HAUNTED BY THE HOLY GHOST

I'll Try To Make More Mistakes...I Won't Try To Be So Perfect

INSTANTS

If I could live again my life,

In the next - I'll try,

- to make more mistakes,

I won't try to be so perfect,

I'll be more relaxed,

I'll be more full - than I am now,

In fact, I'll take fewer things seriously,

I'll be less hygenic,

I'll take more risks,

I'll take more trips,

I'll watch more sunsets,

I'll climb more mountains,

I'll swim more rivers,

I'll go to more places - I've never been,

I'll eat more ice creams and less (lime) beans,

I'll have more real problems - and less imaginary

ones,

I was one of those people who live

prudent and prolific lives -

each minute of his life,

Offcourse that I had moments of joy - but,

if I could go back I'll try to have only good moments,

If you don't know - thats what life is made of,

Don't lose the now!

I was one of those who never goes anywhere

without a thermometer,

without a hot-water bottle,

and without an umberella and without a parachute,

If I could live again - I will travel light,

If I could live again - I'll try to work bare feet

at the beginning of spring till

the end of autumn,

I'll ride more carts,

I'll watch more sunrises and play with more children,

If I have the life to live - but now I am 85,

- and I know that I am dying ...

Jorge Luis Borges

 

Photo: By Isabella (me!)

Taken in Helsinki, Finland

Original and edited-All Rights Reserved

With nightingales of dawn, I cry songs, woes of separation

 

 

Separation

May none be shattered like me by the woes of separation;
My life has passed by wasted by the throes of separation.

Exited stranger, lover, heartsick beggar, mind bewildered;
I've shouldered brunt of Fortune and blows of separation.

If ever separation should fall into my hand I will kill it;
With tears, in blood, I will pay all the dues of separation.

Where to go, what to do, who to tell my heart's state to?
Who gives justice, who pays out, for those of separation?

From the pain of separation not a moment's peace is mine;
For the sake of God, be just, give the dues of separation.

By separation from Your Presence I'll make separation sick,
Until the heart's blood flows from the eyes of separation.

From where am I and from where are separation and grief?
Seems my mother bore me for grief that grows of separation.

Therefore, at day and at night, branded by love, like Hafiz,

With nightingales of dawn, I cry songs, woes of separation.

Hafiz of Shiraz

Translator:
Smith, P. (1986)

Melbourne: New Humanity Books.

Bishops, Saints and Church “Church politics”.

Bishop, originally uploaded by IzzY212.

THE DEFINITION OF A SAINT:

In the saint there exists nothing that is trivial, nothing coarse, nothing base, nothing affected (fake), nothing insincere. In him is the culmination of delicacy, sensibility, transparency, purity, reverence, attention before the mystery of his fellow men…comes into actual being, for he brings this forth from his communication with the supreme Person (God). The saint grasps the various conditions of the soul in others and avoids all that would upset them, although he does not avoid helping them overcome their weaknesses. He reads the least articulate needs of others and fulfills it promptly, just as he reads their impurities also, however skillfully hidden and through the delicate power of his own purity, exercising upon them a purifying action. From the saint there continually radiates a spirit of self-giving and of sacrifice for the sake of all, with no concern for himself, a spirit that gives warmth to others and assures them that they are not alone. … And yet there is no one more humble, more simple, no one more less artificial, less theatrical or hypocritical, no one more “natural” in his behavior, accepting all that is truly human and creating an atmosphere that is pure and familiar. The saint has overcome any duality within himself as St. Maximos the Confessor puts it. He has overcome the struggle between soul and body, the divergence between good intentions and deeds that do not correspond to them, between deceptive appearance and hidden thoughts, between what claims to be the case and what is the case. He has become simple, therefore, because he has surrendered himself entirely to God. That is why he can surrender himself entirely in communication with others.

The Experience of God,
Dimitru Staniloae.

h/t to s_p and "Pithless Thoughts" Blog and a good companion piece to last's Friday's post "The Chopping Block"
Reading both pieces may help keep a balance between the 2, 3 or 50 issues Bishops, Clergy, and Laity must weigh wisely while not losing site of the One True Thing.

And For Bea, the Girl in Red: I have great faith in all things not yet spoken...

 

I have great faith in all things not yet spoken...hints of hope, hidden whispers in the November Wind

 

 

Child in Red 

Rainer Maria Rilke

Child in Red

Sometimes she walks through the village in her
little red dress
all absorbed in restraining herself,
and yet, despite herself, she seems to move
according to the rhythm of her life to come.

She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,
half-turns around...
and, all while dreaming, shakes her head
for or against.

Then she dances a few steps
that she invents and forgets,
no doubt finding out that life
moves on too fast.

It's not so much that she steps out
of the small body enclosing her,
but that all she carries in herself
frolics and ferments.

It's this dress that she'll remember
later in a sweet surrender;
when her whole life is full of risks,
the little red dress will always seem right.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Silence is the language of God. Everything else is a mistranslation

“The heart isn’t interested in knowing. The heart is interested in awareness….Knowing contains within it a very heavy charge of rightness and wrongness. Everything we know has to do with being right and being wrong….
Awareness has nothing to do with being right or wrong. The heart is aware. The mind may or not know that there are people suffering in Ethiopia this minute. But the heart is aware. Always. Of everything.”

“One thing I do want to say; and if this doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, then I’m doing something wrong:
Our Lord never ever asked us to be right. He asked us to be good. And yet we spend 99.9% of our religious lives, and 101% of our political lives trying to be right. Jesus doesn’t mind if we’re right or not. He does mind if we’re good or not.”

“Language. Some language is beautiful, some language is horrid. We have poets in our presence. No one here would deny that some language is very beautiful; but we also know that language can convey the basest, the nastiest, the most vile sentiments that human beings can inflict upon each other. Hatred. Torture.
They’re all based in language.
The mind knows language.
The heart knows silence.”

“St. Maximus the Confessor said something along these lines:

Silence is the language of God. Everything else is a mistranslation.

I’m not here talking about empty silence. But about God-filled silence–the natural silence that exists in you this minute, right now, right here which is available to you whenever you choose to reach out for it. It’s not an empty silence, it’s not
a barren silence or a cold silence, or a dark silence; it is a warm, God-filled, beautiful, expressive silence.
And it resides in your heart all the time. And it doesn’t take much–once you know it’s there–to find it.”

Fr. Meletios

From:Audo Lectures given at 2004 Eagle River Institute

Mind and the Heart in our Spiritual Life

h/t: by the narrow gate

photo:Chair-demost1967  

photo: Madonna-demost1967

 

The Reckoning

The Reckoning

All profits disappear: the gain
     Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
     And now grim digits of old pain
     Return to litter up our home.

     We hunt the cause of ruin, add,
     Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;
     For all our scratching on the pad,
     We cannot trace the error down.

     What we are seeking is a fare
     One way, a chance to be secure:
     The lack that keeps us what we are,
     The penny that usurps the poor.

Theodore Roethke

It starts as a small little thing...

LA HAINE

It starts as a small little thing,
indignation at a trespass,
anger, having been wronged.
It grows into a flag,
parading first down small streets,
sweeping up the meanderers,
then avenues and winning crowds,
cheers along the way.
It writes an anthem,
builds a campaign.
Marching through the mind
it settles thoroughly in memory and vein,
changing our posture,
the way we hold our chin.
By the time it reaches bone,
it has eaten through sinew and spine,
cost us all that was benign.
Then, rises up the starless night,
no song no light.
Suddenly afraid,
we want it out:
cut, poison, burn the blighted stem.
But rampant right breeds cell on cell
out of control,
And having eaten heart
it eats the soul.

Susan Dane

I'm a Lunatic

I am a Lunatic

I mean, this is not news, but I just wanted to get the confession out there,
before some one beat me to  it.**

**Found in the archives of unpublished posts, while my blog was BROKEN by Firebox update #456,894.

For awhile, the only way I could post anything that didn't contain the Book of Common Prayer's table on the calculation of Easter, was to use an older unpublished post and overwrite it.
It took awhile to figure this out. 
I was not blog fasting for Lent, I just didn't want every post illustrated with that indecpherable table.
BTW, I think that table alone explain much about the  current condition of the Anglican communion.  But that is another post.

Anyway, while looking through the old posts that I wrote and then thought better and did not publish, I found this short, sweet one from about a year ago.
I do not know what triggered the outburst.  I am not sure I need a particular reason to state the obvious.

Anyway, realize now, I should have published it,
because NOW, someone has beaten me to it.
I won't name names, but it was NATHAN.( Awaiting N.'s chorice of Shakespearan Pseudoname)
Oh, he may have danced around the specific term "lunatic", but his meaning was clear.

At least it wasn't someone who is planning on marrying into the family-MIKE, and I forgive you or laughing.

Evidence:Just a snippet from many epiphanies this weekend:

The conversation went something like this. No.  It went exactly like this:

BEA: My teacher says that I am extremely intelligent, but I sabotage myself by letting my neurosis get in the way.

NATHAN:  He's met your mom?

Actually, I think there is a "Bea's mom is a lunatic" fan-club, to hear her talk about it.

Someone put me out of my their misery **

I should be grateful for these free lessons in humility. 
Many people have to spend years with  spiritual directors sifting through their lives for the hidden bedrock of pride.
All I need is five minutes with one of my daughters.
zap!

I also think I racked up more homeschool  points in one conversation than has ever been recorded.  Who's got the record book this week? Emma?

In my defense, I don't think there is a difference between aliens and mutants. Therefor X-Men and Men in Black do belong in the same category.
Besides anything said on no hours sleep after a hatrick of attending Orthodox(east and west rite), Roman Catholic and Lutheran Easter/Pascha liturgies should not count against you, including this nonsensical post that belongs in the appendix of "through the looking-glass"

And I am publishing it because I don't want to have to read it again or have someone beat me to any scoops found within it.

BTW, the Firefox update also broke Typepad's spellcheck. Dreams do come true.

* *A figure of speech,

What king Henry II  should have added as a disclaimer when he said "Will no one rid me of the troublesome priest on me?"
BTW, guys, that comes Catholic Church history, too, just in case you write a song about it.  google it.

Before you comment, let me save you the trouble and say it for you because
I already have a long list of unpublished comments from you that I don't have the heart to delete.
Kind of like saving all your  papers and pictures from when you were young, and I only have so much storage space.

Blah blah blah that ship has sailed
blah blah this is a new angle
blah blah he does have a point
blah blah blah etc.

And now, more in keeping of the Season this Bright Monday:
For my Finnish Friends and Relatives: (even thought only one of you can actually read Fin):

Kristus nousi Kuolleista! Totisesti Nousi!

Christ est Ressuscité! En Vérité, Il est Ressuscité!

"Repentance is but a fall into the hands of God."

"'Are you not thirsty?' said the Lion.
'I'm dying of thirst,' said Jill.
'Then drink,' said the Lion.
'May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?' said Jill
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl....
'I daren't come and drink,' said Jill.
'Then you will die of thirst,' said the Lion.
'Oh dear!' said Jill, coming another step nearer. 'I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.'
'There is no other stream,' said the Lion."

- C.S. Lewis

A VOICE IS HEARD ABOVE THE FIRMAMENT WHICH HANGS OVER OUR HEADS...

Lately, my brain has been like a sieve, but this has remained knocking around in my head most of the day from my morning prayers and readings.

There came a deep silence. Everything was still. The voices of prophets and apostles were hushed, since the prophets had already delivered their message, while the time for the apostles' preaching had yet to come. Between these two proclamations a period of silence intervened, and in the midst of this silence the Father's almighty Word leaped down from his royal throne. There is a beautiful fitness here: in the intervening silence the Mediator between God and the human race also intervened, coming as a human being to human beings, as mortal to mortals, to save the dead from death.

I pray that the Word of the Lord may come again today to those who are silent, and that we may hear what the Lord God says to us in our hearts. Let us silence the desires and importunings of the flesh and the vainglorious fantasies of our imagination, so that we can freely hear what the Spirit is saying. Let our ears be attuned to the voice that is heard above the vault of heaven, for the Spirit of life is always speaking to our souls; as scripture says, a voice is heard above the firmament which hangs over our heads. But as long as we fix our attention on other things, we do not hear what the Spirit is saying to us.

Julian of Vezelay

Remember the abyss of the Saviour's mercy

When you are praying, watch over yourself
so that not only your outward man prays, but your inward one also.
Though you be sinful beyond measure, still pray.
Do not heed the devil's provocation, craftiness, and despair,
but overcome and conquer his wiles.

Remember the abyss of the Saviour's mercy and love to mankind.
The devil will represent the Lord's fact to you as terrible and unmerciful,
rejecting your prayer and repentance; but remember the Saviour's own words,
full of every hope and boldness for us:

`Him that cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out';
and `Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden' -
with sins and iniquities, and wiles and calumnies of the devil -
and I will give  you rest.'

St. John of Kronstadt, My Life in Christ

Working small because my lines are so crooked...

Boastful am I, and hard of heart, all in vain and for nothing. Condemn me not with the Pharisee, but rather grant unto me the humility of the Publican,  O only merciful and just Judge, and number me with him'.

St. Andrew's Canon, Ode 4