Catholic Hermit: Hermit or Mystic?

Incline your ear, O LORD; answer me,
for I am afflicted and poor.
Keep my life, for I am devoted to You;
save Your servant who trusts in You.
You are my God.
                              ~Psalm 86:1-2

The question has come in the past few days.  Which is first--hermit or mystic?  Of what order, and why would it matter?

The answer has come, as well.  Born a mystic, thus mystic of greater import.  It is how He created me, who I am.  The joy that I have been experiencing--that simple "happiness"--is due to my feeling protected, safe, here in this place He chose and allowed for me to be in, this Solus Deus "hermitage", as I may call it, or "anchorhold" or "dwelling," or other descriptive word.  Here, I am able to be myself: be who God intended, created, and desires of me, moment by present moment.

And when I write anonymously, I can be myself.  When I speak anonymously, I can be myself.  When I have chance encounters, I can be myself.  I can be who God intended, created, and desires me to be--for Him.  Solus Deus, God Alone...and through Him for others.

Today I had a marvelous time at the paint store.  It is important for me to paint the walls in Solus Deus to the standard of Omnia pro Deo:  All for God.  Yet now, manual labor is back in balance after what I had to learn when not in civilization, when in exile for the 5 1/2 years.  Then I had to be stripped down to the physical and emotional and spiritual nub.  Stripped, given death therapy--necessary, I realize, for this next phase.

I met a woman named Marchella who is a color specialist.  She is far more; I so enjoyed her presence of Spirit. I learned some new aspects of color, and the selections I had sensed best, were confirmed, although she returned me to an earlier trim color of which I'm so grateful.  This place is all planned out other than some surprise color in the bathrooms and laundry area.  I will let the ones unseen yet welcome here, guide me as to what color for these small but utilitarian spaces.

The names are meaningful:  Seapearl, Pale Oak, Cloud White.  I'm using a combination, which she mixed together for me in a two-gallon bucket:  Regal and Aura.  There is always much in a name.  The ability and authority to name aspects and things in the temporal, are gifts to us from God.

I hope to start painting a first upstairs' bedroom, walls only, on Monday.  Tomorrow, the Sabbath, I am returning to what God asks and advises through Isaiah 58. 

If you hold back your foot on the sabbath
from following your own pursuits on my holy day;
If you call the sabbath a delight,
and the LORD's holy day honorable;
if you honor it by not following your ways,
seeking your own interests, or speaking with malice,
Then you shall delight in the LORD,
and I will make you ride on the heights of the earth;
I will nourish you with the heritage of Jacob, your father,
for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.

When in the previous place, out of civilization and being stripped and struggling with immense manual labor, having to literally work my way out of what I'd gotten into--duped, yes, but allowed by God for my soul's good--I worked on whatever days God allowed my body to work.  That included Sundays of which I was not ill with a pain siege or down due to one of several injuries.  But now, there is no dire necessity, no death therapy to learn and experience.

After the paint store, I went to confession.  It is a first sacramental confession in quite a long time, first in new locale. 

(The last confession was in other place, out of civilization, and the priest spoke with me for 45 minutes about his special diet monitored by a hospital, and the weekly therapy sessions, complete with details of the other members in his out-patient group.  It was fascinating in a way, for I learned much about such matters; I've always had empathy for people who struggle with weight.  Yet I realized not a time of sacramental confession.  I trusted in the Lord to hear my sins and forgive me in the days, weeks, months, and couple of years following.)

In today's confession, I briefly introducing myself to the lead priest whom I'd not met.  My confession summed up my having essentially blocked God from full reign in my life, as a spiritual leper, a mystic, and also in the hermit vocation which I now realize is His protection of me, due to the other--the mystic.  And thus, I have been hindering God's utilization of me, very much so.  Due to the other priest in the parish using the term "spiritual leper" (did not want me to feel like one, but...) I finally had the enlightenment that a spiritual leper is exactly what I am.

Glorious!  Truth and relief!  I am so grateful for the priest's either intentional or unrealized, prudent wisdom! 

I am to fully embrace and understand God's goodness in this, surrender to Him as Jesus loves the lepers, and all this singular event brought great relief and happiness!  I am to be for Him who He intended, and this hermit vocation is His way of protecting me from leaching out into the world--and that includes the parish world.

There is a bit more, not much, for I already was taking too much time--maybe even close to five minutes.  It seemed to me that a little background would help, but of course, perhaps not needed at all.  The priest asked me what would be a good penance.  I stumbled with ideas; so the priest gave a penance that was unexpected.  He said he wants me to pray for his parishioners as many of them have experienced loss of what they were used to doing, especially those who are aging and their bodies facing set backs.  He said he wanted them to have the "joy" that I have.

What? I told him each morning I wake up to realizing with an "ugh," that I am still in this body of tremendous, unrelenting pain.  However, I have been blessed to grasp deeply the mystery of love and suffering, intertwined, and to unite myself with Christ on the Cross. 

(It all goes further, but no mention for no time nor really need right then. But it includes my death experience and many other mystical experiences and understandings over the years, about suffering and victim soul opportunities, and even that now being older, I am in the end-run, and can look forward to graduating from this body of pain into eternal love and joy with my Beloved.)

Yes, of course!  I will pray for his parishioners for them to grasp and understand, and to have joy in their suffering, for as Mary told me in a locution within the first year after my conversion to Catholicism, "You will find Him in your pain."  (I did not tell the priest anything beyond that I will pray for his parishioners....)

But since confession and absolution, I have been feeling a sense of some aspect of my mission that I can try out.  It has come with the sense I had when writing about St. Angela of Foligno--the other day in a blog post--that my writing felt constrained and constricted, much as my doctoral lead professor said my dissertation seemed a struggle, and noted that I am a poet at heart.  Well, some of it had to do with my heart being created a mystic heart and a heart longing for Christ.

I'm thinking perhaps it would be more helpful to others to speak more, perhaps, anonymously.  Or at least to write more of what now and then I write in my blog that I will write about thus and so--some spiritual matter or mystical experience which relays some spiritual matter.  Perhaps it would be better relayed by my talking rather than trying to write about what is difficult to write.  Speaking of it could maybe create a better understanding or "picture" of various occurrences and the potential hope it might bring others.

I will pray about this, and probably test it out again, and not fear as the devil tends to use someone or other along the way, to try to intimidate and inhibit.  And that is the very thing that I confessed--that I have allowed my self  to not be utilized by God for His will, and to fulfill my mission that he years ago in my death experience, told me right before He sent me back into my body:  Rear your children and fulfill your mission! 

My children are reared, thanks to His blessings and graces.  But my mission--I have not fulfilled that, or so I am fairly certain.  He has had to spend so much effort in pulling me back to Him from my leaching out into the worlds--temporal and parish both, and especially parish world in these past many years.  If not physically, then I'd leach out in my mind and desires.

I'm a mystic first and always; I am a hermit in vocation as a vehicle for this life.  I will be a mystic after this life; I will not be a hermit after this life.  So I must, it seems, free the mystic to be what God wills, and that may require me to cast the nets, to be more willing to share.  I can give that a try, perhaps even tomorrow.  It is intrinsically linked with God, all that.   And I have anonymity; but if that is stolen or destroyed by evil influence in others, then God will deal with all that. 

If God does not want me sharing in other formats, or at all, then He will surely let me know.  He always does, just like He finally got through to me why He has me to Himself, a spiritual leper, protected and loved. 

I'll pray on this, anyway, and see what tomorrow brings.  We never know the day nor the hour, after all.  Tomorrow I could be able to be my mystic self with His Real Presence and not in this body!  That reality is part of my joy, that is for certain. It is all good; it is all love!

God bless His Real Presence in us!

Catholic Hermit: God Guides Our Steps and Paths

I found this selection of Scripture in an old draft file.  These are the words the Lord gave to the prophet Isaiah, from Chapter 30.

"He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry;
when he hears it, he will answer you.
Though the Lord may give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction,
yet your Teacher will not hide himself any more,
but your eyes shall see your Teacher.
And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left,
your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying,
'This is the way; walk in it.'"

Not only as a nothing consecrated Catholic hermit, but as a human Christian, imperfect yet striving after Christ--I love these verses!

Especially right now, for at this very minute, 29 years ago, my body had undergone 7 hours of back surgery and was in recovery--the only patient remaining with a nurse by my side, readying to send me to my room.

But something went wrong.  I stopped breathing; my heart ceased beating.

I knew what was happening soon enough.  The Lord let me know. It was the most incredible experience of my life, was this death.

Obviously, I was sent back by God and had to undergo another six hours of surgery--the surgeon having been called back to the hospital to try to save my life, not knowing exactly what had gone wrong.

I had planned to write about this death experience and the interior aspects to it, of the miracles involved in each detail.  But of course, the Lord is emphasizing to me all the more, right now, that I am to live in the Order of the Present Moment, just as I had those years ago.  Even planning to write something is planning too much.

As I shared in the rather trivial, previous post, my laptop has for the third time lost its ability to charge.  Right now, it is lowing the last vestiges of battery power.  I will not be writing of the amazing events of the afternoon, night, and early morning of July 28 and 29, 1987.

Perhaps I will write of it in a few days.  I was going to write of it a year ago, and I think I wrote some of the lead-up to it, which has an effect on the power of the miraculous details that unfolded.  

Well, I'll try to write it when (and if!) the laptop gets repaired or replaced.  In the meantime, the above verses from Isaiah really impact my mind, heart, and soul this evening. I will be praying and praising God for the various persons I unexpectedly met in a most close-encounter, pivotal night nearly three decades ago.

Give God all glory in all things of earth and heaven.

Catholic Hermit Has Surprise Call!

The spiritual father (or spiritual director; I interchange the terms, but mine is a "father" as in holy priest, someday a saint) called unexpectedly!  These calls are quite rare as he does not have ready access to a telephone.  He is unable to write much, either.

The call came through mid-brushstroke.  Am putting the final finish coat of Simply White on the window apron-sill with reveal and wrap boards.  (I have yet to measure and cut the window casing boards.  Dave at the lumberyard is teaching me the proper terms which is helpful when communicating or receiving carpentry instructions!)

The spiritual father said my last letter seemed as if I was very low because the test results came back that I do not have cancer.  I was able to tell him that yes, I was depressed over the news.  He understood, especially the more I explained the lovely hopes and thoughts as well as reminded him of the essences of the death experience nearly 29 years ago this month.

One delightful aspect of dying, as I was able to share with him, was that I would be on the other side before him, and I could wait there and joyously welcome him.  But the main excitement had to do with our work for souls.  Since he is a priest forever in the Order of Melchizedek, he could be my priest for eternity, and I could assist him with our work for SOULS!

He exclaimed what a wonderful thought, and that he was sure we would have great times in heaven, and that he, too, desired to be on the other side and was eager for death, as well, even if he did not know what it would be like to die.

We talked on about how it is that the Lord has us yet here, although I could be electrocuted doing some wiring, but not likely.  I do turn off the panel box when wiring outlets or light fixtures, the few done thus far as there really is not one single room in this hermitage that is finished.  The bathroom is perhaps the closest to that, or was, until the third cabinet order was incorrect, and now we will await a fourth try.

I did ask my spiritual father what type of writing should I do?  Did he have anything in mind since he'd written awhile back to "finish the [expletive] house and get to my writing?  He did not.  He just repeated, keep writing!  So for now I will continue on with the blog writing as I'm not convinced my circumstances temporally lend themselves to perhaps more cohesive and thoughtful writing, such as a book.

Yet I will pray about it, and the Lord will show me the way.

We spoke of the verse I noticed from today's Isaiah reading, the one on faith.  If we have faith, we will remain firm.  So it is in faith that my spiritual father and I accepted that we are yet on this earth, each of us in our suffering, and each of us living in more austere hermit-like environments than we could have anticipated, ever.

I am confined to my cell in this hermitage in the desert exile, and he to two small cells in a rather shabby facility of which privacy is not prevalent.  But he manages, and I manage, in faith that is firm and in suffering out our lives in prayer and penance for souls.  

Yes, I am certain it will be more fun when we are freed from our earthly prisons, our suffering bodies.  He is limited in mobility, and I am limited in pain.  Yet, see how marvelous a simple phone call and the communication and joy of two souls understanding one another, although at first he was a bit concerned for most people would find a non-malignant test result to be good news.  Quickly he grasped the point, for he, too, looks forward with desire and longing to see God's Face.

Nausea visits this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit's body this afternoon.  A hermit is to be hospitable, so I offered my gut some coconut water and a pain med as well as a mattress on the floor.  Welcome, friend Pain.  Before long, I will rise and lug in the air compressor from front porch, the trim nail gun, and attempt to nail the trim to the ceiling along the edges between drywall and tongue-and-groove board ceiling.  Then, God willing and body able, I must paint the ceiling a final time.

It will all be prayer.  All of it; and I will include friend Pain in the efforts, since it does not seem to ever want to leave, not even to take a nap or go away on a walk, giving me some rest from hosting.  I will think as God thinks, in Love and Mercy.

Catholic Hermit: A Bit About Mystical Ecstasy

Went to Mass last Sunday--and what was to be the most crowded was thankfully not all that full.  People later remarked it was about half the usual attendance.  Something else of the world going on, they said; the people went to the other weekend Masses.

The spiritual father had suggested this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit sit with the family who had suggested it be in the pew with them, to avert possible concern or misunderstood touching leading to injuries.  So the hermit did that despite not really wanting to be in a crowded situation.  Must die to self.  Must.

Dying to self is not easy.  This hermit thinks it has come to some aspect of dying to self only to discover there are many more aspects yet to death and dying.

Per the past seven years during any Mass in any parish, no matter what, the ecstasy began in full swoop during the first reading of the Living Word of God.  Inklings begin at the very onset of Mass, however.  But the total removal of all physical faculties occurs when the first Scripture reading commences.

During the homily, there was an intrusion by the priest.  It was most uncomfortable--just something termporal that tells a lot about the personality or needs of the priest, thus temporal, thus not bliss.  It is good to reflect upon this own hermit's life and moments spent, day and night.  The temporal does not equate with spiritual bliss, does it?  No, and that is probably a huge part of the cross we humans bear, for we are human and temporal although dying to seek and acquire His love, His enraptured bliss--even if we do not realize this is our desire.  

Often, the temporal distracts us from the reality of our desire for His Real Presence to consume us, to subsume us into His Real Presence.  Those who are distracted and taken over by evil more and more, lose yet more opportunity to encounter His bliss.  But it is not impossible.  With God, of course, all things are possible.

However, this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit has considered that perhaps His Real Presence does not intend to let it know why this ecstasy continues to occur during Mass and only during Mass.  And there is no mistaking it for anything else.  All other has been tested, even to painful injury, even by psychological review, and perhaps the least in some aspects, by a Catholic bishop determining it is of God.

Yet this hermit has asked once more, of His Real Presence, "Why?  What is the point?"  For, it has already been told what is the point for its own self.  He has said early on, This is how I am loving you!
By now, though, it would seem it should not keep occurring, for the hermit has accepted His love and appreciates His love.  And, granted, the ecstasy is beyond comparison to any other mystical experience this side of death and heaven.  

No priest nor bishop questioning the hermit has been able to relate.  One asked, "Does your heart kind of flutter"?  It is far beyond the heart fluttering, so there was no sense in trying to describe what is rather indescribable, much as one can try.  Dr. H. perhaps grasps the closest to anyone, since he is adept and experienced in various forms of the paranormal; he has studied and interviewed and worked with those who have a variety of experiences--not all spiritual, of course.  And there is a difference between spiritual and mystical experiences and psychic experiences.

Regardless, while this hermit ponders that surely there must be something other, something more that His Real Presence desires from this mystical ecstasy during Mass, it may simply be a reminder to all of us of the power of the Mass, and of all seven sacraments as well as the power of His Living Word, in every Mass, from beginning to end, including processional music.  

Plus, about four years ago the hermit was given the insight that His Real Presence notices the lack of devotion and elevation of love for all the Sacraments and His Word--and to raise our devotion and love for all of Him to the level of our love and devotion of His Body and Blood.  This is not to say that we devalue His Body and Blood; but it is true that often we do not devote ourselves or avail ourselves of the other sacraments, and we can tend to not pay attention to His LIVING WORD!

Perhaps there is something more to this gift that the hermit must continue to share with others, such as Dr. H. had suggested awhile ago.  Perhaps there are some healing qualities for others in the Mass, for the amount of power and love of God that flows in such a force during a mystical ecstasy, is, again, beyond description.

Today this hermit could not attend Mass.  It has been trying to paint the exterior of the house, and being up on ladders, tediously painting tiny spaces between siding shingles, brushing carefully the trim paint in tidy lines, and then doing it all a second coat, did cause an increase in pain.  Two days this past week, the hermit could not rise from the mattress on the floor; this morning was one of them.

So the hermit prayed, read the Living Word for this Sunday's Mass readings, left a message on the family's phone with whom it would sit, and began reading the Letter to the Hebrews as a spiritual prayer gift for a friend who turned 88 today.  Each day for 13 days, the hermit will pray/read a chapter from Hebrews and email a specific prayer intention relative to the person's life, relationship with family, friends, and His Real Presence.  Then, later in the day, will email a reflection based on the chapter of Christ's Word, as it relates to the person and the prayer intention.  Fun!

The hermit just finished a birthday spiritual gift for its cousin--pray/reading 1 and 2 Thessalonians in like format, with daily intentions.  The cousin is Protestant and wary of things Catholic; the hermit made sure she knew this was not some Catholic devotion.  In the past, the cousin has asked about such things, for there is a friend where she lives who is Catholic.  Again, the cousin is wary of all things Catholic.  We must be considerate and sensitive.  Bias is often inbred environmentally from an early age; it is as if the person cannot help it.

For some people, such as those turning 90 or some milestone birthday, the hermit has offered daily Psalms--each from a decade of the person's life and each with a specific prayer intention covering each of the person's lived decade of life.  It is good to ponder what types of situations the person may have or actually did live in that decade, such as a Psalm in the 20's for that decade in years, or one in the 90's for that decade.  The Holy Spirit never fails to have a connection!  The Psalm spiritual gift is especially good for those not Catholic or if Catholic perhaps not as into reading the Bible.  Most all Christians are familiar with some Psalms, and they are shorter in some cases, than a Bible chapter.

Anyway, the above is an aside from the topic of mystical ecstasies.  This consecrated Catholic hermit has had to research in often times old books, but written by experts in the field or by renowned spiritual directors or scholars, of other centuries.  Plus reading the experiences of other mystics, now deceased but verified as not hysterics, has been helpful.  The truth is, there is much ignorance about dealing with such matter or recognizing the symptoms of such an experience.  And, it really does not much good seeking opinions from nor reading what those who have never experienced nor have intimately known anyone who has experienced an actual mystical ecstasy.  These folks are dealing with guesswork when it comes to expounding, not that it matters other than if you are one who begins to experience a mystical ecstasy.

A couple of the many books this hermit has found most helpful has been one titled Mystical Phenomena Compared with their Human and Diabolical Counterfeits: A Treatise on Mystical Theology....by Most Rev. Albert Farges, trans. from French in 1926.  [The Catholic hermit recommends the complete version, not the shortened excerpted Chapter X now in paperback.]  Another solid but shorter, excellent coverage of the topic is by the late mystical scholar of Cambridge University's David Knowles: What Is Mysticism?  

On another aside, this nothing consecrated Catholic hermit has considered that the children of the family it sat with last Sunday, are pre-teen and teen in age.  This is an age of extreme self-consciousness and desire to distance from anything different or embarrassing.  So although the hermit has not had occasion to speak with its director again, and considering the hermit most likely has more pain in morning than later in day, it might be best to not sit with the family in sensitivity to the children; and to attend the Saturday evening Mass.  

Perhaps the retired fireman and his wife would sit with the hermit, or better, just the simple sign.  Dr. H. has not returned the call yet, seeking his advice on potential other aspect of purpose in the ecstasy, but it sometimes takes him a couple or more weeks. He is in demand and very busy with his practice.  Dr. H. tends also to be very practical, so his insights always lend themselves to what the spiritual father has to say--who humbly and wisely always honestly says he really does not know.  Yes, he has been the only cleric who has had the wisdom to say he has never known of anything like this, but he has read of it, and most important, he knows this hermit's soul over a long period of time.

If any of this helps others, great.  While there may not be those who have experienced mystical ecstasy, it is quite different than contemplation or contemplative prayer.  Mystical ecstasy is a definite and powerful loss of all physical senses and faculties.  A person in ecstasy could be injured and not feel it during the ecstasy, or someone could try to lift the person or make the limbs move, to no avail.  The pulse is barely discernible, the breathing nearly non-existent in a physical way.

Yes, it is as close to the hermit's documented death experience between back surgeries 28 years ago this summer, as anything the hermit could describe.  But it still is not like the death experience--just close to it.  The death experience is total bliss with no intrusions...unless as in the hermit's case, one is sent back into the body to live out its time on this temporal earth and fulfill its mission.

God bless His Real Presence in us!  God so loves us, little children, and asks us to love one another!

Catholic Hermit's Personal Suffering

[The following is long and disjointed.  Quite boring to any reader and unnecessary, it is cathartic for the hermit in reflection upon its personal suffering, upon yet another day of pain siege, among many such pain sieges in the course of the last 31 years--ever since the life-altering, crucifying car accident and all that flowed from that Golgotha.  In fact, the accident occurred at the top of a hill in Pacific Palisades, CA--at the pinnacle of the nothing's marriage, career, health, and temporal whatever else.]

Yesterday, when in such bodily pain as well as the mind-and-heart pain that physical pain seems to enervate, the soul itself offered prayers and supplications with silent cries and inner tears.  (And it would have been all right to do so with loud cries and tangible tears, too!)  The point is, there was a sorrow within this hermit, hard to describe.

This morning, some of the reasons for the prayers and supplications, the silent cries and inner tears.  It has to do with some personal realities as well as acceptance of seeming irreverence and the matters in this life, that one cannot change.  Only God can effect the conversions; only God can correct the inconsistencies--even those which infiltrate His Church.

This nothing-consecrated-Catholic-hermit is yet again trying to accept the reality of its life of suffering.  The physical pain is intractable and severe.  Intense pain sieges occur more frequently and are exacerbated by activities and noise, conversation or being around people, driving, doing errands, being in traffic, sitting (especially on soft, padded chairs or pews), reclining on soft mattresses of sofas, doing too much manual labor or being in bed too much, as well.  

Standing on concrete floors, or standing in one place such as when cooking or even trying to sew--standing in one spot with sewing machine set up high atop books stacked on counter or ironing board to best height--causes increased pain and can be certain herald of pain siege the next day. Even the tones and calibers of some voices cause increased pain, or the sensed essences of some persons' souls can directly affect the pain level, up or down.

Years ago, the orthopedic surgeon ordered a test to determine the degree of pain this body could detect and handle.  The body was wired to some calibrated machine.  The technician would turn up the power in increments; this then not-hermit-and-not-Catholic-but-devout-Christian was to say if it could feel and could handle the electric pain stimulus and to what degree.

The technician kept asking:  Do you feel that?  Is it too much to bear?  The response was, "Yes, can feel it; yes, can bear it." Finally, after seemingly a long time of increasing electrical volts, the technician exclaimed, "This is too much!  I cannot continue!  We are at "45", and grown mean are screaming at 15!  You have an incredible ability to bear so much pain, but I cannot in good conscience take it any higher!"

After that, the orthopedic surgeon had an entirely different attitude toward his patient.  With tears in his eyes, he apologized for having questioned if the pain was "psychological".  He was so sorry, but this body and this life would not be able to return to its career and not likely any other, for the pain level was too great even though the patient was doing all it could to distract itself.  A second opinion with a noted surgeon at Scripps-LaJolla, concluded the same. That specialist shook his head and intoned seriously, sadly,  "I'm sorry.  You will have to learn to live a life you never dreamed you'd ever have to live."

Aside from this aside, yesterday's pain level and total depletion of energy brought back these memories. Sometimes memories are a good thing, such as these.  It helped the hermit to once more accept that God knows all that is best for us and has His reasons for allowing certain life alterations and experiences. 

Another aspect of the suffering is the guilt.  There is guilt and emotional pain for how the suffering affected the three beloved and beautiful children the hermit was blessed to rear in this life.  At one juncture point, in the recovery room after back surgery, the hermit died.  It went on to an anteroom of eternity, in which it encountered Love:  God, the Source of All Beingness and Energy, the Three-in-One.   The hermit was all set to go on into such purity of joy and love beyond all telling.  But just then, God showed in a thought-flash, the images of the innocent little children being with their other parent who had left; God showed the person's terrible temper and then suggested fulfilling a mission, for later on.  Oh.  Then God asked if wanted to go on or be sent back.  

God Is Love, and the hermit could not say which for its heart was torn in so wanting to continue on into eternity, free of pain and with love-defying-description.  The most it could thought-flash in answer to God was:  Whatever You will, O Lord.  Immediately the soul was returned to its body, watching from above as it re-entered the hospital, then the recovery room, seeing the surgeon berating the anesthesiologist for bungling a resuscitation attempt.  It saw the nurses hovering over its unmoving, non-breathing body--one with hand held slightly above the body's nose and mouth, trying to detect any breath. 

Then the hermit "saw" and "sensed" it re-entering its own body and immediacy of tangible, horrific pain.  Unbeknown in that moment of time, this soul was wedded for life to this tangible pain.  There is more to this lengthy and meandering tale, including a rushed second surgery to ascertain and correct what caused the cardiac arrest and death--and the medical staffs' wonderment at the miraculous return to life. All that is another story, not for now.

The guilt, though, that the hermit feels is that the life it had to live of substantial, constant, bodily pain, made life erratic and altered for the children.  While those years with the children are the prized and beloved of its entire life, the hermit tried so hard to provide, sacrifice, and make what was horribly sad and depleted from active, financially stable, two-parent home to a financially strapped, disabled, one-parent home--and that one parent erratic in learning pain management, and losing its career, its insurance, its ability to live a "normal" life.

The hermit tried so hard to provide and to uplift creatively, so that the innocent children would not be deprived to a pathetic degree, of opportunities and of sheer delight and fun.  Why should their lives be altered and hindered?  

The pain sieges were far more frequent then.  The rawness of pain was new; the body, mind, heart, and spirit were unaccustomed to such constant crucifixion.  But the guilt--or whatever it is--comes in when it realizes now, that the added activity, conversation, cooking, driving, disciplining, attempting to maintain a house, to explore other means of increasing the drastically lowered income post-divorce and career--caused increased pain and more pain sieges, more days in bed, and the tears and agony involved, as well as being given injections of pain medication that would sedate their parent for two-to-three days.  

Sometimes their parent would be in bed for a week or more; sometimes kind people from their Protestant Church would take the children for those days, splitting them up but providing more rest for the parent and a diversion from an agonized and bed-ridden parent.  Life was lived with others having to fill in for all kinds of activities, responsibilities, and financial assistance.  

Anyway, as the children grew, went off to college, and then out into their successful adult lives, the now-Catholic-hermit was able to physically endure more--due to the silence, solitude, and lessened activity and responsibilities due to being physically alone.  And that, of course, is rather a sad thought and reality.  It makes the hermit weep to think that what it loved most in this world, were hindered in many ways due to this parent rearing them, not the other who ended in life being financially successful and quite "normal" as far as a creature adept in the temporal world.  

But as for this parent, with the deep, spiritual reality of how great and real God Is, Who revealed Himself to this soul and this soul met Face to Face in that death experience--the parent became very religious, very spiritual, very dedicated to the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  The motto-purpose for its life and in rearing the children manifested:  To Glorify God.

Yet now, the parent has obeyed His Real Presence not just in entering the Catholic Church nearly 21 years ago, but also in answering God's call to the hermit vocation--a call that was expressed some nine years prior to the Catholic conversion call.  And there are times in which it still feels guilty, somehow, that the adult children do not understand, or perhaps feel they are not loved, nor grasp the pain situation, nor the interior, supernatural realities.  Two have abandoned Christianity and God altogether.  The third is Christian but not at all impressed with the Catholic Church--and that due to the various persecutions of the parent that were rather public and obvious when they occurred.  

That this mistreatment of some Catholics by Catholics is sadly typical of the life of a Catholic mystic, it is not something the adult children accept.  It is hard for the hermit to willingly and graciously accept, at times.  Why does it have to be this way?  Ah, to learn obedience through what is suffered, to pick up the cross daily and follow Jesus Christ. And mystics are not exclusive to the Catholic Church, although they seem more prevalent, or at least written and studied.  Still, this is His Church, the one He instituted, even though He has allowed reforms along the way--caused both by abuses of some in the Church hierarchy and the power-lust struggles of some political leaders. 

Regardless the many aspects of individual and family suffering, no matter the misunderstanding of the suffering and of how hard the parent tried to do all to provide a beautiful childhood and instill the Christian tenets and ideals, to live by example--imperfect but sincere--a Christ-loved life, it now does not seem enough.  But it is not over yet--not until we each meet our earthly end and come to the eternal judgment of His Real Presence.  

And, if the adult children were close and cohesive, and living the Christian lives of which they were taught and lived as children, and all of one faith--perhaps the hermit would be drawn out from its vocational calling as a consecrated Catholic hermit.  The temptation would be great to do so. The Lord has told it in the witnessed presence of Dr. H., that if the physical pain were eased, this soul would be back out into the world--and the Lord did not will that.  It is so true!  Any dollop of doting love and affection, of being wanted and needed, can quite melt a parent's heart, no matter how old nor how adult and independent are its children! 

At times--even in this current pain siege--the hermit does wonder if the hermit life was ordained for its being long, long ago.  Surely this is so:  When the soul was placed in its parentally, conjugally-conceived first-cells. Surely so.  But at other times, the hermit yet wonders why such painful strictures set and strapped firm? Then it marvels at just how silent and solitary, prayerful and reverent, the hermit must be--called from the world in not what seems stricter, but what at times seems strictest separation from the world.

Perhaps the answers, aside from God's not wanting this soul to be tempted back out into the "world", reside in His Living Word.  Turn to His Real Presence for answers, not to the memories, guilts, and questions of the past sorrows of this life.  Trust in Him; He has the answers.  

Be thankful for the reality that all is only temporary in this world; and that there is yet hope for our souls, for our children's souls, for all souls Christian and not.  In praise and prayer, keep faith, hope and charity alive!  Remain in His Real Presence; remain in His Love!

Catholic Hermit Shares Bits of This and That

I still am working up the emotional energy to continue writing about the death experience.  I wrote in a couple blogs of the lead up, but I yet will write about what occurred in recovery room and after, including the actual dying process which for me did not include extensive time in heaven.  But it is yet worth writing and sharing, for each person who has these experiences can add a bit of information to the process that so many fear.

This past week I had a couple of nights and a day in civilization.  I was called upon to watch my grandson, age 7, for a day.  It was very good to be among some accepting people, and share love and our Christian values.  Plus, I so enjoyed a shower and delightful living conditions.  This body needed a break from heat, hard manual labor, and minimal type food.  Upon return, I am ever reminded of how the bulk of humanity lives in such conditions as this hermitage--or live in far worse!

I have been praying much for those suffering with Ebola virus, including the two Americans being treated with experimental drugs.  I think so of the people in West Africa who do not have the drugs and who suffer in harsh conditions.  Thanks be to God for missionary medical workers who are with them, trying their best, to save lives and provide any comfort possible.  It is a horrible virus with painful symptoms and a terrible suffering leading most of the victims to death.

Yet, when I consider the death itself, I am blessed to know how joyous it is for those who die.  But I pray for cures and for people to live.  We are born into this life to fulfill our missions, and mercy and compassion are part of humanity's hope and faith and love.

My grandson had plans for us the other day.  He started off making "Gaga" breakfast in bed, bringing a bowl of cereal, container of yogurt, and some water on a metal pizza pan.  We then walked a ways to pick some berries; his mother wanted some for a recipe she planned with dinner.  As the grandson and I walked, we talked of many things. 

Somehow, the Lord put into my mind the reminder that every step we take, every thought we make, is either a step or thought toward heaven, or a step or thought toward hell.  I shared that with the lad.  He is perceptive and quick.  The next morning I could remind him of it when he woke up "on the wrong side of the bed", so to speak.  He pulled out of a bad mood immediately with the reminder of our choices using our free will given by God.

I have pondered the truth of the choices and each step and thought, as I have slipped too many times to count, with not good thoughts--not thoughts that were taking my mind and soul toward heaven.  I had upsetting and negative thoughts, feeling beaten back and discouraged, criticized, and pre-empted in several circumstances.  Not good!  I have turned a corner, once more, with the reminder of how I can choose steps and thoughts toward heaven in each present moment.

A few mornings ago I decided to meet some people who gather at a coffee place.  They are Methodists, and I decided to cast the nets in the water to see how the encounter might unfold.  I was brought up Methodist, and I know the goodness and Christian values thereof.  There were just three of us, and it was a delightful hour of chatting--nothing intense, nothing spiritual per se, but helpful and encouraging.  I am casting nets to see if His Real Presence is going to put a fish or more in them.

I have pondered St. Paul's mission and his involvement not with the Jews but with the Gentiles.  Perhaps my encounters have become too focused on Catholics alone and have ignored what God may wish of me to be more universal in outreach, or to have my light shine in other directions, too.  I will see how this goes, but for now one hour a week of gentle conversation with kindly people seems a good net.

As for where God has called me,  19 years ago, into the Catholic Church, that has not altered.  But my being accepted in parishes has come to empty nets time and again, of sorts.  I did review the tremendous vision and locution involving Jesus Himself, over two years ago.  He specifically showed me Catholic parishioners, mostly women in the foreground, and they were nastily criticizing, judging wrongly, and rather envious and mocking in tone.  Jesus said specifically that I would be criticized and judged within the Church but I was to pay no attention to them.

I have not done so!  I withdrew to protect myself and also to protect them from continuing the abusive behavior, parish by parish.  It is not easy when one is shunned and not really welcome in deed, even if a priest now and then might say I was welcome.  When one extends peace and love and joy, and it is not returned, Jesus in Scriptures says to take back our peace offered and go on to the next place.  I am praying and discerning this Scripture along with His direct message to me of not paying attention to those Catholics who He said would criticize and misjudge me.

And, He also said I would feel very alone.

However, the hour spent in lovely conversation with other Christians, was positive.  I'm not sure how it would be if they knew I am a Catholic.  Isn't it rather a sad situation that Christians of varying re-formations as well as the many varying parishes in the Catholic Church, the varying rites--can have bias?  There is entirely too much division and fussing, or so it seems.

I have to admit it was quite refreshing to be with people who are not caught up in competition with one another for prestige, position or any power.  Unlike the fearful ones I have encountered, or those who judge me, or even insinuate (such as another hermit does without using my name directly) as to mental illness and other unhealthy morbidity, and of causing scandal to the Church.  This other hermit is rather tricky in ascribing such ills.  This is no doubt just part of what Jesus told me to pay no attention to, but the other, even if not at all accurate, is a contrast to steps toward heaven.

The Methodists with whom I shared a cup of coffee in charitable conversation, were devoid of such silly and nasty aspersions.  I suppose partly this is due to their not having hermit vocations, canon laws, or various spiritual experiences in their "system" in how they function as Christians and as an ecclesial group.  Of course, there are many other differences, and I am not suggesting any better or worse; but it is an observation.  I certainly appreciated the breather from scrutiny, regardless!

In the meantime, a young woman called--she has called before and is by now a spiritual friend.  She expressed how lonely she feels despite being a mother and wife.  Her husband is gone quite a bit.  But she feels a different kind of loneliness and longing, and she had called a priest hoping to be able to talk with him and get some counsel on some issues as well as spiritual situations.  He was too busy.

I suggested we read a book together, across the miles.  I do this with an older woman.  We read a few pages or chapter or two--nothing rushed or too taxing as their schedules are always more full by far than my hermit daily life!  So the young woman and I have chosen Rev. Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange's "Mary the Mother of Our Savior".  Garrigou-Lagrange is a great Dominican theologian, Thomist in background and theory, and was a favorite professor of the late John Paul II--as well as of many who find his writings outstanding.

Yes, I explained to the young woman that from my experience thus far, there are few priests today who have the training from seminary or time with experience in their priesthood, to be able to do much wise counseling or who have the time to do so, when a parishioner calls.  They have perhaps one semester training in counseling from seminary, and about one semester in the spiritual or mystical life, such as doing an overview of Teresa of Avila or John of the Cross in that semester.  Otherwise, they have many courses in administration skills for parishes, and a broad spectrum of other such needs including finances and managing lay staff.

So, I said she will be better served to turn to the time periods in which priests were trained more in the spiritual life and to those who we know long after their deaths were exceptional in their ability to guide souls to union with God.  It is not to blame the current priests or seminaries, but it is the reality of our times.  Thanks be to God these other persons left their writings and wisdom in the ways of the spiritual life, Scripture, mystical life, prayer, virtues and even how to combat the devil in spiritual warfare.

We will see how it all unfolds, our reading.  In the meantime, I have some manual labor and much watering in this drought area, and much praying and pondering to do today.  And perhaps, later, if  not too hot in here when the body needs rest due to the physical pain, I will attempt writing the recovery room and death experiences of 27 years ago.

Catholic Hermit Shares Death Experience

Today I am going to write about the death experience of 27 years ago on this date.

First I will share the forewarning, the presage, that His Real Presence gave about three or so months prior to the emergency back surgery.

It was early April.  I have the exact date in one of the journals I kept at the time, in which I wrote nearly daily, of my life and including encounters with God in dreams, visions and locutions and temporal occurrences.  But those journals are packed away now, and something like this one remembers as if happening this moment, anyway.

Yes, it was early April in 1987.  I lived in a small house in Southern California with  my three children, ages nearly 4, just 9, and nearly 11.  My back had been injured when in a car accident with my husband at the time.  The accident occurred August 22, 1983 when we lived in Pacific Palisades, CA.

The accident occurred late at night, as we had been to a Linda Ronstadt concert in LA, having been given tickets by someone my husband knew through his work as a school administrator in a prestigious district.  I did not know who was Linda Ronstadt at the time, and I really was not interested in such things, but I went along to please him.  As for me, I would have been as content staying home with our children, having a quiet evening.  We left a couple minutes early because my husband wanted to miss the crowds leaving at the end of the concert.

I had prayed a couple weeks prior to the event, the accident, that God use me however He willed.  I had been feeling strongly that somehow I was not living the lift God wanted of me.  I never said anything to my husband or anyone else.  I just felt that my life was going in some direction that was not His will.  My prayer was brief but heart-felt.

The accident occurred just three houses from the house we rented.  I won't go into more details at this time, but about four weeks later, my husband walked into the house at supper time one evening, after work, and announced to me he did not want to be married anymore.  My back and neck had been in pain ever since the accident, and life was never going to be the same.

So, about three years later, after a contentious divorce (that I had thought and hoped would go amicably but had not--not that I had not wanted it to be simple, but we cannot control how others will behave and choose), I woke up one morning prior to work, and it was as if I was coming out of anesthetic.  The air, the scent, was cool and that of an operating room or recovery room.  It was as if I had come out of a surgery, and I heard a man's voice.

Of course, I was on my bed in my room, with my three children still asleep in their rooms in our small house that I purchased with great difficulty, and moved into, six months prior.

But I heard this man's voice that I did not recognize, but somehow knew was a doctor's voice.  He said with an accent I did not recognize:  She is here!  She is with us!  She is going to make it!

That was all.  I wrote this in my journal.  I may have mentioned it to Dr. H. who I had been seeing for help, along with my daughters, in getting through the divorce.  But as for me, I had been visiting Dr. H. for a few months due to the awareness, finally, that my inner life and perceptions were unusual, and he had an uncanny gift with the paranormal, as God would have it all unfold.

I then proceeded to forget about the waking vision and locution.  I was suffering from increasingly painful back and neck pain.  I was very tired trying to keep working as a high school teacher in addition to caring for my beloved children, and at the same time dealing with the ex-husband who wanted  not to be married to me and was with other women all along and in yet anothe relationship, yet very much seemed intent on harassing me and making my life difficult.

A couple of weeks later, maybe more, on the last day of school prior to spring break, my back gave out so completely that I spent lunch break at the high school, on my back on the floor of my classroom.  For the last two periods of the school day, I tried to remain standing, but I announced to my students to do the assignments I had written on the board, and explained I was in such pain that I had to get on the floor.  Yes, it was extreme, but the pain was extreme.  The students were stunned but thankfully and compassionately obliged.

After the final bell, I made my way to my car in excruciating pain.  Somehow I managed to drive to a chiropractor who the school principal had recommended.  The chiropractor refused to treat me due to the amount of pain I was in. I somehow drove home, picking up my son from preschool, my daughters having walked home already from their elementary school.  They were to visit their father that weekend and did so.

By evening, I called the on-call doctor, and he met me at their office.  He asked me if I had been drinking, as I was so out of it with pain.  Yes, I said I had had a glass of wine.  He was not my regular physician and assumed I was more drunk than in pain and assumed I'd had more to drink than my honest reply.  I managed to make it home and to bed.  I remained in bed until the following Tuesday, when my regular physician who knew I was not a drinker nor a malingerer, and who also was a fellow church member (Lutheran at the time), told me he wanted me in the hospital for tests and rest.  Other church members and neighbors made arrangements to care for my children in their homes.  My daughters and a babysitter I'd hired had already managed my son's fourth birthday party, as I lay inside on the bed, suffering terribly.

Once in the local hospital, after a CT scan, my doctor said he found a huge bulge in my lumbar vertebrae.  He hoped traction and bed rest and pain medication would help.  I called my parents who drove from their home in Arizona and cared for the children for the rest of the week while I was hospitalized.

I was unable to return to work for a couple more weeks.  My doctor made arrangements for me to see a friend of his, an orthopedic surgeon.  He took additional scans but declared my spine "normal."  He said he thought my pain was emotional, as he was aware of the hardships endured with my ex-husband's on-going harassment and my life as a single, working mother.

The pain continued, but I gutted it out, returned to work, only to collapse again.  I hop-scotched my way through the end of the school year with more absences than work days.  The principal put me on employment probation and gave me low evaluation marks.  Two years prior, in one of the most prestigious districts in the nation, I had received high marks.  The fear of losing my job only added to the stress, and I myself wondered how I could be in such physical pain if my spine was "normal."

My doctor had me visit yet another orthopedic surgeon.  He flirted with me, actually.  He reviewed the scans and said while I might have some back strain, I'd certainly never need surgery.  His remarks were similar to the surgeon I had seen following the accident.  That surgeon had done tests at Cedars of Sinai Medical Center, and had said the pain was probably just emotional due to the then pending divorce.

So, I had to try to accept that somehow the pain was psychological, yet I knew otherwise, at another level.  I had many dreams and visions during that time period, but I prayed to keep going for my children.  I even accepted a summer job teaching education administration graduate students at San Diego State University, but after two weeks on the job, my back gave out yet again, and I could not continue.  All through this time period I spent much time in bed or on the floor, and my prayers were to endure for the sake of my children.

Finally, when I reported to my doctor that the Lord showed me my lower back as a mass of burning embers, he sent me to yet another orthopedic surgeon.   That surgeon looked at the first surgeon's simple x-ray, ran a pencil down it, and declared, "This is no normal spine.  See how these vertebrae jut out over a fourth an inch?  How have you been walking for the past three years?"  He then proceeded to explain, in exasperation, that all too many doctors assume women's pain is emotional, when in reality women tend to bear far more pain than most men can begin to endure.

He schedule me for additional tests utilizing high-tech equipment at the time, requiring injecting dye into the spinal column and using imagery to better detect the situation.

When I was on the gurney during these tests (conducted in an operating room with me sedated but conscious), he had interns with him for a learning experience.  I could hear the men gasping and making exclamations as to how awful it was.  "There are pieces of disc all over the place!" I heard one say.  The surgeon came to my side and told me he was sorry, that he had not realized it was as bad as it was, and he would give me increased pain medication and was scheduling me for surgery within two weeks.  He added that if the medication did not help the pain, to call even if the weekend.

The next day, a Saturday, after a night of horrific pain, my dear children asleep in their beds in the next rooms, I called to say I could not bear the pain.  He told me to make arrangements for my children, to have someone bring me to the hospital on Monday, and that he was scheduling me for emergency surgery.

God sent people when I needed them most.  A near stranger, a woman who I'd recently met, helped me with the children.  I called my parents and made arrangements for my three children to fly back to Indiana to spend the next few weeks with my mom and dad at their lake home.  This woman drove them to the San Diego airport, and I prayed for my children to arrive safely, which they did.  I had to but endure the next two days and nights of sheer agony.  I was supposed to have given my own blood in the off chance I would need a transfusion in surgery, but the blood center would not take my blood due to the level of pain I was in.

The night before the woman was to drive me to the hospital, I had crawled to the living room and was on the floor, looking out the patio doors and into the night sky.  I was so alone.  Suddenly but peacefully, a light appeared and started to move, slowly making the sign of the cross.  It did this three times.  I looked about, trying to see if it somehow could be a star or some car light, but no, the smog hindered sight of stars, and my house was at an elevation above the street.  No cars had passed, and headlights would not be seen regardless.  At that time I was not Catholic and had never made the sign of the cross.  But with that light doing so, and three times, I knew it was God reassuring me.

In the morning, the woman came and drove me to the hospital in a neighboring city.  A nurse met me as I was being wheeled onto the surgical floor, literally holding a hypodermic needle in her hand, filled with morphine.  I said I did not want morphine, that I did not want to become "addicted."  She informed me quite firmly that people who do not need pain medication are the ones who become addicted, but that the surgeon had ordered morphine immediately upon my arrival, and that he wanted me built up and rested prior to undergoing the surgery.

Since I was unable to give blood, this woman made a call to her husband who happened to have my more rare blood type, and he and a friend who happened to have my blood type, each donated blood on my behalf.

This is enough for now.  That day was July 27, 1987.