone is valid or not, especially when it comes to spiritual experiences that mystics tend to have without the asking nor expecting.  

"Those who are deceived or are termed 'false mystics' will be sorted out by God.  Those who are deceived or shamming do not really pose a problem to the Church or others; they are not given power to alter the Church or up-end Her.  The genuine mystics will be sorted out by God, as well.  They do not seek to alter the Church or up-end Her.  They do not seek power.  The only problem they pose is when they are given tasks by God to reveal what St. Paul terms 'blemishes' in the Church or in souls, including a mystic's own soul.  Mystics tend to be very hard on themselves...."

This was agreed upon by the hermit and the hermit's long-time friend.  Yes, those who are deceived by themselves or the devil, get sorted out by and by, by God.  They unravel in due course.  No one needs to wrought up about it, and certainly they nor genuine mystics need to be interrogated or mistreated any more than people who are gay or transgender or suffer from Alzheimer's!

_______________________

Surprise, surprise--the hermit's helper showed up for work Monday morning. The hermit apologized to the mother for having doubted they would handle the hermit's spiritual reality, what is it's "affliction", odd that it may seem.  The hermit had tested this couple, forced out the cards and also showed its own hand.  This couple passed with flying colors.  God is allowing the hermit this helper!

We really cannot be what we are not--and that includes trying not being what we are: how God made us.   Sometimes we just have to lay it out in the open, in certain circumstances, and not be ashamed nor afraid of consequences, of criticism or judgment by others.  Perhaps, too, there is a holy purpose in writing (for this weary mystic hermit: anonymously) of matters that can uplift others and inspire to more faith.

My, oh my, the hermit's young helper has a magnificent testimony to share of how his guardian angel saved him from a horrible, impending accident and revealed his name and gave a marvelous sign that would assure the lad that he had been visited by a heavenly messenger.  Maybe we can get that written this summer and sent off to a publication, for others will be uplifted by his encounter....

Jesus and Me - Glen Campbell - LIVE & Studio versions

Awoke this morning with this song playing in the heart, the words singing in the mind.  What lifts us up to His Real Presence, might also lift up someone else.  We can take our temporal bodies, minds, hearts--and because of Jesus' love and mercy, the choice to uplift and lift up, is ours.  Ask God for His power, grace and abundant faith.  Be lifted and uplift.

Glen Campbell's life story is in this song.  Perhaps it is why there is such appeal:  redemption is ours, also, for the asking. In today's Gospel reading at Mass [John 14], Jesus states His own love of the Father: ...the world must know that I love the Father and that I do just as the Father has commanded me."  

How often do we stop and say within or without, silently or aloud how we feel about Him?  I love you, God!  I love you, Father!  I love you, His Real Presence!

Glen Campbell - Mary In The Morning

The nothing Catholic hermit's usual music fare is instrumental--Bach Masses, Mozart Masses, Requiems, and of the classical genre.  But in seeking the things of God, the hermit also utilizes any of God's Beautiful Creatures' inspired and talented gifts in order to touch upon the holy.  This song, for example, sung by the incomparable voice and guitar talent of Glen Campbell--to the hermit--is a song sung by St. Joseph to the Virgin Mary.

Listeners may be reminded that Joseph and Mary are people, are God's Created Beautiful Creatures with souls, and their lives were real like ours, with the emotions and thoughts and experiences not unlike what any of us find in our earthly journeys.

Plus, with a musical artist (some say a genius and prodigy) such as Glen Campbell, we also have his life journey, his rise, his fall, his conversion and baptism in the water and Spirit, and his then learning to live and exist as born from above, born of the Spirit--redeemed despite great suffering, yet being humbled in the process.  In the realm of the things of God, this rendition becomes Joseph singing to Mary.

Mid-Lent Songspiration: Glen Campbell's 15 Greatest Gospel Hits