On this day in 1988, a major vision accompanied by a locution occurred. I was not Catholic at the time; I would not convert for another 7 years. Dr. H. was working with me on career possibilities and pain management, and I was half-way through courses for a doctorate in clinical psychology in San Diego while finishing up writing my dissertation in administration at USC.
Dr. H. felt that with my extra-sensory perception, along with my life up-ended with constant, intractable pain after a car accident and back surgeries, that I'd be helpful as a psychologist, especially working with people in pain. As it turned out, my periodic and unpredictable pain sieges brought the PsychD. to a close a few months later.
I was doing internship hours and had a client in crisis; but I awoke in a pain siege and had to cancel appointments. The clinic asked when I'd be available, and I admitted the pain sieges can last three days to ten days. Dr. H. and I made the tough decision that this was not going to work out. As it was, the professors were concerned all along as I had to recline on the floor while taking the classes due to the pain from driving to and from the school.
Anyway, on this day, June 24, 1988, I had a vision and locution. It was stunning to both myself and Dr. H. He ended up tape recording, but I'll never forget the impact and how John the Baptist came into view--subtly, in shadow at first, with great light behind him so that I could only see his silhouette--a large and rugged man but what we'd call a sweetheart of a man!
The vision began, however, with an immense bloom materializing in inner sight. I'd never seen such a flower, and it grew larger and brighter. From that golden bloom came the tremendous light from which John the Baptist emerged or materialized. (Describing visions are always inadequate. I may cease writing about it; I usually end up frustrated with not being able to describe adequately what is seen and the tone of voice and words--impactful is an inadequate word to describe the effect.)
John was identified, and he had a message for me with advice. I've probably written it out on this blog or one of my former blogs, or perhaps I read what he said, as Dr. H. gave me the tape to transcribe. John told me he had great warmth for me, that he understood, and that he knew how it was to go on before--to be different, yes.
He emphasized learning from the plants and trees and animals--all creatures of God's creation--and to learn the cycles of nature, for that would teach me much about life and about the spiritual realm. He commented on metamorphoses, and of taking first steps, and to keep progressing, as if on rungs of a ladder, climbing, and then, of course, to simply keep going.
My transcripts are now in a storage unit in another state. But today I've been telling John the Baptist how I have great warmth for him, too. My spiritual father wrote not long ago, and once more he told me how different I am, and that he'd never met anyone like me and so forth.
I do not like to be reminded; my spiritual father and John the Baptist know that I prefer not being different--in the way that they mean--spiritually "different." A mystic, it is; yet when John the Baptist reassured me that he understands and knows how it is to be different, and how he had to live out in the desert--he said the physical desert but also the desert of his mind--it has made all the difference ever since, all these years.
I am so grateful for John the Baptist, my friend, for whom we share great warmth for one another. I feel terrible that I seem to have backslid and been distracted with (such as today--gluing and nailing in stair risers and laying wood flooring on the stair landing, as well as rest breaks to cope with the gnarly, bodily pain) the details of finishing up construction and gardening. Yet, deep within, I know John understands. Jesus understands--the Carpenter of all carpenters!
As one phase ends, another will begin. John mentioned "life": As one life ends, another life begins. It is the cycle of nature, the metamorphosis of body and soul, all this. We repeatedly metamorphose physically and spiritually through our temporal lives and into eternity.
When John had said all he had to tell me that day back in 1988, Dr. H.'s first stunned comment surprised me. He said, "I don't know about you, but if I were you I'd head straight to the library and find out what kind of flower it was that you saw and described!" I guess my description of it while it appeared must have impressed in him an awe; or else, most likely, the Holy Spirit nudged him to tell me to find out the flower's name.
So I went right away to the library, and I asked the librarian where I'd find the flower books. She pointed me to the section of shelves, and I went up to where she pointed, and pulled out a book. I had to start somewhere. I opened the book, and the page shown upon opening the book had the very flower I had been shown in the vision--immense, bright gold, filled with light, and very detail vivid.
The flower was a St. John's Wort. I'd never heard of it. (Now it seems so familiar--I even have some St. John's Wort tea bags I got in Avila, Spain 13 years ago when I took courses at the Catholic university there--on Sts. Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross.) I was amazed at the immediacy of locating the flower, and I read the information accompanying the photograph on the page.
It told of locations it is grown and another name for it in this country--Klamath Weed--and then told the Medieval legend. On the eve of St. John's Day, maidens would place a St. John's Wort flower at their window sill, and the first male they'd encounter the next morning would be the man they were to wed.
I realized that since the flower's name had "St." in front of it, and the information said the flower was named for St. John the Baptist", that I was dealing with something Catholic. (Having been a life-long Protestant up to that time and following a few years, I knew enough that "saint" is a Catholic something or other.)
So I asked the librarian where I could find out something about St. John the Baptist. She directed me to the section of the library where I found Catholic encyclopedias. I looked up St. John the Baptist and read a bit, coming to the part in which his birthday is commemorated in the Catholic Church.
I'm sure by now you can guess that it was June 24.
Yes, I was veritably floating, filled with the numinous aspects that only the Holy Spirit can infuse with such experiences and connections. Awe--that is again the word that probably best describes the effect. Awe and love for God, for Jesus, for the Holy Spirit--and a special friendship made forever with St. John the Baptist.
Here I planted a St. John's Wort. I had planted them in previous hermitage gardens, but only here has it really taken off into a full-fledged shrub of the type I saw in Avila--near end of blooming period as I was there after St. John's Day in 2005. Today the St. John's Wort here at Te Deum Hermitage is blooming profusely.
It is a warm day, bright and intense sunlight, and yes, dear St. John the Baptist, I thank you for the guidance and powerful messages, and I appreciate that you understand what it is like to be different, and that you show the way, the path, the hermit life in such a solid and strong way. And you teach me how to suffer and to be humbled, and to always show the way to Christ in whatever ways I can--quietly, in my words, prayers, and even in trying to do my manual labor omnia pro Deo--all for God!
This day, also, was the espousal of my soul. Christ, my Spouse, forever my love.
God bless His Real Presence in us!
(At some point, I will either hunt in the blogs or wait until I (if I make it past this phase on earth and relocate where my filing cabinet is at hand) can write out and share the exact wording of St. John's message. It had much to it--much good for anyone, of course! He knew how to go on before, he knew how to suffer greatly, he knew how it was to be different.)
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