I forgot to add, in describing how the ring is like you, how the blue and flashing multi-colored fire is like the light of your eyes. You say they're not as bright as a bit of colored ribbon--to me they are as bright as a brilliant diamond.

I understand now. I had an encounter with Divine Grace and Mercy last night. This pain, this emotional trauma, was necessary to expose the deepest root of my deepest wound and greatest fear. And to bring me to a new depth of trust and surrender.

At least I hope that it was the deepest--I wouldn't like to go any further down this path.

The Mountain of Burdens

There's a place on the Camino de Santiago called the Cruz de Ferro. It's at the highest point on the Camino Frances. There's an old tradition, that people carry something up the mountain that symbolizes a burden which they want to leave behind and leave it at the foot of the cross, as part of their spiritual journey in the pilgrimage.

The rose that I've been carrying for you, every time I go hiking; I'm going to carry it one last time. And I'm going to leave it there. It's another thing that I'd hoped to give you one day. But I can't carry it any more. It's too heavy.

Here is the rest of what I had for you. I know that you don't want any of it, but whatever. If you don't want to see it, don't look.

I bought this for you for Christmas, when we were still friends, just after the vase with the matching flowers. It's the same pattern. When you wind it, it plays Pachelbel. Oh, and going back to the other ones, I forgot to tell you that the silver violin was the thing I bought you that time to congratulate you when you first planned your entire program yourself.

These are kind of silly. I was on a rose kick after you were so pleased with the ones I'd given you. Earrings and a brooch. Antique.

Just something I picked up on a whim in an antique store, that I thought you might like. Portfolio of old records. Classical music, of course.

This was for your mom, that same Christmas. When she still loved me. I had one for your dad too, but I sent it to him when I heard that he was sick. I don't know if he ever received it, or if he accepted it or just threw it away.

And then there's this...

I spent years searching for the perfect setting, then for the best diamond for it--both of which together would suit and match you, I thought. I then took them to a jeweler to have the stone set, and when I saw the result, it was even better than I'd hoped. The second most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It kind of looks like you, in a way. I thought the filigrees on the side looked like musical clefs or the cutouts and curves of a violin. And they also reminded me of your hair, of the pretty little braids around your face. And the bright, fair, brilliant, heart-shaped diamond is like your face itself. Once it was done, the box it came in wasn't nearly good enough, so I found this silver one in an antique shop, and arranged the interior to hold the ring. I thought the blue would bring out the fire in the diamond.

I had hoped one day to see your face when I gave it to you. But now I just want you to have seen it.

That was more than I can bear.

I spent last night praying for God to end my life and take me home, and reminding myself that, if I did it myself, I might end up in the only place where my anguish and torment would be worse than it is now. That's not drama or a seeking after sympathy--it's just what's in my heart. It's just the truth.

Why is it that often when we need God the most, it is then that he seems furthest from us? It must be some kind of test, to see if we continue to seek him even in the absence of all hope and consolation, or turn to despair and thence to sin. A trap I have fallen into many times, but am trying my absolute best to avoid this time, with God's help.

If anyone reading this cares for me, pray for me. Pray that I come through this time without falling to despair, unbelief, hard-heartedness, and sin. But if you really care for me, join me in that prayer that it will all just be over.

You're killing me. You are killing me.

Hard Times

I am weary, and very lonely,

    And can but think--think.

If there were some water only

    That a spirit might drink--drink!

        And arise,

        With light in the eyes

And a crown of hope on the brow,

    To walk abroad in the strength of gladness,

    Not sit in the house benumbed with sadness---

          As now!

But, Lord, thy child will be sad--

      As sad it pleases thee ;

  Will sit, not seeking to be glad,

      Till thou bid sadness flee ;

          And drawing near

          With a kind "good cheer,"

    Awake the life in me

-- George MacDonald, Violin Songs

You told me once

that your eyes were not as bright

as the colored ribbon

to which I'd compared them

I wonder if you think yourself

less admirable

less deserving of praise

than my many words have claimed

I cannot prove

before a panel of judges

that you are the most beautiful

the lovliest

the most adorable

But even if it were so
(though I do not grant it) 

that in the beauty of the eyes

others were as lovely as you

There would still be
That other, deeper beauty
The one, as it's said of the Blessed Virgin,
by which you outshine all around you

You are not the most beautiful

because your features are perfect

because your hair is lustrous

because your skin is flawless

because your eyes are bright

You are the most beautiful

because your beauty radiates from your luminous spirit
And shines through your exquisite soul

And that kind of beauty will last forever

Happy Birthday, Beautiful One

Things I can't give you for your birthday

A couple more of the things I've never been able to give you.

 A 1st edition of "Little Daylight". The first time it was published in book form, that is: it was first published in a magazine.

 Beautiful poetry by George MacDonald. Original 1874 edition, almost impossible to find.

Antique silver violin pin, handcrafted in Taxco, Mexico, a city famous for its silversmiths.

I said the other day that I didn't have a sense of close community yet at my new church. But I was surprised and touched this weekend by the warmth of the reception I received after my confirmation. I was congratulated by many people as if it were my birthday, or as if I'd just been married, and there were even gifts.

Ironically, the magazine in the bottom picture contains a piece by a former friend from my old church.

Mary and True Beauty

"Mary Magdalene was taller and more beautiful than the other holy women, including even the beautiful Dinah the Samaritan, but the Virgin Mary was the most beautiful of all. Although the beauty of her form was not unmatched by others, and in some respects Magdalene's beauty was even more striking, Mary stands out among them all, more especially through an indescribable silent blessing that emanated from her, and through her simplicity, meekness, youthfulness, earnestness, and purity."

-- Anne Catherine Emmerich

One of the visionaries at Medjurgorje asked Mary, "My Lady, why are you so beautiful?" The answer was "I am beautiful because I love."

Easter Melancholy

I confess to feeling disappointment, despite the joy of the day. Foolish, I know. As foolish as the hope which preceded it. I had this irrational hope that today would be the day that you would speak to me. 

I know that I have no right or reason to hope. Yet hope I do. Still.

Every Easter is hard for me. Easter is special for us. Do you remember, the first Easter we knew each other, when you spontaneously invited me to your house for Easter dinner? That was so very kind of you. Then there was that other one, that I already mentioned the other day. But this Easter is worse, because of seeing you recently, and the possibility of seeing you again. Again, I know you don't owe me anything. But the fact that the possibility exists...it's just hard. This is one of the primary reasons that I left our old church; I couldn't take the constant raising and dashing of my hopes every week.

I try not to hope. Then, when that doesn't work, I try to pretend to myself that I'm not. Then when that doesn't work, I give it up to God, and that does help; it takes away most of the sting of the disappointment, and the despair that would follow from it. But not 100 percent--there's still some lingering sadness. Probably because I'm not surrendering it 100 percent. But I do the best that I am able.

I'm trying not to let this mean that I'm not going to be able to stay at this church for long, either. Sometimes I feel like it's working, and it's going to be fine, as long as I trust in God. But sometimes I feel like I'm not going to be able to do it.

Spring, Easter, and Random Thoughts

"Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
and come away,
for behold, the winter is past;
the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth,
the time of singing has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
is heard in our land.
The fig tree ripens its figs,
and the vines are in blossom;
they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my beautiful one,
and come away.
O my dove, in the clefts of the rock,
in the crannies of the cliff,
let me see your face,
let me hear your voice,
for your voice is sweet,
and your face is lovely."

-- Song of Solomon 2:10-14

For me, the first day of Spring is always Easter Day, no matter what the calendar says. I'm happy, this year, to finally be able to worship again, to celebrate Easter, and to observe the days and seasons in general--I've been largely ignoring the liturgical calendar since I stopped going to church, and intentionally avoiding celebrating holidays, except when I was more or less dragged into it by family or friends.

I'm happy to be at church again, but I don't feel at home here yet as I did in my old one. I don't know how much of it is just newness and unfamiliarity, how much is my own hesitance to open up and put myself out there again, and how much might be a difference in the nature of the churches. I do get the impression that there is overall less sense of immediate community in Catholic churches than in Protestant ones. Undoubtedly, it's all of these factors together, to some degree. I definitely am avoiding giving myself wholly to the church like I did before. Probably permanently. I don't think I'll ever be able to do that again. Part of it, too, might just be that I'm still missing old friends. I'm one of those sad souls who never stops loving people from the past, no matter how long ago or far away.

Nevertheless, there is a joy for me, especially in being confirmed and finally being able to receive communion again. Also, although the immediate sense of local community is less, there is happiness in belonging to the vastly larger global community. In particular, the expectation of being able to visit the shrines and cathedrals, and do the pilgrimages in Europe in my upcoming travels as a Catholic is very exciting to me. I loved visiting them anyway, but there was always a sense of not belonging before. I'm looking forward to, for instance, being able to truly share full fellowship with other pilgrims in the Albergues on the Camino, to being able to receive Mass in the churches and cathedrals, and even to not feeling that slight sense of alienation when viewing art or listening to music in Catholic settings, or which is explicitly Catholic in origin or theme. I don't know if that makes any sense, or if I'm the only one to have felt that.

As I said before, I'd still really like to also become fully Orthodox, and spend some serious time exploring the deep and vast beauty of the Byzantine and other Eastern traditions. Maybe I'll do that after I return, and then make that another trip. I dearly would love to visit places like Mt. Athos, Hagia Sophia, and especially the Holy Sepulchre and related sites in Jerusalem, which are mostly Orthodox-controlled, while simultaneously internally exploring Orthodox spirituality and mysticism. The highlight, I think, would be to be present for the miracle of the Holy Fire in Jerusalem. I suppose it would really take two trips: that one, and one to Eastern Europe and Russia. Would dearly love to see St  Basil's and get a taste of Tolstoy's and Tchaikovsky's Russia. This would all be much easier if I were living in Europe.

The perfect church, for me, would be one that uses the traditional high Anglican liturgy, the vast depth and breadth of church music from the great hymns to the most ancient chants, embraces the entire spectrum of interior spirituality, from the mysticism of the Desert Fathers to the Charismatic Renewal, and is fully catholic and fully orthodox in its theology while still embracing the good things that did come out of the Reformation, holding fast and unshakable in essentials while allowing full freedom of conscience in non-essentials. Let me know if you find one like that.

Anyway, what I started this unexpectedly rambling post out to say is: It's Spring! and He is Risen!

Bach - St John Passion BWV 245 - Van Veldhoven | Netherlands Bach Society

For Good Friday. The first ten minutes of this are one of the most profound and beautiful things in Western civilization.

Anne Catherine Emmerich and Notre Dame

I'm reading Anne Catherine's visions, and came across this last night, just in the ordinary course of my reading:

"I had a vision of a church with a high, elaborate tower, in a great city on a mighty river. The patron of the church is St. Stephen, by whom I saw another saint who was martyred after him. Around the church I saw many very distinguished people, among them some strangers with aprons and trowels who appeared about to pull down the church with the beautiful tower and slate roof. People from all parts were gathered there, among them priests and even religious, and I was so distressed that I called to my Lord for assistance. Xavier with the cross in his hand had once been all powerful, the enemy ought not to be allowed to triumph now! Then I saw five men going into the church, three in heavy antique vestments like priests, and two very young ecclesiastics who seemed to be in Holy Orders. I thought these two received Holy Communion, and that they were destined to infuse new life into the Church.

Suddenly a flame burst from the tower, spread over the roof, and threatened to consume the whole church. I thought of the great river flowing by the city--could they not extinguish the flames with its waters? The fire injured many who aided in the destruction of the church and drove them away, but the edifice itself remained standing, by which I understood that the Church would be saved only after a great storm."

I was confused by the reference to St. Stephen (surely Our Lady is the patroness of Notre Dame, right?) until I researched it and found that, indeed, Notre Dame de Paris was originally consecrated to St. Stephen, and the door which faces the Université is still called the St. Stephen Portal.

There is clearly also a symbolic meaning to this vision, applying to the Catholic Church metaphorically. But that doesn't preclude the literal vision being true as well, just as the fact that the Exodus and entrance in to the Promised Land are symbolic of salvation in Christ, but also literally happened in history.

Incidentally, the Visions are fascinating. Perhaps the most fascinating thing I have ever read.

That makes my heart ache.

Bishop Barron on Notre Dame Rose Window

How serendipitously apropos. Not only because of external events, but because what he's saying ties in to what I've been saying about my catholic faith. Also, I never realized it until he spoke of the Beatific Vision in relation to this window, but it does, from a distance, resemble what I saw when I saw God: a Sphere of complex and living blue-white light.

My New Name

I have decided to take David as my confirmation name. In honor both of St. David of Wales, patron of poets, and King David, the greatest poet who has ever lived. It just feels perfect, as both are patrons of poetry (and writing, by extension): I'm hoping that I can invoke their aid in fulfilling my vocation of writing.  And because I'm Welsh on my mother's side. St David his been historically linked to Arthur (he did live in the time that, if there was a historical Arthur, would have been his), and was even supposed in later legend to be either his nephew or his uncle.

Also, I've always felt a very deep affinity with King David, and very often, in my own trials and suffering, I've found great comfort in reading about his, both in the narratives of his life and in his own words, in the Psalms. I love that he was both such a great and fearsome warrior, and also so deeply sensitive and passionate, so devoutly devoted to the Lord, and so articulate and creative. The original warrior-poet.

"The second stage of the spiritual life is the illuminative. This belongs to those whose efforts in holiness have achieved the first stage of liberation from obsessive attachments. It is characterized by spiritual intuition of existent realities, by contemplation of the inner constitutions of created things, and by the communion of the Holy Spirit

In the illuminative stage, the spiritual intellect is purified by divine fire; a psychic opening of the eyes of the heart occurs, and the Logos is born in us, who brings mystical discernments of the highest order.

The one who reaches this state by the intellect's mystical intuition rides like Elijah in a chariot of fire."

-- Niketas Stethatos

Notre Dame

I've just learned of the fire at Notre Dame de Paris. How horrifying, and what an unspeakably tragic loss. I'm so thankful that I was able to visit it.

I have a gut feeling that this was terrorism. This is a great symbol, not only of Western culture, but of Christianity, and specifically of Catholicism, and was built during the Crusades. For this to have happened on the Monday of Holy Week is just too symbolic to be coincidental.

Here is another episode of the same series, talking about the role of beauty and order in spirituality. This is the story of how those things, especially as expressed in music, led a Jew from liberal atheism to Catholicism. I post it here because it expresses very powerfully and beautifully the same ideas and impulses that have led me into Catholicism from other forms of Christianity. In this, also, is articulated much of the role that You have played in my spiritual journey, in showing me the way to that Divine Order. This is what I've tried to express before by comparing you to Beatrice to my Dante.

"Mozart, when he wrote that piece [the 40th symphony], was witnessing to me, that: the truth of things, which is the relationship between Man and God."

Meditations on Holy Week

When I made my first confession a few weeks ago, after going through the list that I had made and confessing each one, I ended with the confession that my greatest and most grievous sin of all was that I had done all the others while already knowing Christ. This was not empty rhetoric. I have known him as long as I can remember; I made my first confession of sin and invitation to his lordship when I was four, of my own volition, alone in my room, not being led by any other person. And thus every sin I have ever committed since then has, in addition to its own sinfulness, been to commit the infinitely more heinous sins of grieving the Holy Spirit and subjecting Christ again to his crucifixion (Heb 6). The Catholic church recognizes this truth: in the Tridentine catechism it says:

We must regard as guilty all those who continue to relapse into their sins. Since our sins made the Lord Christ suffer the torment of the cross, those who plunge themselves into disorders and crimes crucify the Son of God anew in their hearts (for he is in them) and hold him up to contempt. And it can be seen that our crime in this case is greater in us than in the Jews. As for them, according to the witness of the Apostle, "None of the rulers of this age understood this; for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory." We, however, profess to know him. And when we deny him by our deeds, we in some way seem to lay violent hands on him. Nor did demons crucify him; it is you who have crucified him and crucify him still, when you delight in your vices and sins. (emphasis mine)

I have long had this idea that in his passion, the Lord experienced in a very real way the weight and horror of each and every sin and evil ever committed by mankind. That it was not just some sort of symbolic act, but that he, in a mystical manner, re-lived (or pre-lived) them all. That he experienced, for example, both the horror, pain, and shame of the victim of a violent crime and, worse yet, the guilt and remorse of the offender (perhaps experiencing remorse for the crime even, or maybe especially, when the actual sinner didn't). There's a superhero movie in which one of the hero's powers is to grab hold of the perpetrator of some horror, and make him experience his crime from the victim's perspective. I've pictured it like that, but times infinity.

It turns out that I am not the first one to have this idea: it has been given to at least one mystic of the church. Anne Catherine Emmerich describes, in one of her visions:

When Jesus left His disciples, I saw a number of frightful figures surrounding Him in an ever-narrowing circle. His sorrow and anguish of soul continued to increase, and He was trembling all over when He entered the grotto to pray, like a wayworn traveler hurriedly seeking shelter from a sudden storm, but the awful visions pursued Him even there, and became more and more clear and distinct. Alas! this small cavern appeared to contain the awful picture of all the sins which had been or were to be committed from the fall of Adam to the end of the world, and of the punishment which they deserved. It was here, on Mount Olivet, that Adam and Eve took refuge when driven out of Paradise to wander homeless on earth, and they had wept and bewailed themselves in this very grotto.

I felt that Jesus, in delivering Himself up to Divine Justice in satisfaction for the sins of the world, caused His divinity to return, in some sort, into the bosom of the Holy Trinity, concentrated Himself, so to speak, in His pure, loving and innocent humanity, and strong only in His ineffable love, gave it up to anguish and suffering. He fell on His face, overwhelmed with unspeakable sorrow, and all the sins of the world displayed themselves before Him, under countless forms and in all their real deformity. He took them all upon himself, and in His prayer offered His own adorable Person to the justice of His Heavenly Father, in payment for so awful a debt. But Satan, who was enthroned amid all these horrors, and even filled with diabolical joy at the sight of them, let loose his fury against Jesus, and displayed before the eyes of His soul increasingly awful visions, at the same time addressing His adorable humanity in words such as these: “Takest thou even this sin upon thyself? Art thou willing to bear its penalty? Art thou prepared to satisfy for all these sins?” 

I have experienced faint echoes of this myself. Some years ago, after my son had come back from his first combat tour, he was suffering greatly, and I asked the Lord to let me bear some of his suffering for him. And he granted my request. I was immediately plunged into terrible emotional pain and mental torment, to the point of having memories which weren't mine, which lasted for quite a long time, weeks or months, afterward. And when I talked to my son again some time afterward, he told me that his burden had been considerably lightened just after the last time we'd talked.

It happened again, far more briefly, just the other day. While I prayed, I was overcome with the overwhelming deep pain, anguish, shame, and horror of a woman who had been assaulted. I don't know who or exactly what this was about: whether it was one specific person, or perhaps just women in general who have suffered it. Whether it was about a stranger or someone I know (unfortunately, there are several candidates). Or whether it was past, present, or (possible) future (I prayed that, if it was possible, that whoever and whatever it was might be prevented). I have always hated and detested this crime more than all others, but I had never truly felt the emotional depths of the victims' suffering like this. I hope I actually was helping someone, in some way.

Not to imply at all that any of this compares with Jesus's agony in the garden. To bring us back to the point, it is only in and through his agony that ours acquires any transcendent meaning or eternal value. Also, whereas Jesus's suffering was only on others' behalf, as he was truly innocent, anything I experience also comes back around, in the end, to my own sin and guilt. Although I may not be guilty of a particular crime, I still, in a way, share in its guilt, by having partaken of and participated in some sin of lesser magnitude but the same species, as in the parallels which Jesus drew, that anger equals murder and lust equals adultery.

This all ties, unintentionally (on my part) back into my prayer and meditation on the Sorrowful Mysteries during this Lent. I'm wondering now if perhaps it is a Grace given to me through those intentions.

Here, if you want to meditate further on these things, is an hour (or so) long podcast reading from and reflecting on the Passion and the Sorrowful Mysteries, from the perspectives of Scripture, mystical revelation, and forensic science. I especially love the point made that 'Gethsemane' means olive press, and the garden was the place where olives were crushed to produce pure oil. And that this evokes a beautiful and sorrowful picture of Jesus's human soul being crushed under the weight of all the sin which he was bearing.

Even more so, I am deeply moved by the reflections (and here it ties back in once again to my own spiritual journey) on how the Passion was experienced by the Blessed Mother of the Lord and how, in praying the Rosary and meditating on the mysteries, we are experiencing it through and with her. 

Plans

I'm thinking of taking a trip. No, not a hike this time. Well, not only a hike.

I'd like to go to Medjugorje, to pursue and deepen my new relationship with Mary. Then I'd like to visit Lourdes, walk the Camino de Santiago, then down to Fatima. What I'm hoping to do is actually walk that whole way: Lourdes to the Camino, then from Compostela down to Fatima.

Depending on how things end up with the sale of my house, it could be an extended trip. What I'm hoping to do is to put all my stuff in storage rather than buying another place right away, then spending a longer time in Europe. Part of it would be doing regular travel things; castles, cathedrals, and museums, you know, and maybe seeing some old friends. But also, there's a place there in Medjugorje, a kind of semi-monastic community for men where one can stay a while and seek God and wholeness. And I'm thinking maybe I'd like to do that, before I decide on my next step.

Whether I can do this will depend on some things more or less outside my control. My house has to sell. And I've actually got a contract on another place. But it's provisional on my current one selling, and will expire after 90 days (or like 80 now, I guess) if it doesn't. And there could be other, unforeseen factors, which change my plan or prevent it. As everything, it's all "the Lord willing".

I've started backpacking again, to get back in shape for walking. I won't be carrying as heavy a pack on the Camino, and I've been told it's not nearly as physically difficult as the AT. But still, it's good to be in shape. And I need to anyway. I'm finally really losing weight again. I went to the doctor a week or two ago, and I was down 16 pounds since my previous visit at the end of December. Once Lent is over, I'm going to hit the gym again; I haven't lifted since before my long fast, over two years ago now, and I never really recovered the upper body muscle I lost during that fast.

What I'm praying is that my house will sell for close to what I'm asking, but not in the next 90 days (so I can get out of the other contract without losing my earnest money). I'll spend that time training and continuing to get fit, brushing up on my French (and seeing if I can pick up some Spanish while I'm at it), then when I close, move all my stuff into storage except my backpack, and hit the road. Or the sea, rather. I'd like to take a ship passage across, if it is practical to do so, rather than flying. Buy a Eurail pass, do my things, then decide where to go from there. Maybe I'll just never come back.

You looked exquisitely lovely today. A vision. I haven't seen you in person in so long, I'd almost forgotten just how beautiful you are.

Mary, Motherhood, and the Sacred Feminine

I'm going to try and tell you something very personal. I know, I've already told you basically my whole life and everything about myself. This is more intimate, not in that it's more graphically detailed, as in more episodic descriptions of events past, but in that it's more ephemeral and harder to elucidate. What I'm trying to describe is what I have come to understand to be the central issue of my life.

What I have lacked, in my soul, for as long as I can remember, is the presence of the loving feminine. When I was very young, this took the form of longing for a sister, and of having dreams about having a girl friend who would be kind and affectionate to me. I don't want to go into the reasons for this; obviously it's about my mother (and later, other women in my life). Let's just acknowledge that this has always been the deepest yearning of my soul, from the time I became conscious, and leave it at that.

Much of what has occurred in my life is an expression or result of this. The profundity and power of this need has often driven me to extremities, and then it becomes one of those self-perpetuating cycles. I'm not going to over-psychologize it, though: there's also a spiritual dimension to it. Our enemy knows where we are most vulnerable.

This is a wound that's shared, in a sense, by the entirety of western culture. The feminine is half of humanity, or should be. And it's a part of every human soul: every person has both a masculine and a feminine aspect to his or her personality. I'm over-simplifying for the sake of brevity, but basically the masculine aspect of the personality is, among other things, the logical reasoning function, and the feminine is the intuitive feeling function. If you want more details about this, read some Jungian psychology. I particularly recommend this book, the central thesis of which is that, as a result of the Enlightenment and the adoption of Rationalism as the only acceptable mode of thought, the feminine, both externally and internally, has been devalued, disparaged, and dismissed, and therefore the culture and all of us who are products of it are deeply wounded and dysfunctional.

I would go further, and say that this has not only a psychological but a spiritual dimension, and a deeper root cause: the Protestant rejection and even degradation of Mary. It's not accidental that the "Enlightenment" followed chronologically the Reformation. Mary is not a goddess, and she's not part of the Trinity. But she occupies a place in the cosmos and in our consciousness without which we are incomplete and broken. That place is the sacred feminine. As God is the archetypal father, she is the archetypal mother. Without this archetype in our psyches, we become unbalanced. If only the masculine is sacred, then only the masculine is important and valuable, and femininity becomes a kind of weakness; an incompletion or a lack. Something to be avoided or overcome. This is why the early modern period was so chauvinistic, and that is why we're in the mess we're in now with feminism. But feminism addresses the problem with more of the same: its answer is that, in order to have worth and value, women need to become more masculine. They're trying to put out a fire with gasoline.

Back to me. Having been raised and educated Protestant, and very much in a way that was product of the times: rationalist, skeptical, materialist, etc., Mary never occupied a place in my mind or in my heart. I was never as malevolent and acrimonious toward her as many Protestants are, but I was dismissive and indifferent. Especially toward things like Marian apparitions and devotions. Again, this was symptomatic of a similar attitude toward femininity in general; and, unconsciously, toward my own emotional and sensitive nature.

I told you, already, that the Lord spoke to me some years back, telling me to take his mother as my mother, and that he would heal my relations with women. At the time, I didn't realize the full extent of either the problem or the solution: I was thinking mainly of externals. But now (and I'm finally getting to the point), as I'm nearing the completion of my transition to Catholicism, I am experiencing something so sacred, so profoundly intimate, so sublimely beautiful, that it is impossible for me to convey it to you. That something is the true experience of Mary's presence in my life and in my soul, and the full realization of her as my mother, who loves me. This is a powerful thing for anyone, but for a man whose entire life has been characterized by an almost total lack of true female love and intimacy, it is overwhelming and inexpressible.

I haven't seen her yet, or heard her, or smelled the roses. But I have been sensing her presence, and it's been moving  touching, and healing unlike anything else I've ever experienced. I've had some very powerful times in the Lord's presence. Sometimes it's been quite emotional. But this is different. Not more powerful, or better, or anything like that; it's more that it's exactly what I need for my wounded and hurting soul. A mother's touch. THE mother's touch.

This is a new thing, and it's not complete yet. I don't know where or how far it's going to lead me, but right now I'm thinking maybe Lourdes and Medjugorje.

To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.

-- St. Thomas Aquinas

Wish I was there. Of all the ones I've missed, this is the one I miss the most.

"Nothing uproots the weeds of the soul so quickly as blessed humility."

-- Theodoros the Ascetic