The View Up Here

2018 ended with a grinding, gasping, crushing sound in my little world. I found out a couple weeks before Christmas that a registered sex offender had been living downstairs from me, and although his crime was 20 years ago and had nothing to do with children, he had somehow violated whatever parole he was on. I saw the Staties leading him to a police cruiser as I returned home from work one night. I made eye contact with him; he threw me this sad little smile. I'd known for some time that he was lost and drifting, very nervous and paranoid. Now I know why. I pray for him because he seemed gentle but lost, not evil by any stretch. But it was distressing, and since I'd just moved into the apartment in October and had experienced quite a difficult transition, even more jarring. A few days after that, I discovered some very disturbing news about someone who once meant a great deal to me. The reverberations of this are still rippling through me. My judgment of character, so...

Another Purple Liturgical Season is upon us. I look out my window at Stella - Nor'easter Stella, that is, not my Aunt Stella, may she Rest in Peace *makes Sign of the Cross* and I think how fortunate I am that I got to:  a) work from home during the two days of this storm, and b) watch St. Francis measuring the powdery snow (not the heavy wet stuff that was predicted, thank you, Jesus). 3/14/17 at 9:18 a.m.                 3/15/17 6:32 p.m.   After getting my work done and filing my taxes today (yay, me!) I hopped onto Twitter and discovered an article that encapsulates many of my past ramblings. First, I'll hit you with a quote: If you can’t see God’s will in the present moment, right where you’re standing, and embrace it then and there, you’ll never discover it for the future. Now please go read the rest of the article here .   On Friday, I will take one more turn around the block of discerning a re...

From a great article on what it means to be a mystic  (all emphasis mine) : What makes a mystic, well, “mystical”? Mystic and related words come from the Greek language — from the same word which gives us mystery and even sacraments. But the Greek root word, mueo, also gives us the English word mute. So a mystic is someone who enters the mystery of God. And a mystic also, and therefore, is someone whose spirituality is muted (in other words, profoundly silent) — which is to say it cannot even be put into words. It’s the silence of a monastery, understood not merely as the absence of sound (or thoughts, or words), but as an opening that allows us to discern the quiet presence of God.  A mystic, in the broadest and m[o]st humble sense of the word, is simply someone whose relationship with God is primarily contemplative. Someone who prays, and who prays silently, opening the heart to the presence of God , which cannot ever be fully put into words.  The author wisely...

This morning I woke up feeling refreshed and looking forward to spending the first part of my day at Mount Saviour Monastery . Today is their Dedication Day, when their monastery was first dedicated in the early 1950s . It’s a very important commemoration day in the life of a monastery or church, like a birthday or anniversary. Some of my family members were present for that initial event in the middle of the last century and were involved with helping the monks as the community grew over the years. As a child and teen here in Elmira, I loved visiting the monastery with my mother. The light-filled chapel in the round with its bell steeple and the beautiful crypt (lower level) with its cool darkness and 13th century statue of Our Lady surrounded by novena candles were more fundamental to my own spirituality than I had realized back then. I still have a book that influenced my love of things mystical and symbolic that I purchased in their gift shop as a tween: The Book of Signs , by...

Monastery of St. Clare I am beginning the third week of my live-in at the Monastery of St. Clare. These two weeks were sadly interrupted by a trip back to Elmira this past week to attend the funeral of my dear Aunt Stella, who was 94. The emotion of processing her death, the weight of grieving, as well as the joy of seeing so many of my cousins I hadn't seen in years, all of it, was very overwhelming. Yesterday I took a quiet day at the monastery (not doing work during the work periods), and today being Sunday is also a quiet afternoon. Tomorrow I will be back to the regular horarium (schedule).  In the midst of all this, my relationship with Jesus is central. I am living the reality now that no matter what I am called to in this life, my relationship with Jesus is central. It's so easy to say those words, to nod and even say "Well...duh." But living that truth is the challenge of Christian life. In the sea of confusion, emotion, choices, and anguish is the ...

Tomorrow is Passion (Palm) Sunday, the start of Holy Week. I'm very pleased to be singing in choir at my parish, and I hope that the experience will remain an inspiring one through the coming months. I believe it was St. Augustine who first commented that "A person who sings prays twice."   I haven't written here much since I've been busy with work (a full time job and an on-going string of free lance editing for which I am very grateful). A quick update: I'm still on track for paying off my last piece of personal debt by the end of June. Yay! I will be returning to NYS mid-June for my cousin's ordination (he is becoming a Catholic priest). At that time I will visit friends and family, and nose around some of my old stomping grounds in Elmira.  I will also be visiting the Transfiguration Monastery in Windsor, NY when I'm back for my summer visit. I'm very excited about finding them; interestingly, they were founded around the same time...

I started writing this while I was in Carmel for my three week live-in... Anyone who thinks that living in a monastery is like being on vacation with nothing to do but gaze at the sky (or one's navel) and float piously down polished hallways and golden garden paths has never lived in a monastery. That being said, the hallways are pretty well polished, and while the garden paths aren't without tufts of grass and dried leaves, they are beautiful to behold. Keeping up an 88-year old monastery is hard work, and despite the physical limitations of several of the older sisters, things get done. There is help, of course, with regular workmen to do the heavy duty stuff like tree-trimming and painting, but by and large, these women live in community with each other, with God as their center, and hard work is part of the package. This is no house of laziness or effete living. I've been here almost two weeks, with one week and a half left to go. I've settled in fairl...