The hermit had another major attack today. It is as well to be realistic and honest, as this is not some superficial gloss of the romanticized hermit life, of idyllic scenes and endearing glimpses of solitude by the crackling fire while painting icons.
This is the life of a hermit who faces horrendous assaults that come quickly, and are currently of the theme of needing to get out of Catholicism. In fact, the whole issue has been of not being able to express these feelings and pressures which build inside, not to anyone.
When the hermit calls the spiritual da, mostly the hermit tries to buck up and seem as if all is o.k. This afternoon the hermit called, and in distress began to weep, and the spiritual da said, "You HAVE TO PULL OUT OF THIS! You have to PULL OUT!" Yes, I know, and yet I am helpless to do so.
The hermit then e-mailed a friend, thinking it was time to see a psychologist. The friend said it would need to be a Catholic one. The hermit had not that in mind at all. The hermit wanted to see a psychologist with the idea that the psychologist, once knowing the background, would help the hermit get out of the Church, post haste.
Then the hermit realized that there is no one to speak with about this matter. The Protestants cannot be privy to the despair and the sense of deep rejection, although one friend suspects. The family cannot know, for it is frustrating then, when the hermit remains in the Church, and is too much for them to bear the pain and the torments. The Catholics cannot know, for they cannot know the hermit's mystical life. The spiritual da cannot know the full extent of the despair and the thoughts, for it would hurt him deeply and worry him, at his age. The confessor can maybe know, although the Catholic friend thinks (not knowing the mystical stuff) that the hermit should stay clear of him for awhile. And maybe the hermit should, but why? The hermit is dead, and a priest who the hermit has spilled the guts to of the reality of the interior soul, should be able to spill these thoughts out to someone. Yet, there is a growing mistrust issue, and that, too, may be part of the attack.
In the exterior, the hermit has to keep up a good front and not let on that anything is amiss. This lends to the fragile sense of not belonging, of being etherized, of nothingness. In purgatory, would the soul have a sense of existence? For this is no sense of existence, only blackness and death without meaning. Suffocation in continuum, but keeping up the outer appearances like china, cracked, but patched and painted over.
Anyway, the hermit feels all the more as if everything is shoved in and down, with no escape and no one to comprehend or understand. This state builds to a peak, and then the hours creep by, and the cover of darkness nears, and then there will be night time and maybe better sleep, and then morning and Mass and maybe confession, probably confession, and a fearless spilling of more guts, even if not understood and even if the confessor wishes the hermit would go away with these continuing anguishes.
Then, God sends a consolation, and this time a friend from Germany who e-mailed a response to a note of two weeks ago, and offering his apartment in the south of France. The friend is not Catholic, but is not any religion although has a priest uncle. The friend knows nothing of the hermit's on-going upset and even depression, Catholic depression, for that is what it seems. In the deepest of the despair, the thought has begun to loom that only if the hermit could get away from Catholicism and the rejections, the darkness would leave. But the hermit has no idea where to go from there, and there is no where else but the Church. So round and round it goes until God opens an air-hole in a consolation.
Anyway, this is one aspect of this hermit's life, and in being a journal-ist, it is well to share this aspect. It is not the kind of assault or attack that one might expect. One would rather have a magnificent beating by the devil or room caught on fire, or bed shaking across the room. Instead, it is sheer insanity instilled for awhile, and no one to comprehend except maybe a confessor or such as the priest the other evening who said, "It is the devil."
Even that does not help at the time, for the hermit does not think at all it is the devil when in darkness. Instead, it is just another way to keep the hermit etherized and sent out into the galaxy. That is what it seems, then, to the hermit under attack.
One can sort of comprehend, thus, the conundrum of the situation. How long this will last--who knows but God? The periods of light are welcome but not as much as one might imagine, for it seems that with the light, the hermit is used to darkness coming at some point after. Then light, then dark, and maybe the dark will suck the hermit out of the ether into even less than ether. But, we take one hour at a time.
This is the life of a hermit who faces horrendous assaults that come quickly, and are currently of the theme of needing to get out of Catholicism. In fact, the whole issue has been of not being able to express these feelings and pressures which build inside, not to anyone.
When the hermit calls the spiritual da, mostly the hermit tries to buck up and seem as if all is o.k. This afternoon the hermit called, and in distress began to weep, and the spiritual da said, "You HAVE TO PULL OUT OF THIS! You have to PULL OUT!" Yes, I know, and yet I am helpless to do so.
The hermit then e-mailed a friend, thinking it was time to see a psychologist. The friend said it would need to be a Catholic one. The hermit had not that in mind at all. The hermit wanted to see a psychologist with the idea that the psychologist, once knowing the background, would help the hermit get out of the Church, post haste.
Then the hermit realized that there is no one to speak with about this matter. The Protestants cannot be privy to the despair and the sense of deep rejection, although one friend suspects. The family cannot know, for it is frustrating then, when the hermit remains in the Church, and is too much for them to bear the pain and the torments. The Catholics cannot know, for they cannot know the hermit's mystical life. The spiritual da cannot know the full extent of the despair and the thoughts, for it would hurt him deeply and worry him, at his age. The confessor can maybe know, although the Catholic friend thinks (not knowing the mystical stuff) that the hermit should stay clear of him for awhile. And maybe the hermit should, but why? The hermit is dead, and a priest who the hermit has spilled the guts to of the reality of the interior soul, should be able to spill these thoughts out to someone. Yet, there is a growing mistrust issue, and that, too, may be part of the attack.
In the exterior, the hermit has to keep up a good front and not let on that anything is amiss. This lends to the fragile sense of not belonging, of being etherized, of nothingness. In purgatory, would the soul have a sense of existence? For this is no sense of existence, only blackness and death without meaning. Suffocation in continuum, but keeping up the outer appearances like china, cracked, but patched and painted over.
Anyway, the hermit feels all the more as if everything is shoved in and down, with no escape and no one to comprehend or understand. This state builds to a peak, and then the hours creep by, and the cover of darkness nears, and then there will be night time and maybe better sleep, and then morning and Mass and maybe confession, probably confession, and a fearless spilling of more guts, even if not understood and even if the confessor wishes the hermit would go away with these continuing anguishes.
Then, God sends a consolation, and this time a friend from Germany who e-mailed a response to a note of two weeks ago, and offering his apartment in the south of France. The friend is not Catholic, but is not any religion although has a priest uncle. The friend knows nothing of the hermit's on-going upset and even depression, Catholic depression, for that is what it seems. In the deepest of the despair, the thought has begun to loom that only if the hermit could get away from Catholicism and the rejections, the darkness would leave. But the hermit has no idea where to go from there, and there is no where else but the Church. So round and round it goes until God opens an air-hole in a consolation.
Anyway, this is one aspect of this hermit's life, and in being a journal-ist, it is well to share this aspect. It is not the kind of assault or attack that one might expect. One would rather have a magnificent beating by the devil or room caught on fire, or bed shaking across the room. Instead, it is sheer insanity instilled for awhile, and no one to comprehend except maybe a confessor or such as the priest the other evening who said, "It is the devil."
Even that does not help at the time, for the hermit does not think at all it is the devil when in darkness. Instead, it is just another way to keep the hermit etherized and sent out into the galaxy. That is what it seems, then, to the hermit under attack.
One can sort of comprehend, thus, the conundrum of the situation. How long this will last--who knows but God? The periods of light are welcome but not as much as one might imagine, for it seems that with the light, the hermit is used to darkness coming at some point after. Then light, then dark, and maybe the dark will suck the hermit out of the ether into even less than ether. But, we take one hour at a time.
