Bonding with Ezekiel

Of course, this is more than just physical pain.

One doesn't awaken at 3 a.m. (has it been a week?) hearing a hymn and having the reaction that one would not choose it for its funeral Mass. But lovely, and the lyrics noted as helpful.

Still can't recall the hymn, now, but might if heard it again. Obviously, nothing is not meant to know. Enough to trust. Perhaps the point intended is the heralding of this particular death.

Very difficult to go to Mass this morning. Might be the last one. Might not. Upon waking wondered what day today and then thought of it, and then thought why does it matter, other than to know that tomorrow is confession if can make it to Mass, and to visit the da if it can make the drive, and it doubts it can. But maybe. Whatever is on God's nothing list.

Then thought of Ezekiel. While lying in bed, though perhaps it is time to return to sleeping on the floor. And then considered the closeness to Ezekiel, and how he is a real, live man who lived and spoke and suffered and died. And he is here now, and would be quite willing to help nothing if nothing but asks for the friendship. So nothing was very still within and without, and began to bond with Ezekiel, all in faith and love, as we are souls imbued by God with the ability to have great faith and to love, in order to help one another and to appreciate our missions--all of us--for we all have them by, for, of God.

At Mass, the separation from that particular world continued, and nothing felt the sensation and thinks it mentioned this in yesterday's voicemail, a brief thought to the confessor. Seems nothing needed that little link, as a kind of thread-tie to that world, where (in part) strength and assurance and hoped-for answers lives and moves and has Her being. The world of the Church!

So the sensation has moved up into the head, sort of toward the top section, but still hovers some in the forehead or down a bit, as for a long time it had been at the point between the eyes, just a little above where the nose adjoins. The sensation used to come and go, but lately it has been there much. This morning it had shifted. It is an odd sensation, and nothing tried to listen to the Word and homily, and the Words of consecration. Praying inside, also, with the sensation. The canon lawyer was concelebrating, and nothing is content that he has not spoken about the other matters, presented nearly a week ago. And now, it is too late, for we have shifted, ascended to other aspects.

On the drive home, nothing considered the homily, and the only recall is that God loves us and is here for us. All homilies seem to converge, to shift and ascend, emanating from this truth.

Then nothing thought of high-ho-the-derry-o, the cheese stands alone. And it realized as it passed the juncture at which nearly a year ago, a bestowal descended, that maybe this is the point, now, in the truth of this current experience of whatever God is doing with nothing--that it is being detached from the ones who are very much in the world of the Church and are that world's officials. So it thought of its Bishop, and how last week it called and left a message with the secretary, that nothing really would like to speak to him, that there is something of great personal importance and would appreciate his thoughts. But then, if he is too busy, to please ask him to pray for nothing, as this is of great personal importance to nothing. And he is surely too busy, and nothing suspected that God would not want or will a response anyway. Whatever this experience, is all superfluous to such requests.

Also, too, from the canon lawyer. And also from the da who nothing called a few days ago and left a message of whatever. And of the two little messages, just a thought or so, left for the confessor. Nothing knows from that shifted sensation point, that the Lord is for now, not willing nothing to remain bow-tied with these few, holy threads of that world. Is it Solus Deus time?

And Ezekiel bonding time? And whoever else of this or that world with whom nothing is to be bow-tied? Perhaps it seems strange to the one or two who might read this. But now is a(nother) progression, and one must be agreeable to be connected or disconnected, with whom God chooses, and in whatever world, even the world of the Church's alter Christes (is that the plural form?)

It isn't that nothing is not part of the other worlds, the secular and the Church and etcetera. It means nothing observes rather than actively participates, and nothing is as one dead and looking into the scene, of floating in and out, the bulk and core unseen and unsensed by those around. The physical pain lovingly assists in learning to float, and very much the sensations assist--if not manage--the reality of the effect.

Quite peaceful, actually. And practical as well as spiritually beneficial. To whom? Well, to SOULS. To all the styrofoam peanut souls out there, living and dead--and those yet to find their way into bodily boxes and shipped to earth, and then shipped out at some point. And in process, these souls exist and seek God whether or not they realize they are seeking. And those who at some point decide cognitively that they do not want God, even if they have at some point found Him--those are the ones who blow away, get stuck in the grass or shrubs for awhile, and do not disintegrate easily, but do so, eventually. Just out there. Gone.

The others are bagged up and sent on their way in a kind of disposed from functional, physical utilization. But they have purposeful destinations, and necessary disposal points. These styrofoam peanut souls remained in their boxes and did what they were intended to do, and made the transport of some good (such as Rosa Mystica harp), all the safer and better, being a part of useful service to the world, even bringing joy to man and from man's hope, to God. They did what they were willed to do, and be'd it, also.

When they are bagged, eventually, sooner or later, and dispensed from active duty, they continue to exist, as they have a point of purposeful disposal. They just do not exist in the same way, for the same doing, but yet be. And it is the transition to what they are to be, and how to do in that being state, that remains a mystery to others, for they cannot comprehend if they are not yet being dispensed.

Ezekiel was one such styrofoam peanut in his day of active duty. Then came the call to be bagged, and perhaps he was in a very small bag, maybe a bag of a small handful, or one or two. He had to go out, alone, like one who later would be thought an Ezekiel-come -to-life (and who got his head chopped off and placed on a platter). But that one, too, was bagged prior to his physical death.

Being a bagged, styrofoam peanut soul is nothing to fear or resist. One remains yet awhile, and exists in a place, and learns what God wills it to be, in whatever function of essence. Mostly it is prayer. And it prays--maybe in that place of sensation that shifts--much as styrofoam peanuts shift and seem oddly nebulous to the touch, the sight, and make no sound other than strange, squeeshing shush-swishes.

So, that is what is happening to nothing. It is all right. The last time the canon lawyer said anything at all to nothing, he said nothing would be all right, that God was in control. Yes, yes, 'tis true.

A being-bagged, nothing styrofoam peanut soul squeeshes a sigh of peace. No longer does it cry out in silent mind thoughts: I need my Bishop! I need my Bishop! Where is my Bishop when I need him? Where is my confessor? My da?

No, my little nothing styrofoam peanut soul, they are not here for you in the way you call out, for did you not see the incomprehending-but-compassionate look in your Bishop's eyes, and didn't you sense the silent stance of the confessor, when you tried to explain this suffering? They cannot and do not comprehend, but they love you and care; they are not able to reach in and say what it is, for they do not experience the same. It is not necessary for them at this time. They must remain in the box for now, as they have work--their missions--in the world of the Church. But did not your Bishop tell you, awhile back, to use your gifts, your capacities, for the Church? And so you must, and in the way you are being shown.

And so, also, you must be tagged, bagged, and taught to float amidst the sensations. And you have already learned, some, how to float in and out, with a sameness of outer appearance, indistinguishable from those in the box who someday will, also, be bagged for this or that purposeful, other use.

Now, go out and plant the small Stoneham chameacyparis, for you can use the little hand trowel and get down on knees to ease strain on your back, and then plant the dwarf Nana, and that might be enough until more.

The cell phone with terminal melanoma rings: Someone from the world of beloved family asks: "Are you feeling better?" Oh yes! Doing well and adapting...! What's going on in your life? What's news?~~