Flannery, Come to the Rescue

When the hermit was encouraged to write once more for publication, the hermit mentioned Flannery O'Connor as an inspiration. The confessor mentioned that Flannery was a favorite of his, and that she would make a very good mentor for the hermit for various commonalities of circumstance.

It was mentioned that Flannery was quite a controversial figure.

The hermit supposes this is one of the shared traits, although the hermit has never tried to be in the thick of problems. The hermit just ends up in the swirl, unbidden.

Here is a favorite Flannery quote:

"There are some of us who have to pay for our faith every step of the way and who have to work out dramatically what it would be like without it and if being without it would ultimately be possible or not." (Flannery O'Connor to novelist John Hawkes)

For awhile the hermit thought the only thing to write about would be "Suffocation."

But now, the hermit is opening up to the possibility that if God desires not the hermit to be utilized in any active or interactive sense in the Church, to not serve in that manner, and that God is opening doors in the secular world, then perhaps God desires the hermit to write more for the secular market.

The novel has never been a favored genre of the hermit, and all has been spiritual and Catholic writing, but perhaps Flannery holds a key here, as she wrote for the secular market but with deep religious (and Catholic) themes.

The call to Flannery is made, late at night and on-going off and on.

In her correspondence, Flannery once referred to herself as a literary hermit. Indeed she was, living with her mother amidst hired hands and her peacocks on their rural Georgia farm. Flannery suffered much physically, and yet she had a PLACE--a place amidst the literary geniuses of the '50's and early '60's.

She died of lupus at age 39 in 1963 or 1964--August 4, the hermit thinks. And there is great kinship with her on many levels. And also with Caryll Houselander who was a mystic who never fit in, not really, until she found her PLACE with a group in London, a group of Catholics including Frank Sheed.

Gift in Confession

The confessor listened and counseled in the hermit's darkest hour. And then there was a gift given besides the intangible, and this is a card with a quote of Julian of Norwich.

"Truth sees God, and wisdom contemplates God. Of these comes a marvelous delight in God, which is love."

The hermit must ponder these words, and pray for love. Love has been smothered by the hermit's desperation to be accepted, rather than to simply accept.

Love requires accepting God's will, especially when His will makes no logical sense to the human mind and vision.

There is gratitude for this card given from the one who seemingly has the power to lift the suffocation but does not. For it is not God's will that he lift what buries the seed into the darkest soil, in order to die, and for God to bring forth new life. This is done of love.

Death is born out of great love.

The hermit's initial reaction, however, was that Julian of Norwich was an anchorite. She had her showings. She had a place in the Church.

Darkest Hour Before Dawn

The hermit had some lessening of the darkness one day, and in the middle of the night awoke with ever darker darkness, plummeting the soul into blind despair.

Who knows why these darknesses come.

Perhaps it had to do with the realization that the hermit is not going to be, ever, utilized in the Diocese. There will be no jobs, no volunteering, no nothing--except, of course, for now, and the most important active work, to be an extraordinary minister of the Eucharist. There is a glimmer of chance that the hermit will be able to proclaim the Word.

The hermit expressed the darkness in confession. The confessor had so kindly listened and spoken with the hermit the night before, on the phone. But there was no indication or movement otherwise for the hermit's involvement. What the adult daughter had said rang true: the Diocese wants regular people to work with regular people.

The hermit is not regular. The hermit continues to have no place. It has all been so negative, so painful, so suffocating. Realizing that one's God-given gifts and talents and experience are not going to be utilized by what one loves most, that one is not going to be able to serve due to being different, is agonizing.

Until one accepts, that is. So the hermit is working on acceptance, and it is coming along nicely.

The confessor pointed out that the hermit IS consecrated, that the vows have been RECEIVED by a priest. But still, something niggled inside and caused the hermit to say that this is not enough, somehow, but could not explain why. The hermit still did not have a PLACE.

But the hermit is part of the laity--that is the place for the hermit.

No, the hermit is not really part of the laity. The hermit is irregular.

The hermit blurted out, finally, that there is no room for a mystic in the Catholic Church.

But the confessor said of course there was and has been through out the history of the Church. Well, this hermit, this mystic hermit, has no place.

Not yet. But it will come if Jesus desires a place for this one who is very much outside the center, on the peripheral, and now very free, for the first time in years.

The confessor had said that the hermit must be "yourself". Ah, yes. So the hermit is working on this, too. And rather than work, it is more a shedding of much past negativity, of memories, of letting go of the struggles to try to fit in, to try to be acceptable or even prove that one can be regular if given a chance. That chance is not being given, nor will it be.

As the adult daughter said, when regular people are around the hermit much, the spiritual qualities come out even if not spoken, and this makes regular people very uncomfortable, and even priests are uncomfortable.

The hermit understands and does not want to make others uncomfortable. The hermit now comprehends and accepts that regardless talents, degrees, gifts, experience and skills--no Diocese would want to utilize the hermit in any active sense. The hermit might be seen but not heard, so to speak. It is all right. The hermit accepts, for it is all God's will.

There is much thanksgiving now, and a rejoicing in being set free to discover God's will in the parameters set forth. Praise be to God for the adult children who came to the rescue with clarity in expression and repeating what they've said before but the hermit did not want to accept, and for the confessor and VG who although didn't express it directly, did not respond when the answer would otherwise be what the hermit was starting to see meant "no."

The confessor/VG did encourage the hermit to try to write for publication again. In the meantime, within hours of the acceptance of being the seed crushed, fallen to the ground, buried and died--God opened up some other jobs, more out in the secular world, and more incredible interactions with souls out in the secular world.

Dawned, dawning, dawn arrives.

Fiscal Responsibilities of the Hermit

How is the hermit to subsist? If a canonically approved Diocese hermit, one fills out various forms if the Diocese desires, and waivers the Diocese from financial responsibility in any manner, including health problems.

The vow of poverty is slackened, as the hermit must maintain his or her own living quarters, unless the Diocese provides of its own charity. The hermit may be given tax exempt status--but not a non-canonically approved, or so it seems. I would have to check on this, but I if my memory proves correct, one must be a Diocese hermit, canonically approved and publicly consecrated, for this blessing to be bestowed.

For a non-canonical, privately avowed and consecrated hermit, all else remains the same. One must provide for oneself. This may include having a job. Many receive pensions or are on disability, as is this hermit. However, more social security quarters are needed for medicare coverage, so the hermit may get a part-time job that is pleasant and positive but creative yet mindless. This allows for praying on the job, and pondering. Plus, it provides some human contact. Some hermits need more than others. God allows.

The hermit should have a will with all matters of executor, power of attorney, and health care representative designated. This hermit has all that in place and has had for several years. It was best to change from a family friend attorney to a Catholic attorney, for the desires of the hermit were better comprehended by the Catholic attorney, and he will dove-tail well with the Catholic financial advisor-investor.

Since none of my adult children are nearby, and the closest is perhaps the busiest and hardest to contact by phone, this hermit has a non-family member for the required end-of-life duties. The person will receive payment for the time and effort, of course, but given circumstances, this arrangement is best for now.

The hermit built a coffin several years ago. The wood is lovely, and the top is a 112-year-old door from a Catholic Church located a half-block from the hermit's childhood home. The bottom is an old cellar door pilfered from a trash pile down the street from the church. The sides and ends are facia boards, tulip poplar, and pry-barred from the second story of the ancestral farmhouse, razed by the school district. The hermit had permission to take wood from the interior, and that has since been given to a life-long friend who does woodworking. The hermit moved and decided to not take the wood along. It is beloved and well-used by the friend!

This is the coffin in which the hermit will be buried. The gravesite is a family plot, and the hermit will no doubt be buried beside her father, as both sisters are married and live in distant states. Of course, the adult children could die first and spouses want them buried in the family plot. We never know and must live our lives in the Order of the Present Moment, in truth, love, beauty and goodness.

The hermit may donate the house to a charity. Tax laws require that the mortgage be paid at least for five years, so there is time, God willing, for the hermit to determine which charity. Giving the house to the Diocese is an option, although it may be better to donate it to a woman's care center. Perhaps they more need the asset. Usually the little guys are in greater need. They are often times more frugal with expenditures. Often there is waste in large charitable groups or dioceses. But they don't mean to have waste. It is again a matter of judgment and personal view, for it seems that we Catholics ought to be able to give to the Church without being coaxed through an elegant dinner, by invitation-only to the high-rollers of financial esteem and worth. But these generous souls appreciate the dinner and give in kindness.

This hermit plans to have the viewing right here at Agnus Dei, as the coffin is now being used as a lovely comfort chest in front of the windows overlooking Lake Immaculata. Several orchids use this coffin as their stand, and so in essence the hermit is "pushing up orchids" already. It is hoped that my children or anyone who has memories--and grievances--will be comfortable in the furnishings, and hold a candlelight vigil, working through any forgiveness process necessary for my faults and sins done unto others. Then, there would be an hour viewing prior to my funeral Mass at the Cathedral, and burial in the family plot in a nearby town. It is a Protestant cemetery, but it is only yards from the convent property line and about as close as I will get to being buried near my holy and beloved spiritual father who is chaplain of the convent. So, this hermit will be blessed with being engraved between the earthly father and spiritual father, and close by the earthly mother (on the other side of Dad) and the spiritual godmother buried on the convent grounds. The beloved Protestant upbringing will mesh with the beloved Catholic conclusion.

Otherwise, as far as fiscal responsibilities go for the hermit, budgeting monthly income and planning for final illness and death arrangements--the process is fairly simple but needs to be in place.

The Hermit Folds the Nets

After much net-casting, or at least a flurry of waiting for a couple of nets to be hauled in, the hermit has decided to stop fishing. It was getting too messy scraping out the remnants of the dead, bloated and rotted fish from the netting.

An adult daughter says she prays for me each night to find acceptance, and I think she means that I find acceptance as to my state in life and place here at Agnus Dei, for there is not going to be acceptance from others. I know this now. Perhaps the prayer was for me also to accept that I would not find acceptance. Regardless, I was touched deeply that she prayed for me nightly, for this request, as it is what I so very much need.

The pressure and temptation is rather great to give up all, not just fishing, but to give up the Faith! Such darkness today is a kind of shock, and all about me it is as if the Lord is pulling others away, others in the Church.

I did a bad thing today, in that I was unkind in a way, but I also hauled in a net that was remaining out there in Lake Diocese. It was a net that I decided I didn't want anything to do with, and that was developing basic programs for mini-courses for the common folk. The woman, in an e-mail back, clarified what she meant by common folk. She meant the uneducated such as her mother had been, but had simple faith. I won't touch any of it, but she also felt I had criticized her when I said I didn't want to view others as "common folk" but as souls capable of climbing the holy mountain to the summits. Anyway, I got myself in yet another swirl of controversy, which always, and I mean always, comes back at me like a fish hook in the eye. I was going to send the Bishop a letter trying to explain how I feel, but in light of helping one person be able to wear the martry's crown, I had best just lay low.

So I've hauled in the nets, and I'm accepting the status, and I'm grateful for the reality check and the constructive criticism from my adult children, and I wholeheartedly agree. I also know that since I prayed to God so fervently, and others have been praying for me so fervently, that God is willing me to be more a recluse than what I willed. The only little job for me may be that of gift-wrapper at a nearby department store. Gift-wrapping is a positive task, and I can pray while wrapping and bless the gift as it goes out, and pray for the recipients.

In fact, it was my outstanding financial advisor who is a devout, life-long Catholic, who suggested I do something totally outside the diocese. This fits the bill. He also told me to start looking forward to going to Vienna next spring, as a dear young priest from India has invited me where he is stationed as a missionary of St. Francis de Sales. This is hopeful. It is not a net cast by me, but a fish put in a net offered by him.

The hermit must count the blessings, and in humility accept the faults and failings of the past, even of this very day, for I should not have sent the zinger regarding "the common folk." But I'm thankful that it meant only the uneducated. I wonder how many are uneducated in the Diocese? But I don't think I'll ask.

My cousin called, and we had not talked for many days. We each have some therapeutic needs, and we each decided to take the "cool it" approach and to change our attitudes into the happy, positive, upbeat, inside-out-joyful women that we are!

Green Spiral at Death's Door

Yesterday the rare white fir called Green Spiral (another weeper for the Mary Garden) looked quite brown. The day before it looked a little brown. I thought it had enough water or too much, but yesterday I realized it needed much more--was crying out "I thirst!"

I pray Green Spiral survives. It was the only tree of its kind in the nursery, and it is a beautiful tree even at death's door.

The hermit otherwise needs to water some rose bushes. Just one more rose bush needs to be moved and trellises built. Rain is to come, hopefully, soon. The Weeping Bald Cypress needs water, also.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta often inspired her sisters to think of Jesus' thirst and to live their difficult lives in doing all they could with the poor to satiate Jesus' thirst. I suppose for a hermit, His thirst could be slaked with deep acceptance and the living of the rule of life, of much prayer for the poor and all people, all problems, for family and friends and strangers.

Today the hermit got the habit fairly well established. Took back the rust-colored garb and got sale rack black and brown tops to go with the seed-buried-in-the-soil theme. Of course, I couldn't resist some pj's for my grandchildren, hopefully the kind my daughters will like for the babies. A book caught my eye, too, and although I need to curtail the spending, it seemed a worthwhile purchase for a touch of love later on to a child from its grandmother.

Although a misfit and not a particularly good mother, I do care and love, and so can do what I can do, and only that. It is not much and not enough, but it is something. I pray it slakes some thirst out there, for someone. As I checked out, I laughed with the clerk who had patiently credited the several returns, and now was folding the items I purchased. We laughed as I said that this is how the store keeps people coming in and out, stays open, and provides jobs! I have one or two items to return, and I will mortify myself to not take anything back out, or if so, limit myself to two items, hopefully something for possible guests here at Agnus Dei.

We slake Jesus' thirst in many ways throughout the day and night, and it can be at a check-out counter as well as anywhere. The cross is where ever is humanity, and a tired clerk thirsts for a good laugh and someone who acknowledges her weariness after a long day.

The Two Flew Over Lake Immaculata

Andrew and Mrs. Andrew flew over Lake Immaculata this morning. Yesterday I saw them for the first time together, and today they spread their wings for another low-lying swoop down the full length of the pond, then amazingly banked up the slopes and tiers of the Mary Garden, and winged low through the Our Lady of Fatima Rose Garden on the side of the house!

The Our Lady of Fatima Rose Garden is dedicated to my late mother and father. I miss them terribly, for no matter what, they loved and supported me; they believed in me.

They did not love, support or believe in Catholicism, but after six months of not communicating, of sending back my children's photos and refusing to keep any writings, including a bound historical biography (the only book I've written), they renewed contact. I think my mother felt sorry for me when I was having a horrendous pain siege and decided to send Christmas gifts after all.

The other day I lunched with a long-time elderly friend, at the house of another friend. Each time I've been with this nonogenarian, she brings up a setting indelibly etched in her now hazy mind. She remembers visiting my mother and father at their retirement home, and of dining at a restaurant with many friends at a long table. She recalls my father crying due to something, and this time she could not for the life of her remember what that something was. But I remember, for she has mentioned it in past years.

I never saw my father cry. Only during a visit the year after I converted to Catholicism, in a last conversation with his mind marginally lucid, he did get tears in his eyes. He reflected that his mother never allowed him to play with Catholics, and with that he simply gazed off, not looking at me, tears welling in his eyes but never spilling out. But with his friends, probably the summer before when I had converted, he was able to outright cry.

In a dream after his death, though, I was with my angel, and there was shown my father, and he could see me through a screen and I see him through a screen, and he was so pleased and proud of me, of the place at the foot of the table, which the Lord had set for me--my father's and my Father's daughter.

I was with my father all night before the day he died, rubbing his forehead softly, singing to him "Be Not Afraid", and witnessing a miracle and sign around his bed in the middle of the night. My mother could not take listening to his breathing; my sister and her husband could not take it, either. But I could listen and be joyful for his approaching death, and I wanted to remain with him, to soothe him in whatever ways, and to make sure the nurses would give him pain medication when he needed, which he did very much.

Two years later my mother's turn approached, and oddly enough she wanted me to be with her in her final illness. It was not an easy time, and she still did not like what I had done, my becoming Catholic. But, she gradually allowed me to read aloud from the Breviary (Psalms, prayers, and bits of Scripture), and she enjoyed a couple of books I read aloud to her: St. Francis de Sales Art of Loving God and St. Therese of Lisieux's edited book I Believe in Love.

I recall one morning walking into her room, as I went daily and spent hours doing as she desired most of the time, and regretting that I had not patience to do her desires all the time--she greeted me with the words "You are an angel!" The day before she died, when she was barely able to speak any words, she told me with tears in her eyes (and I rarely saw my mother cry, either) and deep emotion in her voice, "I love you SO MUCH. I love you SO MUCH. I love you SO MUCH."

It made me feel guilty, as she did not have such deep love for my two sisters, and they felt it.

Yesterday after the anniversary Mass for couples in the Diocese, I went to the reception, although I'm sure I wasn't supposed to, as it was not for the extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion to crash the party! But I really needed a drink of champagne after a painful recognition of how I hurt others. I visited with a couple who were celebrating 25 years of a second marriage. The waiter thought I was the man's wife! "No," I replied with laughter, "I'm a divorcee of 23 years!" Later, the photographer wanted my phone number. He asked about dinner, and I said I have not cooked it. He asked if I was a bad cook then, and I said, "No, I am an excellent cook but obviously make a very bad wife."

I got my photo taken with the Bishop. The couple asked him if I could, and he relented. After, I told him that I'd had a rough time of it that day, and revealed a touch of how I have been feeling, that I have no place. He did not seem to comprehend the depth of what I was saying, and this is understandable in such a brief snippet of someone's pain. I concluded then with simply telling him that I have been praying to the Blessed Mother to come and get me, and to my mother and father to come and get me. He said that this has to be in God's time and that would be a while. I said, "No, soon!"

Yesterday for that Mass I wore the beautiful necklace my father gave my mother on their wedding day. It is a gold lotus with a large, pale blue gemstone and a delicate gold chain. He gave it to her over 66 years ago. I wear this to every major feast day Mass and it seemed fitting for this anniversary Mass, since my parents were married for 60 years and six months.

I have read that Great Blue Herons remain faithful to their mates all their lives. Their life expectancy is not long; they are not quick birds in bulk, but they are very quick in reflex to movement and fishing. It is just that they cannot rev their engines fast enough for take off and quick get-away flight. They soar through life with wings flapping heavily; they glide gracefully but somewhat slowly until the energy builds for the distance.

They remind me of my parents. I must also be reminded for my own marriage, a mystical marriage which does not include meals prepared by me or dinners with photographers, nice as they might be.

I must remember each moment day and night, Who is my Spouse and that we fly together over Lake Immaculata and everywhere, here and there.

This Hermit's Rule of Life and Etcetera

The hermit has been dumping much personal flap-trap lately, and so here is something a bit more useful, perhaps, or pertinent as to what the hermit ought to be focusing.

As to the feeling of being shoved to the edge of cliff and pushed off, or of being buried alive or suffocated, the sensations are very real, but one must remember Jesus' grace at Nazareth: He walked through their midst.

In the realm of the Diocese and the misconceptions, the seeming shut down of acceptance or utilization, the hermit must walk through the midst and remain in mind, soul and body at Agnus Dei, or in errands within the context of the rule of life and vows adopted and approved by the Spiritual Da, and with word still pending from the VG.

Rule of Life

Practice the Nine S’:

• Silence
• Solitude
• Slowness
• Suffering
• Selflessness
• Simplicity
• Stability
• Stillness
• Serenity

Live out these Scriptures:
Gospel of St. John
Epistle to the Hebrews

Overview: Fear God and delight in His commands

Motto and Mission: Just adore Him

Daily Routine: Mass, prayer, spiritual reading, manual labor, correspondence hospitality, rest, and confession weekly

Private Vow of Consecration to the Eremitical Life (December 29, 2000)

“I, [full name including confirmation saint name], offer and present myself to the goodness of God to serve in the order of an anchorite [adapted this from an old anchoritic rite]; and according to the rule of that order I promise to remain henceforward in the service of God through the grace of God and the guidance of the Roman Catholic Church and to render canonical obedience to my spiritual fathers.

“I vow to devote my life to the praise of God and salvation of the world through a stricter separation of the world, the silence of solitude, and assiduous prayer and penance.

“To the perfection of charity to which I am called as a faithful servant of my Lord Jesus Christ, I avow myself to the practice of chastity in celibacy, to poverty in body, mind and spirit, and to the obedience of my will to the Divine Will of God and His Church, in the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

I added this parenthetical information for the VG, just in case he or the next Bishop decide to let me have a corner of the seed's burial hole:

[This vow could be repeated, if permitted, as temporary vows or simplified more. My financial advisor could provide proof of solvency, and I am willing to sign a waiver of liability as in the form in the LaCrosse guidebook or one legally drawn.]

Is This God's Will?

I am still wondering about the situation here, and wondering if I've made a huge error in remaining in this location, with the sense of suffocation and being buried alive.

I came to these parts 17 years ago from God's desire to bring my children here. It was a good place in which to rear them, and on my disability pension I could provide far more for them, get them through school, with their helping out with student loans that they have had to pay. But they are all through college and on their own now. And none of them live nearby.

I don't blame them. The past 17 years for me have been difficult in friendships and fitting in. Just recently, I've had to once more face the situation, and I am seeing that it is the mindset of the area, perhaps, of fish being in a small pond thinking they are in a large pond.

I am a small fish and not interested in whether or not it is large or small pond life, but I would like some semblance of acceptance, of fitting in, of not constantly being shut down, no utilizable.

Frankly, I can see that I have not been happy; the negativity has pervaded even though I smile when out and am cheerful, interact as best I can with others, few as the occasions are. I thought it was the small hometown, and I should have moved from it sooner than I did. My relationship with my son was perhaps damaged beyond what can be repaired very easily or soon, due to the persecutions and the upset caused for both him and for me.

Now, there is another turning point, and I realize that the problem is not solved, even if the outer appearances seem all right.

Would it be better for a hermit to be in an environment that is more accepting of the person's essence, than to remain where it is negative and suffocating, at least from the view behind the scenes in the Diocese? For it very much is that the kiss of death given, the shut-downs, are continuing and life here has ended for this one--any life within the Church other than going to Mass and coming from Mass, remaining there as a ghost looking upon the scene, in such isolation as to seem dead beyond dead.

Only God has the answer. One priest in confession quoted some saints, and then said that they blessed God where ever they were. One was exiled; the other imprisoned. But I am neither. I have the freedom to move, although it would mean much effort and heavy financial losses, which are not prudent. But, if I've made a mistake, then how long must I remain in it?

Here, the cost of living is low; there are a couple of people who might not want me to leave, but they'd get over it in our age of cell phones, internet, and snail mail. But I have been shut down from any utilization in this Diocese, and I think rather than specific circumstances, the root of it all is that of mindset. The 17 years I spent elsewhere, in a more accepting area, and gained much experience and education, is off-set by 17 years back here, and without ever fitting in, and in fact, extreme persecution all the way along.

God needs to tell me what He desires. If it is death and suffocation remaining here, and by that means of being only in and for Him, then I must know and I will remain and die.

If it is to be close to Him and yet breathe, I need to know where He desires me to move. For, I cannot "do" an extreme amount anywhere, with suffering considerations. But I do agree very much with my spiritual da that I would feel much, much better if I had something positive to do--and what I think is that even without anything to "do", to just be accepted and have some loving kindness, but mostly a little acceptance and positives, would go a long way in healing.

So tonight I pray again before I go to bed, and I ask God to tell me in whatever way He wills, and I will do His will. I bind the devil from my night, from dreams, from any way that might interfere with God's giving the message to my soul which desires very much to do as God desires in this matter, no matter what.

Thoughts on Bl. Mother Teresa's Darkness

Am over half-way through the book of Bl. Mother Teresa's darkness. My dear spiritual da insisted that I read it, for I have had much darkness for several months, and only blue-moon's of peace for several years.j

In the making of a saint, after the person has died, author's seem to create reasons why the person may have had faults. Mother Teresa's impulsivity and impatience are diminshed by a vow she made years earlier, to refuse God nothing. This is so, but I wonder if the saint herself would now appreciate the simple truth that saints have some faults that are simply human?

With her darkness of soul, the sense that her faith was dead, and the abject loneliness she felt for years--much is made by others today that it is a great virtue that she subjugated her feelings, that she did not want anyone to know that she forced her smile.

Now the attitude is that it is a great help to people to know that she struggled with her faith, that the smile was forced and hid the struggling, no doubt exhausted, woman within.

Obviously, she did not want her interior to be known by the entire world. The atheists and agnostics would wave the information like flags over their disbelieving gathering spaces.

But one wonders how the sisters would have been affected if she had let this struggle be known. Perhaps they would be discouraged. We don't know. Perhaps others would have been encouraged, as we are to be today in knowing that she had trials such as we encounter or may encounter in our climb of the holy mountain. Some may have felt at the time that there was no way they could be like Mother Teresa, and perhaps the standard set by her outer resolve and the high bar on the hurdle, made others feel, "Well, she's a saint. I have so many faults and have darkness inside; I could not possible be that holy."

Perhaps Bl. Mother Teresa did not need to so guard her secret life within to the degree that it was hidden. Or, perhaps now the standard should not be continued, of keeping one's trials buried.

In conjunction with these thoughts, one may view into St. Padre Pio's life. His struggles were a bit more obvious. He was faulted for his snappiness and harshness. He had such physical pain that a times it was humanly impossible to bury the anguish, the fatigue, the sharpness. He also read into souls with a raw openness that would sicken the many who have not this spiritual "gift". And what a "gift"! Such pain to see the lies people tried to hide, the evil in their lives they tried to cover over; but he could see. And he perhaps justly snapped their lies right out of their minds and mouths.

People who live in lies don't like to have their ugliness ripped open and exposed. They don't unless they are in some corner of their deep, black hole desiring forgiveness and conversion.

For those who suffer spiritual trials, it is now a blessing to have Mother Teresa's true self revealed, for there is much good in knowing. Especially, there is good when half-way through the writings, she comes to a point of recognizing that her interior struggles and loneliness are the way in which Jesus suffered and suffers still, and that sharing His interior anguish is doing something beautiful for God. Her smile then became more genuine, even though the interior suffering continued.

If it weren't for the letters of Mother Teresa being published, I would not have found this saint to be one I with which I could relate much, for she seemed beyond human, too good to be imitable. It is good to ponder all things in one's heart, but it is good to be like Mother Mary whose sufferings were known and exposed, at least in Scripture through Simeon's prophecy. We can somewhat imagine what it would be to have a sword pierce one's soul.

For those who suffer spiritual and physical trials, knowing St. Padre Pio's interior and exterior struggles emboldens the courage and perseverance to endure. Knowing that he smiled and joked, and cared for the sick and suffering through the hospital built and his daily life of hours in the confessional, brings the reality of a human saint before us--one who could not hide his inner or outer.

My spiritual da has commented that Padre Pio's body is corrupt, and he thinks it is due to his harshness and snappiness. I do not think so, not that it matters to Padre Pio or God or anyone what I think. But I believe that God gave over his body to ashes as a gift. In his life, for fifty years of suffering the wounds of Christ, doctors, priests and any humanity who could get close enough in person or through photos, examined and probed Padre Pio's very painful wounds. Now he can rest in peace, his body not poked or torn-apart tested.

Encouragement from the Spiritual Da

The hermit's spiritual father sent a letter full of wisdom and encouragement.

He quotes a passage from Guidance in Spiritual Direction by Doyle.

"It is related that God revealed to Macarius, the anchorite of Crete, famous for his austerities, devotions of sanctity, tha there were two married women in a neighboring town of greater perfection than himself. He left the desert, staff in hand, in search of them. He found them, unknown to fame, unmarked by beauty or fortune, practicing the plain virtues of humility, patience, charity, self denial and resignation, doing their domestic duties with cheerfulness, and maintaining a devotional spirit by ejaculatory prayer and frequent conservations of soul and body to God."

My Da then added:

"In today's Mass readings Paul tells Timothy 'I want you to make progress that is evident to everyone. It applies to us. We must make progress in the way of perfection.'"

Then he concluded with what, no doubt, was meant to humble me, for it shames me to think how poorly I behave, how weak in focus and conviction, and how unwilling to die:

"I value your visits. I am lazy. I can get into a comfortable rut. Your visits inspire me and shame me. You do a tremendous amount of good everywhere."

This made me cry.

The timing of everything needs to be sorted out, prayed over, and I think I am to be buried alive right here, out in the Mary Garden of Agnus Dei Hermitage, and probably on a miserably hot day.

The Seed Buried Alive?

The hermit did not get the job with the Office of Development.

With many years of experience in the public sector and in doing interviews, the vibes could read between the lines. A new angle was presented which was not in the job description or first interview. But a friend who knows the situation said she could have told me, had she known the personalities involved, that I would never get that job. I guess I knew it, but it was worth casting the net.

A possibility was tossed out for consultant work, in developing what was termed "basic" programs for the "common folk."

My financial advisor, a very devout Catholic and outstanding businessman, did not take to being considered only capable of basic and for the common folk. So it goes. It is a mindset here. Obviously, my comrades and I do not fit the bill for basic and common folk.

We are souls, and as souls, we are thirsting for more and capable of all that God intends, which is far more than basic. In fact, as a possibility thinker, and one who loves the verse in Hebrews that we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed but of those who have faith and possess life--this hermit is convinced that anyone can be led to the base of the holy mountain, and with encouragement and some tips, can begin the climb, and keep climbing, and climbing and reach the pinnacle.

Yes, this is what God desires for souls, even common folk souls.

Other friends have advised me to not help develop basic programs for the common folk (even if this would ever become a solid offer), for if not allowed to implement the program, the past experience has been, and statistically so in program development, that the program is not as successful, and if not successful, the blame is cast on the project writer. But it is probably nothing to busy my mind with, anyway.

The hermit must decide to either cast another net in this Diocese, cast a net in a different Diocese, or give up and give in.

Perhaps this is what God wants, after all, for this hermit: to be buried alive.

This recent net hauled up (and I had to query the Office in order to find out; otherwise the net would remain in the water with the dead fish bloating and decaying) has yielded dead floaters. It was more shovelfuls of dirt tossed in over the seed lying in the little hole, still able to see light and feel the rain and absorb the air without having to do so through soil enwrapment.

There is an on-fire parish in Greenville, SC: St. Mary Church. Oh, how I salivate over their website. Part of me wonders if I should e-mail and inquire if they would be open to a hermit, non-canonical but privately avowed and consecrated--a hermit who does not look the type, who has skills and experience in the spiritual life but remains hidden behind a facade of culture clothing, smiles, and well-trained manners, who is capable of social and cultural chit chat when required, and who otherwise is an immolation in suffering and prayer, in silence and penance.

But, my financial advisor does not like the idea since I just plunked quite an investment in Agnus Dei. Could I go part of the year, invest in a condo downtown Greenville? Is it time for a road-trip or a query letter? Probably not yet. Not sure I'm ready for more dirt to be tossed over my seediness. Not ready to be buried alive, to have that avenue halted.

Over a year ago I tried to drive there, but the transmission mysteriously had a rare break-apart, and when it was repaired and I tried to leave again, it immediately broke apart again, with pieces falling apart, and my mechanic confused as to why, and the man repairing it having a heart attack. I rode the city bus for several weeks, awaiting the car to be repaired. Finally, the weather was too bad to attempt a road trip to Greenville, SC. Then the process began to anchor down here, where I am being buried alive, where in the past 12 years every single net cast, every apostolate attempted, has ended up with nothing but dead, bloated, floater fish.

Today I called the diocese paper editor. I suggested a column I have in mind to help further the Lord's desire for contemplative life--at least a smidgeon of it--dangled out there for the active Catholics. Yes, the paper is mostly if not all about active life. So I mentioned some thoughts and ideas, but when I said I would desire my pen name be used, he seemed to balk. He didn't seem to comprehend why a hermit would desire hiddenness, particularly in his own Nazareth. But, he said to send a proposal, and they would meet in November, and he would need to run it by the Bishop, and he was unsure about using a pen name (even though I explained how it works and why, and how it was no problem in a neighboring city newspaper when I wrote a weekly column prior to my conversion).

The conversation felt like another shovel was being loaded with dirt, ready to be thrown over my seedhole.

Perhaps I should query a different Diocese for that, also. Unless I am to acquiesce to suffocation, to being buried alive, to die once and for all.

Wafting as a Wafter

This morning after Mass my confessor was available.

Besides my impatience, I commented that I am not pleasing to Jesus, that I seem to be wafting, that I am a wafter. There seems no real purpose for my existence, that I remain on the periphery of this existence. I added that I hate these clothes, but I am trying to "play the part" (ie. to conform and blend).

He wanted to know where this is coming from, why I think these things. I could not say. I'm not sure why except from viewing my life. It is hard to fathom that God would allow me to have several degrees, much experience and skills, and then to not utilize them. But later, driving back to Agnus Dei, I thought of Fr. Thomas, a newly ordained priest in India who just a couple of weeks after ordination was in a car accident, returning from yet another ordination of yet more priests (India is burning with the Faith, at least in Kerala). He is paralyzed from the chest down and has been in a rehabilatation facility in Spain. I don't know how he is doing now, but the goal was to teach him to do as much as he could for his personal needs, and to return to ministry in his priestly vocation.

My confessor then spoke of a couple of hermits he knew. When he said "hermits", once again I was stunned, for I still do not think or picture myself as a hermit. He said the hermits he knew were rarely seen. They lived out and away from an Archabbey, and they came in to concelebrate Mass every week or couple of weeks. He said just seeing the hermits, and knowing that otherwise they were praying for him, really impressed him. He said they were doing something that he could not do.

Well, I wanted to interrupt and say that it seems I cannot do it, either! It seems like that, some days. And it is also a point to consider my reaction when he said "hermits". I do not go softly into this dark night, as a supurb writer once wrote.

He was trying to encourage me, and he reminded me of the good of prayer and of what is going on that may never be known. I told him of the thoughts of being a seed, and of wondering if the Holy Father was ever given the time to be a seed, to die in the ground, to remain in the ground and never know what the plant would bear, or even know there was a plant above ground. I mentioned that my confessor himself is on-call day and night, and is not allowed such time. He responded that it is in his prayer that he goes deeply into the quiet and still, and it is there that he is like a seed buried. These times come and go from being a seed to having more of life be the plant.

I said that I must be a seed that stays in the ground a long time, disintegrates, and maybe without much of a plant if any. Some seeds are like that.

But again he reminded me of the interactions with people, here and there, and of coming to daily Mass and simply being seen at daily Mass. Yes, this is so. I do have some interactions, and I thought of the strangers I meet at TJMaxx, although I've ceased that wafting except for a trip to return items!

Today the hermit wafts to her hometown, nearby, to get a haircut, teeth cleaned, and then to pick up a long-time, very elderly friend and have lunch at yet another woman's house, in the country. Yes, the younger woman often takes jabs at Catholicism, or asks pointed questions such as how do I think about the priest scandal; but this is all part of the Order of the Present Moment, and I must meet these friends and the Present Moment as if approaching God in prayer--balanced prayer with much praise and thanksgiving, some contrition, and some supplication.

The Hermit Waits

Not patiently. Made another contact today to gain an update on the job situation. Have not heard back; perhaps it is poor protocol to inquire, but we are into the fourth week of the process, and this is the first job applied for in the private sector. Procedures and interview practices seem a bit different from the public sector, in which time frames are given and adhered to, and it used to be that letters were sent if one did not make the final interviews. I hear that now, sometimes no response is ever given unless one is selected.

The Morning Office included Chapter 61 of Isaiah. I am reminded that God dresses me in the robe of salvation, that the bride is bedecked with jewels. The hermit's habit should be a robe of salvation. Must ask God about this robe.

Then there was the glorious beauty of Psalm 108. My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready!

Just have to get my mind ready, and my body ready, and then be at peace and ready to have this seed planted down into the earth, like a crocus bulb or a daffodil, and then live in the darkness, cold, damp, and frigid soil throughout the winter and into spring.

Bulbs aren't exactly seeds, though. No, I must be a seed that is planted and then dies, with no trace left behind except maybe some little wisp of a plant above ground that I will never see. Or, I could be a bulb that in the spring rains rots out and becomes humus deep beneath the ground. Bulbs are planted far deeper than seeds.

With you, in just adoring Him and in gratitude for bedtime and more reading of Mother Teresa's despairs, and of having read last night just how impatient--even impulsive--she was when she needed some answers from her Bishop.

Holy Father, I Agree, but Have You Experienced Such Solitude?

Well, perhaps he has. I don't know. He has written about the role of Mary in Mary: the Church at the Source.

In the first chapter, Pope Benedict XVI warms this hermit's heart, for he (or should I write "They"?) espouses the good of the contemplative life. He speaks of the "age of activism" which has come to an extreme in the Western world. He comments, "...that means doing, achieiving results, actively planning and producing the world oneself...."

The Holy Father continues, "It is, I believe, given our Western masculine mentality, that we have increasingly separated Christ from His Mother, without grasping that Mary's motherhood might have some significance for theology and faith. This attitude characterizes our whole approach to the Church. We treat the Church almost like some technological device that we plan and make with enormous and clever expenditure of energy. Then we are surprised when we experience the truth of what Saint Louis-Marie Grignon de Montfort once remarked, paraphrasing the words of the prophet Haggai, when he said, 'You do much, but nothing comes of it!'"

"There can be fruitfulness in the Church only when She has this character ['when the Church herself is a Marian mystery'], when she becomes holy soil for the Word. We must retrieve the symbol of the fruitful soil; we must once more become waiting, inwardly recollected people who in the depth of prayer, longing, and faith give the Word room to grow" [Bold-face added].

Earlier in this chapter, Pope Benedict writes of Isaiah's prophecy regarding the Word: My word shall not return to me empty! (Isaiah 55:10-11). Then he instructs on Mark 4:1-9, of the seed that falls on varying ground, with the fruit coming from the seed in fertile soil. He says that these words are a promise to us from Jesus! Jesus is the seed that bears fruit for all eternity, and very much in this world. The seed assimilates with the soil, absorbs the maternity of the soil, and then fuses with the soil of the whole humanity, returns to God in a new form.

This seed-hermit, not yet in soil deep, nor crushed in order to germinate, wonders if the Holy Father has been a seed buried alive--for seeds are mysteriously alive until dead from disuse--and has he been shut away from the action-oriented Church? I wonder, for he seems thrust into the age of activity, whether or not he desires this. When is a Pope allowed time to be a seed that falls to the ground and dies?

Being a seed takes some pondering. What is it like to truly be a seed as yet unplanted? And then to be one that is placed into fertile soil--in darkness, alone, with moisture and chill at night and warmth if the sun shines. But the seed, from being placed in loam, never sees sunlight again. The seed waits in solitude and silence, for dirt is mute. There is no movement until days and nights pass, and the outer skin of the seed begins to tear from a force within. Is this tearing painful? Is the unknown frightening? What transpires within the seed's dark interior of slow but steady movement, of slight shiftings until the end that is to push growth up is in position, and the end that is to push growth down is in place? Absorption of nutrients takes place in mystery, unseen except by scientific means. Much is taken for granted except by those few who stop to contemplate, perhaps an insightfulfarmer or a mystic back-yard gardener.

So this is the life of a seed, and a seed planted. Eventually there are roots that go down or spread out; shoots go up and out and about. If proper elements come from God alone (for Who provides sun and rain?), the seed's growth produces fruit in flowering, in food, until it is pruned and snipped, the fruit harvested, or the elements change and the plant dies. The seed, its sheathing perhaps still visible, perhaps not, is long forgotten, now part of the soil, decayed.

What is noticed? Not the seed, but the outer appearance of the plant above ground is noticed, utilized, and appreciated by some, not all, maybe not even many.

So this is the way of the hermit-seed. It is hard to fathom that a Holy Father would be allowed the luxury of such hiddenness, of such Mary-like holy soil in which to hide, to split open, to be in darkness for a long time, and then bear fruit while the seed diminishes into unseen molecules.

But perhaps the Pope has been a seed, has been tucked deep into the soil, and has died, and what we see now is the plant above ground bearing much fruit.

Now, this gives hope to all hermit-seeds, to allow their seeds to be buried alive, in darkness of moist soil, to weather the chill of night and heat of day, never seeing but only existing in order to produce fruit it will never see or know about, and to remain underground unto death.

The Hermit Yearns

The hermit longs.

The hermit yearns and longs for God, for purpose, for souls, for souls alive and souls dead, for souls in the land of the living dead and the dead in the firey land of hopeful eternity.

The hermit awoke with pain and tears, sensing the dying necessary yet, to self and to desired purpose in this life. Thoughts turned to those encountered at a TJMaxx store last evening, in the on-going hunt for proper attire, for a "habit" that buries the hermit into the culture, into the soil of the living dead alive.

The teen in the dressing room, monitoring for shoplifters and keeping track of clothing going in and out. She helped with what slacks looked best, and one pair, inexpensive enough, and simple in dark charcoal effect. Very versatile with tops, and a young woman in scrubs, a shopper, helped with blouses and gave other suggestions. I had approached her, as she stood amidst the racks in the aisle in which I wandered, helpless in the clothing swamp, and said, "You look like a 'with it' woman. Does this blouse look all right with these slacks? Does it blend in?"

She said she was not "with it", that she now has young children and works, and all that went out the window. But, I think she was pleased, and she is a beautiful young woman, and just off work, trying to find something to wear that will lift her spirits, perhaps, and help her blend in.

We all are trying to blend in, even the ones who try hard to not blend in. The racks have clothes for them, too, for the non-blenders. Even religious garb blend in with the religious garb blenders. I wish I'd spoken more with this woman, to encourage her in her motherhood, her married life, her work. I saw her as she drove off from the parking lot, and I waved. This morning I am praying much for her day, her week, her life. While we were sloshing along the racks, I queried aloud, to myself, to anyone in the vicinity, to God: Why don't I just stop wandering and return to my hermit life? But no, I still need some distraction, and still need a habit, some clothes to blend in.

Then there was the young man, about 18 years old, who mocked me near the check-out, as I tried on a red jacket. (Now, that would not blend in so much, and it was too large, anyway.) He kept verbally mocking, thinking I did not catch his comments, that they were unkind in sarcasm. As I returned the red jacket to a rack, I turned and held onto the large Crucifix I wear about my neck, and as I felt Jesus, I gently turned Him on His cross toward the young man and smiled. I held the Crucifix for him to see, and he lowered his eyes some, then looked again. I held the Crucifix again toward him, and he lowered his eyes and lowered his head, and ceased the mocking comments. I smiled, and he did not smile but he remained subdued. Shame on him for his rudeness, but thanks be to God for the power of the Cross! I pray for this young man, all the more today, as he does have a heart and a soul that recognized Jesus's love and mercy! He knew instinctively when to be still.

Now, in this day, the hermit must learn to be still, to be more still, and to accept that the yearning for purpose is the yearning for Jesus, and in longing for Him I must long for the cross, and accept the suffering and the sense of purposelessness, to embrace silence and penance as my purpose in adoration of Him Who is the purpose of our existence.

A young man (not sure why I think he is young, but most are younger than me!) left an encouraging message on a blog. Thank you. This is a gift and message from Jesus, for I very much needed a sense of hope, of keeping on in sharing the need to become holy soil, to become "waiting, inwardly recollected people who in the depth of prayer, longing, and faith give the Word room to grow". (Pope Benedict XVI in Mary the Church at Its Source.)

Quid Festici?

From The Sermons of St. Francis de Sales on Our Lady comes this story told by the saint.

"The good man Syncleticus was a great senator who gave up his position to become a monk; but what he no longer possessed in effect he possessed in his heart, and his thoughts wandered among delights, pleasures, honors and suchlike worldly tinsel. Knowing this, the great St. Basil wrote him a letter in which he addressed him in these terms: 'Father Syncleticus, what have you done? (Quid fecisti?) What are you doing, or what have you done? You left the world and your position as a senator to become a monk; but what have you done? At this moment you are neither senator nor monk. You are not a senator, since you left that position to become a monk; therefore it is no longer yours. You are not a monk, because your affections are running after the things of the world. Now you must not act like this, for to be a monk it is not enough to wear a monk's habit; you must unite your affections intimately to God and live in perfect self-denial of the world and all that belongs to it.' " [Fioreli, Lewis, ed. The Sermons of St. Francis de Sales on Our Lady. 1985. Rockford, IL: TAN Books and Publishers, Inc., p. 105.]

Then St. Francis de Sales asks this question: Do you see where Christian perfection begins? And he answers the question thus: With this renunciation and self-denial.

The hermit can relate. Awaiting word of a possible second job interview, albeit a spiritual and quiet job with the Diocese that some priests have counseled is not contrary to the hermit life, the hermit also bounced around in the world of clothing trying to obtain some suitable garb for fitting into the work-a-world agenda.

The thoughts have turned to the good of a habit, or of wearing something simple or monochromatic, such as wearing gray or black or brown, in varying outfits but with the same color. But that would stand out to people, and this hermit is striving to blend, to not be particular or noticed as different than the norm.

It runs contrary to what most hermits might consider as proper, and there is much good in wearing a habit from the perspective of being a sign of Christ to the world in an ascetic, simple, and practical manner. For the hermit, there is the benefit of less distraction, of less temptation to vanity, and also to less frustration as merchandisers know what they are about, and three tops purchased a year ago are already shabby and stand out as such; two sweaters shrank with the first washing, and a couple items purchased on sale are too large, as the hermit did not pay enough attention to fit but just wanted to get the shopping over with. The too-small and too-large can go to the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Shop, so there is benefit after all. But the shabby are destined for gardening clothes or cleaning cloths, or the trash, since a hermit does not need too much of work clothes or cleaning cloths. Enough is enough.

Two bags of clothes are going to be returned. The hermit brings them to Agnus Dei in order to have some space from zealous clerks. Indeed, one jacket is too large and not worth the expense in its construction, even though the clerk raved and said how well it fit and looked. The plaid, anyway, stands out too much and would not blend over time; solids are better. Another expedition brought forth too expensive of clothes, and the skirt is too distinctive in its print. All will be returned. The only positives of such ordeals are the temporary distraction (which is not really a good if one is to be leaving the world), and that of interactions with clerks, as conversations can be utilized to show the love of God. But what about the return of unwanted merchandise? The clerks will not be pleased after all.

As for the job, it too has been a distraction, for the world of the Church is still a world, and it is a different world in the office aspects, in the active aspects, than the world of the hermit. But that situation is for God to determine with an empty net or a fish or two in it. This particular fishing expedition should yield its results this week.

Quid festici? O, hermit! You are wafting about like cigar smoke being puffed and blown out nostrils, permeating into the atmosphere where more often than not it is undesired, sickening, and brings disapproval to sniffers. It is said that secondary smoke is as detrimental if not more so than the one who smokes.

It seems so with hermits who are neither hermits nor worldlings but struggle somewhere inbetween, not able to renunciate the world and deny self of that which causes spiritual cancer.

Being a hermit is a process, and this process includes not that of paperwork and progress toward canonical approval (or disapproval) but very much of what is going on within the soul, as evidenced by the progress made externally in actions. There is nothing wrong in learning, and part of learning is trying this way, then that. Akin to net-casting, this method takes time and effort, energy, and much discernment for one must be able to haul in the net and see what is in it, if anything.

One must know what one is doing, and then make necessary changes in what one is doing, or not doing. Each path has its own map, charted by God and to be traversed by the individual hermit.

Clothing stores? What have you done? What are you doing? These are good questions, for the answer is: distracting from pain, yet; distracting from settling down to the work at hand of hermit life, of practicing the Nine S' of which simplicity and stillness ought be taken more seriously.

The Hermit Has Guests

This week guests came to Agnus Dei. They came in the evening which required extra stamina of the hermit whose pain is heightened at night, after a full day of existing.

One woman came since she is not used to, and does not like, being alone, and her husband was at a night meeting. We discussed our families, her job with severely damaged children not able to go to school, and friendship. It as a good time for the hermit to practice approaching the other--in friendship--as prayer. In parting, the hermit gave a wrought iron cross. Hermits are to give a gift to visitors; this falls under hermit tradition, besides imparting the love of God.

The next guests were a man and wife who enjoy dining out, but the hermit is being more responsible in pain management, and these friends are beginning to comprehend. So they were invited to Agnus Dei, to eat what was on the stove (lentils) and a salad, but they instead brought carry-in Chinese food and delectible chocolates. The hermit would not purchase these expensive sweets but thoroughly appreciated the treat! Again, the hermit practiced friendship as prayer, and practiced listening more than speaking.

One aspect of guests coming to Agnus Dei, as opposed to the hermit joining them in dining out, or meeting elsewhere or visiting their homes (which a hermit would not tend to do unless the person a shut-in or a definite need in charity to go hither and yon for social reasons), is that there is not a means to limit the visits. Thus, there is sacrifice made when the night extends, and the body inside is saying it has reached its limit of pain endurance. However, nothing was mentioned, and this morning the hermit had to remain in bed, take extra medications, and finally manage to make it to late morning Mass. In fact, the afternoon is spent in recovering before 5 p.m. Mass.

The hermit could, in future, mention that afternoon visits are preferable, but perhaps in future the hermit will feel better, as it is taking time to recover from having over-done the body in too much manual labor with the Mary Garden installation.

These recent guests were given an orchid, a very nice orchid. The hermit had a touch of separation anxiety, but only a touch! Holy indifference is necessary when a hermit, and when gifting, for all belongs to God.

Does God feel separation anxiety? Did He feel so when He gave His only begotton Son to be sacrificed upon the Cross, to be immolated emotionally, psychologically, and physically? Was there not also a spiritual annhiliation in the sense of complete abandonment felt by Jesus at one moment near the end of His agony? All these are for our benefit, for us to know the Way.

The Hermit Turns Around

The other day the hermit met with the VG. In addition to reporting what is gleaned regarding non-canonical and canonical approval for hermits, and concluding that non-canonical status is as valid and verified by the Church, we discussed the comment that I cannot base friendships on my therapeutic needs.

What he meant was not my mental or emotional state, which he does comprehend goes under spiritual assault as well as depletion through high levels of physical pain. It was an honest statement, he said, of healthy friendships not based on problems.

But, I countered, I had talked with various long-time friends, and our friendships are based on our therapeutic needs, it seems.

He commented on all the married couples he has counseled in years of being a [exemplary, I add] priest, and they are at each other with problems to an extent that they don't seem capable of much else. He'd like them to just be able to take a walk together, to have some fun, to not be all about their problems. So he said friendship should have the element of relaxation, of fun.

But, I countered, I do not have fun. Nothing is fun. Going to a ballgame would not be fun for the sitting is painful. Going to a wedding is not fun, for all is physical pain. I did concede that some activities are less painful than others, or at least provide more distraction, are charitable. I pointed out that focus on the spiritual is fun for me.

Then I told him how at Mass the other day, I looked up at Jesus on His Cross and said, "Lord, my friendship with you has been always and still is--based on my therapeutic needs. You died for my therapeutic needs."

The Vicar General smiled at this and wisely said that this is true, but this was true because He is God. Then a light came on; I could see the light above his head and in his eyes. He said maybe if he explained it like prayer--that healthy prayer is not all petitions but also thanksgivings.

Ah! The hermit turned around. All became clear. I had been so very, very wrong--for years!

Throughout the day and night, insights came to the hermit at Agnus Dei. Friendship is prayer. One must approach others--loved ones, friends, strangers--as one approaches God, for all people are made in the image and likeness of God, whether or not they behave as such. They are MADE for Christ whether or not they live for Him. But the hermit's approach must be as the hermit approaches God in prayer.

The acronym learned long ago flushed forward: ACTS. Adoration, contrition, thanksgiving, supplication. These are considered the components of healthy prayer, of Godly prayer.

One approaches the other with appreciation and adoration of human life. One approaches the other and offers contrition for being less than the other, and repents of any hurts or failures in the relationship caused by the one to the other. One give thanks for all the joys shared in life, with the other, of the other's life, in sorrows and joys--much thanksgiving! Then one brings forth supplications, requests, needs, and here the talking over of problems.

When these components are taken in percentages, only 25% should be discussion of problems or therapeutic needs. Only 25% should be in feeling the sorrow of not being as good as one could or ought, of begging forgiveness, of considering oneself less than the other. The remaining 50% deal with praise, thanksgiving, appreciation, adoration: much love and joy.

How different would relationships be if married couples approached each other in God, in a relationship of prayer. What about the change in approach to teenage children--or anyone?

The hermit notices now the e-mails and blogs, all writing, the one daily phone conversation: What is the percentage breakdown? What is the balance, if much at all?

Then the other night my angel was with me in a dream, and I was shown--not in cruel or chastising way but as matter of information and having the reality sink in--the past years and years of relating with others based on my problems mostly, and some on theirs.

Yes, the hermit's life has been rather tragic, but the novel is not finished yet. The main character may not be overcome in the end, after all. There is hope, despite demonic assaults and spiritual despairs, despite intractible, high-level, physical pain.

There is love. There is relationship with others, with creation, as prayer.

The next morning I had one of the best confessions in a long time, for I could tell the VG just how thankful I am for the inspired wisdom he shared, and for how life-altering. I explained friendships in the order of the four components of prayer. I said I could develop a workshop around it, even, but at least and most it will change my life. I exclaimed that now I can have healthy friendships, can have Catholic friends in addition to the long-time Protestant friends, can relate with strangers and loved ones and enemies alike, not focusing on problems or pain.

I also said that I comprehend all the more that a hermit, in the same "genre" as religious and priests, cannot have friendships in general in which one lets the hair hang down. No, it is to be relationships of selflessness. This is one of the Nine S', for pity's sake! Selflessness! The balance Jesus kept with Judas up until death, and probably beyond in His mercy, gives example of friendship as prayer, as holy relationship no matter what.

How many years I have been so negative, so unbalanced in problems, my own and others'. It is wrong. I am so sorry. But not without adoration and thanksgiving of forgiveness for error.

Adoration, appreciation, contrition, meekness, thanksgiving, joys, supplications, therapeutic needs. It is all there, in order, and to be kept in holy balance.

The VG smiled and said he was glad he could be good for something. This soul is genuinely meek and a pillar of the Holy Spirit, full of the virtues to observe and emulate. I laugh thinking how I am the good-for-nothing, being formed in the Sacrament of Reconciliation by a good-for-something.

Intense Catholic Love

Now out of the darkest of nights, my intense love of Catholicism meets this dawn. Reflections of nature waiver on the waters of Lake Immaculata, as the hermit lies in bed on an ice pack, tears running down cheeks.

Yes, it is pain again. Raw physical pain does this, as well as turns thoughts toward an adult son who is veritably dead to other than his work, his social life, his world in a large city.

The trip to the doctor yielded some sample medications, and the hermit stopped too soon taking more at night in order to get a decent sleep. The hermit lost health insurance shortly after the car accident, divorce, surgeries and loss of career. That has been years ago, and living without health insurance is a step in faith formation! So be it. The Lord loves a cheerful giver, and I give the suffering, especially the despairs and darkness, to Jesus in union with His suffering, and for reparation for my sins and the sins fo the world.

My love for Catholicism increases, the strength of the faith comes out all the stronger each time a despair is vanquished.

My spiritual da gave me the book of Mother Teresa's letters, expressing her despairs and doubts. He figured it would do me good to read another person's darkness, so as to not feel alone.

Should I have not written the darkness, the thoughts of this or that, when in despair? Will someone use it as a means to stab at the Church? I don't know. At the time, in the darkness, the words poured out of the wounds. They are a chronicle of what lies within a dark night of the soul. Now they are past, and day is here.

Light of Christ intensifies my love of Holy Mother Church. I am Catholic through and through, and the intense Catholic love is the love of Christ within the Body, the Church, and all of us in humankind striving for meaning, for love, to love and learn to love.

The Infant Jesus' Rule of Life for His Mother

From private revelations in compilation from Bl. Anne Catherine Emmerich comes this rule of life given to Mary from her Divine Son.

"My mother, I wish to make a rule for your daily life and work. From nightfall you will take some sleep and rest. From midnight until dawn We will praise the Eternal Father together. Then prepare the necessary food for yourself and Joseph, and afterward give Me food and hold Me in your arms until noon, when you will place Me in the arms of your husband, to give him some refreshment in his labors. Then retire and return to your work until it is time to prepare the evening meal. And pray continually to the Eternal Father for sinners."
(Brown, Raphael, comp. The Life of Mary as Seen by the Mystics. 1951. Rockford, IL: TAN Publishers, p. 142.)

This is the second rule of life given to Mary, the first being from the priest in the Temple when she was a child. This rule has the following components: physical needs such as sleep, rest, food; nurturing needs such as tender care for family; manual labor; praise of God in union with Jesus; praying continually to God for sinners.

This rule of life is basic and obviously acceptable since Jesus proposed and commanded it. Of course, most Catholics understand that private revelation is not dogma, does not have to be believed. It can be, however, and it also can be considered that which augments our faith. When the visionary is approved by the Church, the writings are not necessarily included as part of the canonization process. In Bl. Emmerich's case, her writings are not part of her sainthood process since a second party took down her narration and another party edited. However, the bulk is in tact. Bl. Emmerich's revelation are so rich in detail, and the other aspects of her amazing and holy life lend credence to the content as being credible. Visions are visions, and the beholder can at best describe what is usually rather indescribable.

It is well to present various rules of life, not only ones that hermits embrace but also those of holy ones, of saints, of the Mother of God. To put these rules of life in context of our currrent day rules, such as for canonical and non-canonical hermits, offers a view of simplicity but with the basics for holiness in daily life.

The Hermit's Current Status and on Friendships

The hermit is now approved verbally to continue on with the noncanonical, avowed, consecrated status, which means to continue on as has been but hopefully much better in discipline. The rule of life is being read over by the Vicar General, out of the kindness of his soul. Then, if God so wills at some time future, canonical approval and public vows are possible. First the annulment must go through, and God must make His will known as to status He desires.

We discussed the good of canonical approval and the good of noncanonical status. Both have good points, and there are hermit saints who were of the noncanonical type. This hermit still is for now very satisfied with the hidden aspects of noncanonical status, but the accountability factor for public vows is a good, as well as educating people as to the vocation. God surely decides based upon circumstances, environment, personality, and His needs at the time and place.

As for the comment on friendships should not be based on one's therapeutic needs, the comment was an honest comment. No judgments were meant personally only to suggest that the hermit's friendships should not be based on problems. Even in mutual benefit level of friendship, it was pointed out to the hermit that dealing with each other's therapeutic needs is not always healthy. There was not much headway made until the Vicar General explained it in terms of prayer. We ought not pray in petitions all the time but also in thanksgivings.

Now, this made great sense and is true. Friendships, likewise, should not be based on therapeutic need but also on praise of life. When the hermit pointed out that with the constant pain there isn't much fun, for it was suggested that friends can have fun together, also, it was then pointed out by the hermit that there at least are aspects which are more distracting from the pain, and that is a kind of "fun"! However, there are joys and praises to be expressed in conversations, and the hermit is working on this very much.

The comment now is all the more powerful in its truth and the goodness God has brought in correcting the hermit's poor friendship skills. Yes, they had dwindled in the past months of too much pain, and probably had not been praising enough for a long time. But thinking on it, the hermit does discuss the beautiful flowers and gets others to be interested in gardening. The hermit and friends discuss good happenings, such as a friend's daughter getting an "A" on her first college paper. Or a cousin's putting a new Thomas the Train bedspread on her grandson's bed for when he comes to visit. Or the joy of seeing Andrew the Heron at dawn by the pond.

Since the pain has eased some again, the hermit's attitude toward new friends and Catholic friends has improved. However, it is true that the hermit must be firm in not going out to dinner except in dire need, mostly for others' therapeutic needs and problems to be helped, but on occasion for a celebration such as a wedding. None of the sitting is fun, and if the occasion is not necessary, the hermit must be at home at rest, managing the pain, and not losing the reserve necessary for control of the tongue and emotions. This comes under the "s" of silence and leans into "stability" and even "selflessness", for it is better to think of others and to protect them from "too much information" as well as bad attitude and problems that spill out from one who is ill with pain more so at times, but not always.

It was pointed out that a priest cannot discuss priest problems with lay friends for it would be too much for them to bear. Again, it seems a hermit must be very much the religious, very much for the other, and on occasion when the problems are severe, can call for help for those problems but with a trusted friend who can bear the cross.

Tomorrow the hermit is going to the doctor, which is a major step since there is no health insurance. The hermit is uninsurable. Tsk. Tsk. But it has been a benefit in some ways, as there is little going to the doctor for this and that. Now it is necessary for the sense of illness is strong, and the nerve pain of recent months might be helped by samples of neurontin. That is worth a try, plus possilbly an antibiotic. It is not charitable to go on with such suffering to the detriment of others. Too many calls for help in coping with pain, too many darkly written passages, too much crying and exhaustion, too much despair and confused thoughts.

In friendships, then, the long-time friends are best for cross-bearing, but if God brings a new one to bear it for a while, that is all right. If God brings the new friend, that is. Practice sharing praises and joys more so than problems or at least not less than problems. (My adult daughter has read a recent study suggesting that friends who share problems only make the problems seem worse by discussing them, and it is not healthy for the friendship.) Newer friends, other friends, do not need to carry the cross. Selflessness is the goal in friendships.

The past couple or so months are rather a blur of pain and spiritual assaults. Wrong assumptions, extremes in thoughts and erratic efforts to endure. It is as if the battery was nearly worn down to a point in which a jump start would not have worked. The Lord is here and helping, through friends and priests. Well, priests are our friends in therapeutic needs and in thanksgivings.

Morning Thoughts to an Adult Daughter

Awoke this morning after dreams, and don't recall but know that this afternoon is probably going to be a turning point. I'm not sure if in all my writing, I've mentioned how people like me have typically not fit well inside the structure, and that I could stake my life on what my angel said. So I know God is moving me to the hermit life, whatever all that will entail.

People like me have always been more outside the structure but very much Catholic. I have to admit that our "types" are not the ones in the parish council or singing in the choir, although the latter has been an idea, and choir practice is Wed. night. I have thought that singing would be very therapeutic for my back pain, and I always wanted to learn to sing better. I could be a "filler" voice as I am not that good but can carry a tune. However, I should consider all aspects.

Somehow I have the distinct sense that I will not find much favor other than if I am very much on the fringe. I must accept that I will not be given jobs to do. I think all this is happening for a reason, including the higher level of pain lately, even more than a few weeks ago. And I must not be discouraged by any of it, for God has to allow circumstances to get us where He wants us.

I consider people like Gemma Galgani, Francis of Assisi, Mother Teresa, Theresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Charles de Foucald, Joan of Arc, Caryll Houselander, Philip Neri, Anne Catherine Emmerich and many others. They did not fit into the main structure, the regular path of regular parishioners or even regular members of their religious communities if they were in them. They all had to step outside the main structure, and that is what "eccentric" means: outside the center.

It is so hard for me to accept this, and I go through this periodically. I was reared to be inside the center, to be regular and to fit in. But I am not regular; a square peg does not fit in a round hole.

If I keep in mind and heart that people like me have been invaluable parts of the whole (and holes!), then I won't be so hurt and wounded by what is transpiring. And I think that I sensed it during the summer in some of the despairing times. I do think it has lent itself to my pain, contributed to it, and once I pull up some nets, fold them, and do as God desires, I will feel much better again.

Often their own families turned against them or didn't think they were all right, and now would say they had therapeutic needs (and not in the positive sense in which I can view it). Some died early, perhaps in part due to the excessive emotional pain of being discounted or shut down. I am not one of those, obviously. And this occurs not just in churches but has been in other areas of life with the eccentric types. I admit that Rev. forget-his-name at the United Brethren church spurned me the last year we were there, wouldn't speak to me and made screwed up faces when he saw me. Finally he said to take my son and leave. I must look at the total picture and be thankful for all the books I've read to know that this is just part of the program.

The Diocese hermits out there are ones who have been either accepted regardless or are not outside the center as much as others. The Diocese hermits obviously are a better fit and that is most fortunate for them and very much a benefit for those Dioceses. But it isn't to say that other Dioceses don't benefit (without the Dioceses knowing) from those who are not publicly given canonical status. In time, maybe things will alter, but regardless I had better settle into the rule of life I have and fulfill the vows I made. I guess it is a lot up to God and what He wills for each person, in a puzzle that we do not see from above but are just small pieces here below.

The emotional pain is only from my wanting it to be different and to not have it as I had hoped and expected. It does not mean that I am a failure, and I must keep that in mind. I also must understand that there are those who might appreciate and even accept me but will not show it or say it due to their positions of being within the center and not risking otherwise, or not called by God to be otherwise. I have to get over wishing I could be like those people. I don't advocate anyone being outside the center on their own doing, for it is sort of a tough existence, like being on the peripheral, on the edge of the campfire ring where it is colder and darker!

The morning is so gorgeous here, in the overcast, thankfully. The trees are fantastic. I really like the Weeping Bald Cypress. I am hoping to take photos of each tree, of each area. I am starting to feel better again but will carefully step forward, and take time to rest the body.

There are poems that came, sort of like automatic writing, the summer I was converting, and they are invaluable in content for what lay ahead. One even "spoke" to me about being imprisoned in love, being in Christ in that way, more isolated out. The blog writing is actually a very good venue. What I write offers a different path within the same Church, from those who are more regularized and called in that way.

The Hermit Has Contrition of Heart

Of course I do not wish to be negative or snapping. I suppose Padre Pio did not wish to be snapping, either. It is written that he sobbed and sobbed when he was told he had to be in basic house exile for a couple or more years, and he was never allowed to correspond again with his beloved spiritual director.

Talk about letter of anguish! Padre Pio wrote so in anguish.

But this hermit is apologizing for the negativity in the blogs, of the harshness in any way expressed, or frustrations vented.

This is a journey not only of the hermit life but of the life as victim soul, of intense physical suffering which includes much emotional pain in conjunction. The spiritual pain is icing on the soul's cake.

A priest has e-mailed that he believes I have been under demonic attack. It seems so to me, too. But today it is fairly peaceful, and I am staying in, staying down, laying low, trying to cope with the physical suffering. At times I consider trying to find someone to take me to some ER and beg demorol and vistiril, but the dose that is necessary is higher than what they would likely give, although I have my doctor's written note from years back as to the dosage needed. But it is the expense, as I have no health insurance, and the reality that even if it knocked me out for a few hours of blessed relief, I would be back to face the pain, and so may as well keep facing it without huge expense.

Part of the day has been spent in watching a Sr. Laurel's final profession of vows in a Mass for her consecration as a Diocese hermit in CA. It is lovely! I know I have been questioning if the public vows are necessary, and if it is too much hoopla for a hermit, but I find it all necessary especially for a healthy hermit or at least those more healthy than this one. More active hermits can better interface with people, and people, being comfortable with them and helping in matters of the soul, are part of a hermit's call. In that, Sr. Laurel's life and her blog site are very beneficial for the hermit vocation in general.

I was particularly taken by her Bishop's warmth and gentleness, his being so comfortable with her vocation and in consecrating her soul to the eremitical life.

As for this hermit, my diocese milieu and circumstances thus far are not heading in such a warm and embracing event. But, one cannot know what God will do in future. Also, I am praying much about victim souls who are veritable hermits, and praying as to which vocation God desires as predominant, if that is the case, or if both are equivalent and to be lived out in obscurity. Victim souls do live mostly in obscurity, and many hermits do, also. Obviously, I am in a kind of obscurity already, and am nailed to the cross today very much, and have been for about 23 years. It is the aspirations to interact in the Diocese, now, that I must allow to die, to be nailed along with the physical issues as well as the therapeutic needs that go along with such intractible pain, without adequate pain medication, for it is costly, addictive and hard to come by for chronic suffers. I look to Bl. Anne Emmerich for inspiration and many others who were so alone and suffered without means to subdue the pain other than through rest, prayer, and hiddenness.

By watching the Mass celebrating Sr. Laurel's final vows, I did see that there would be built-in support and positivity in public vows, in people knowing, in the Bishop making his approval known. It creates a certain validity for the hermit, in an outer way, and of course is supernatural in the graces of the interior. It builds the Church with another dimension.

Congratulations to all Diocese hermits! And many prayers and offering of my suffering for those canonically approved and those not, for whatever reasons they are not.

Did Bl. Charles de Foucald Go Through This?

A friend had just heard of Bl. Charles and noticed his biography. There was a base of understanding, then, and I posed the question which we considered, "Did Bl. Charles ever have a time in which he had great anguish and adjustment to the loneliness and solitude?"

It isn't written, that part of his life if it was present, unless I just haven't encountered it yet. I have thought the same of Maria of Olonets and other hermits. Did they go through periods of extreme spiritual anguish? And are there hermits who are also victim souls, who suffer much physically? Yes, of course there are, and yet they might not have been known as hermits. Seems as if the victim souls had more people around, such as being in convents or family members present. Gemma Galgani lived with a family who cared for and protected her reputation from people who would gossip.

I guess I'll have to ask Bl. Charles in prayer if he felt such joy in being alone with God from the onset of his arrival in the Sahara, before he knew the language of the Musselman tribe.

Perhaps I've not made it clear, but part of my suffering and anguish have to do with much persecution and being shut down in odd ways, over the years of my Catholicism. Some of it might be from my suffering, and people not comprehending. Much of it is from sheer meanness, the kind that little children can display, the kind that made the novel "Lord of the Flies" such a classic.

The priest I had to lunch the other day asked if I talked about my mystical experiences, and I said not directly, but if there was a need to help someone, they could figure it out. And in the occasion of a horrible situation with a very sick priest, I felt I needed to warn two people who stood great trouble to their lives if they did not know what was the problem. And, as my spiritual Da said, they would then wonder how it was I knew about the priest. And so it was, for in order to get the people to get out of the way of danger, I had to answer some questions, for it was so sensitive a situation that they had to be convinced for their own assurance that I was telling the truth. Then, the two had to explain to their significant close ones, for the problem affected two families with children. But that was that. It did explain much why that priest treated me as he did, and which encouraged parishioners to treat me as they did. These two people had wondered.

I yet wonder why I put up with such ordeals--except for the love of Christ and of souls. Yes, I do love Jesus and I love people. Right now I'm a bit touchy, for the pain of some of the ordeals has surfaced. I could go to a therapist to try to work on the hurt, for I had thought it was taken care of. But it wouldn't pop up again now if healed. A therapist would hear all the incidents and no doubt try to get me to leave the Church. Where would I go? Protestantism had no answers to begin with for the situations at hand but was more compassionate with the suffering. They get accused of being touchy=feely, and it is a marvelous attribute. What remains--head to the hills of solitude?

Even in the darkest of dark yesterday, when I told this poor confessor who could not deal with it, that my faith seemed dead--I became anxious during confession because I could hear Mass in the Church, and I knew I was missing Holy Communion. So after I told the priest it was too much for him to comprehend, for I could not comprehend what was going on within, and he gave a short penance and absolution for my darkness (I guess), Mass was ended. I went to the Sacristy and beseeched the Host. The priest there relented, and I knelt in front of the Monstrance as he gave me the Body of Christ.

This is how bizarre it can be.

Sometimes I can appreciate why St. Bruno left the Church proper and fled to the farthest reaches of the Alps. Thankfully, he had companions. That helps. I suppose they all were friends based upon their therapeutic needs, and their therapeutic needs had arisen from the persecution they had experienced from their Bishop and other meanies, or at least those who had shut down St. Bruno from his teaching and hindered his parish work. St. Bruno was a very brilliant and popular priest.

It was several years after he had made the comments to his friends, and they decided they wanted to worship God in more purity and freedom --to not have the flack they were experiencing--when they left. Perhaps they came to a point of such frustration that the transition to solitude was not that awful. But again, there were seven of them, together, and that would make it not seem so alone.

I have my Protestant friends upon whom I can marginally lean (for my therapeutic needs which very much include pain management issues when the ordeal extends like this one has). Then I have those to whom I reach out in love and encouragement via e-mail or a smile and kind word in passing. Most of the outreach is through prayers for people, such as the British couple in Portugal now being turned on by the fickle crowds who stop short of crying, "Crucify them! Crucify them!"

This weekend I'll be praying about bucking up and proceeding with presenting my hermit rule of life and vows I took nearly seven years ago, to the Vicar General, even though it is nonessential information to anyone else, including him in his work. Perhaps I will feel strong enough to go forth. However, St. Bruno did not present anything to anyone other than his ideas to his friends. I will ponder on this. It sure makes a difference to be a priest and going off to die in Christ, such as did St. Sharbel Maklouf in his hermitage and Bl. Charles in his and St. Bruno, too.

Take Silence

The hermit must take complete silence.

Is it the physical pain that is causing the spiritual darkness, or is it the spiritual darkness exacerbating the physical pain?

Seems as if the spiritual darkness is the main difficulty. It comes, then goes some, then comes back only darker. Is there darker than dark, blacker than black? Yes, there are degrees of blackness, and bleakness.

The VG is willing, and just that--willing--to listen to the hermit's thoughts on rule of life and private vows and other aspects learned from Diocese hermits. This is the VG who commented that friendships cannot be based upon the hermit's therapeutic needs. While much positive was gained, a priest with background in psychology said that the comment was not positive.

The darkness arrives without much pre-warning, although perhaps like dusk, one knows it will come and remain awhile and then dawn and then overcast day and then darkness again, and many nights without moonlight. It seems then, in these darkest of nights, that the source of the agony is Catholicism. If one could somehow get away from Catholicism, from Catholics with whom one does not have a place or fit in, then the despairs would depart and the physical pain would lessen.

This is the rationale, dark as it is, and the hermit tried to get the idea across to a confessor who was not able to comprehend but kept talking in various avenues without knowing. Finally, the hermit said that only God could help at this point, and that it was too difficult to explain or comprehend, and the confessor suggested then to be silent.

That seemed a flashlight beam, brief but a beam. The hermit is going to be silent, to take complete silence. This will include not discussing the rule and the vows, for these may be perceived as being based on therapeutic needs, anyway.

The hermit is beginning to feel the way in the dark. Silence is the best plan thus far, for in silence one can see in soundlessness.

It is a break-through to know that this is a time for God and the hermit to figure it out sans the interference of the Catholic or Protestant issues. The confessor spoke about this, too, that one can be like a pendulum but must be one or the other and tend to the time on the clock, but not swing back and forth. He missed the point, difficult as it is to express other than the hermit's first words: I am in the deepest despair and darkness ever, and my faith seems dead.

Silence is the fruit of that confession, for all the words otherwise swung back and forth and gonged without hitting the mark until silence.