Mount St. Francis Lenten Retreat

With the love of the mountains, the quiet of the forest, and the wisdom of the Father’s and Sister’s I knew I was going to be engulfed into God’s milieu. The silent retreat was a gentle blend of equanimity and reflection. The Father’s and Sister’s brought us together 5 times during the week-end to impart their knowledge, years of listening, reading, teaching, and absolution.

The excitement of a new toy is no different for those who spring to clutch the Lord’s cloak. The last supper without silence, I can’t but look at my new acquaintances not truly wanting to speak for in a mere half an hour we will be silenced for 48 hours. Light whispers contemplate the food as much as our first Lenten workshop. My eyes leap from one shelf to another in the expansive library yearning to catch the eye of a book that will revolutionize my week-end. Spiritual Master’s by Father B. Hughes it is.

Father Kevin, a spry lean man gentle in touch, speech and gestures engages us in the

Possibility that we are a reflection of God’s beauty.
Isaiah 61 - The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

My mind reels into the lost opportunities, the stories of what never happened, due to my rush, my embarrassment, my need to protect myself. And, yet he returns and shows me new places, spaces to dwell with those that need sustenance.

We are to be the voice for those that have none, and yet here we are silenced, for me the safest place to be, for in my youth too much excitation existed my vocals with rhetoric.

“Christ,” he says, didn’t walk with those like him, he choose to reside with the sinners, tax collectors, and women of the night. It is here he felt comfortable, why is it so hard for us to distance ourselves from those different from us. What is in our makeup that pushes our synapsis to fire viciously, repulsively for those that were made perfect in his image too?

Father’s last words are; “He is everything for everyone.” Why isn’t that enough at times for me?

Father Louis.

Perseverance – A willingness to include pain and suffering in our approaches to life – Psalm 27
When we say, I love you, what are we saying:
I accept you/ you are precious/ apart of my life that I love/ we are giving life/ God is begin us to come close/ pay attention to body in thinking about Christ.

We are saying to God that we are ready to do his Will.

He taught us a new approach to prayer;
I want to approach you through the gifts of the Holy Spirit dwelling within me. I place them in your hands. Help me to be attentive and receptive of your world. Accept the time I spend in your presence as an expression of my love for you, my desire to be with you.

Lent is a time lean on Christ, this was very new to me, not only to be available but be renewed. I hope to spend all the gifts God gave me during this time, leaving only a little footprint for others to follow.

Human Condition

Our bodies a massive series of interconnected tissues that record history of scares, injuries, accidents and time spent under a florescent light in sterile dwellings of sadness. Wheeling our stories in and out of blood lines capturing another time when life disappeared more fluidly. Modern trajectories heave souls to remain where they want not. Holes in our skin causes holes in our heart a cavity impenetrable.
What is life a sequence of events as  scalpel extract congealed plasma from his leg one year at a time. Each visit more is gone of his leg and being, he is leaving in flesh with his flesh looking at black globules splattered on the ground.
Ah!...that hurts.....oh!.....don't do that.....my leg, MY LEG!....
Ouch!.....as his hand reaching into the air for strength, for help, for a drug that will assist this hell.
My daughter bedside breathing, puffing air in and out of her lungs. I hear her does it register this stupidity she is urging me to copy. Others watch in horror hear my angst.
Puff.....inhale in slowly then hold 1, 2 fuck it, blow out. Again.
Puff .....inhale slowly and out.....Inhale in and out....Ah! why did this have to happen. I'm pissed off at my condition.
I can't figure out how to place my good foot, my left foot, ahead of my right when walking with the walker. I try....I hear their advice.....off in the distance it comes at a cost.....I am ashamed at where I am. My wife, anyone but me should be here. This is fate getting me, my sins....I laugh....I know it is my life getting me back....but I have to laugh.....there are others around judging me......I know my decisions haven't been sound. How to stop the speed of time.....there is so much to do....so much my wife wants to do .....and my body is failing me.
This bloody walker gets caught on every minute edge, crack, rug, a slight bump in concrete, in my agenda. My body heaves it up and over into another realm.....I am calm eyes closed I can feel the ocean.
In bed again, thank God.....the heat of the afternoon light streams in the bedroom window washing over my body the shame I feel having to be bathed like a babe, helpless, hapless. I am warm for once in this city.....did I really want to come so long ago.....I know we wanted to go back....it never happened. Now it is too late.
The bank has called again, the store, the meetings I am missing.....can I possibly catch up....did I ever think I would be here, others have been before me, why is this so foreign, perhaps this is my time.
Food is obsolete I eat as I am told, little flavor contrasts the metal staleness of prescriptions. Christ my pills I have to take all five of them now. Light purple is for my heart, 2 pink ones are for blood thinners, the orange for antibiotics, the yellow for pain, and the white for high blood pressure.....a new condition to my dyeing body.
Borrowed time this is my time! Christ says he has a purpose for me, at this late stage what could possibly arrive into a womb so gnarled. Ashes to ashes dust to dust, is it really here versions of it are arriving on my mind daily.
My family knew the man that I was, the man that God was transforming me to become, the man that somewhere along the route got lost. I am here now, this is me, wounded emotionally, physically, psychologically, and perhaps spiritually, but I will get it back. I need him. I need him to place a memory in my family's heart of who I am in his eyes.