Peering into the dark

Much going on the past few weeks has made it difficult to get my thoughts together.  My landlady, a good friend the last five years, suggested that I might go to one of the Catholic churches in the area that offers perpetual adoration of the Holy Eucharist.  I am not Catholic but she said the chapel is open to all people, and that you can spend as much quiet time there as you like, day or night.  She then invited me to go with her and see the chapel at St. Monica's where we spent a few minutes in prayer.  Afterwards, we went to St. John the Baptist's chapel which is closer to home and the perish she attends, but they only have overnight prayer one Friday each month.

I thought she mentioned that the night of prayer would begin this weekend at St. John the Baptist's, so I planned to go and spend the night there on Friday night.  A slumber party with Jesus and John the Baptist sounded pretty inviting, the thought of swimming in muddy waters comes to mind.  As one friend's dad used to say "Jesus always loved a party, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!"

It was late after getting home from work, so I made it to the church just after midnight.  St. John the Baptist Catholic Church is a beautiful building with a large sanctuary and large scale windows that bring the outdoors into full view.  The parking lots were empty when I arrived, which is not unusual for there to be only one or two cars during the night when I've been back to St. Monica's, and since there were several parking areas around I didn't think much about it.  I collected my things (book, journal, small pillow and blanket) and finding the doors unlocked I went inside.

St. John the Baptist Sanctuary (lights on)

Once inside, I entered the door to the small chapel where the Holy Eucharist is usually kept; however, unlike the time I was there before, the room was totally dark.  I could see through the round window that opens up to a view of the sanctuary that it was also completely dark in the sanctuary except for the street lights shining through the large stained glass windows.

Small chapel at St. John the Baptist Catholic Church (lights on)

Standing in the doorway for a moment and peering into the darkness of the small chapel, I could see the table where the Holy Eucharist is kept.  It was not exposed now, but was put away in its small tabernacle.  There were no candles burning, only dim lights from the entry way arrested before crossing the path of the door.  I wanted to go inside and sit to spend time in prayer, but thought I might be intruding at this point, so I left.  I drove to St. Monica's chapel that is open 24/7, but I could see from the parking lot that it was also dark inside except for the lights on the statues of St. Mary and St. Joseph.  It began raining heavily as I drove home and the only person I saw on the road was a toad.  He was heading for the pond across the street, his own muddy waters no doubt.  Suddenly, I thought of Jim Morrison's song, "Riders on the Storm."

The darkness of the empty chapels which are usually well lit with lights and candles burning, an atmosphere of quiet prayer and humility, left me with a cold feeling of absence much like in Morrison's song:

Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out alone
Riders on the storm

There's a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin' like a toad
Take a long holiday
Let your children play
If ya give this man a ride
Sweet memory will die
Killer on the road, yeah ..."


I felt like an actor out alone, a rider on the storm.  The glimpse of the darkness in the chapel gave me a deeper appreciation of the nights I was there in the warmth and light.  I imagined what it would be like if Jesus hadn't come into the world and we were all thrust into the darkness of the world like a dog without a bone.  And speaking of a bone, my "killer on the road" has been my recent battle with breast cancer.  The diagnosis last summer was that it had metastasized to my bones.  There was no evidence of disease to any tissue or organs, however the lymph glands near my kidneys were swollen and began to cause them to shut down the flow to my bladder on both sides.  I had to have stints placed in both sides to keep them working, so as long as they remain open, my health has been fine.  The most recent bone scan and CT scan were clear of any activity since beginning hormone therapy, along with the Cherokee Indian Herbal medicine in the form of a tea I drink daily.  Aside from having to replace the stints every few months, an outpatient procedure, as the swelling goes down, my health has been really great and I refuse to "give this man (cancer) a ride"!

What a difference one unassuming Jewish rabbi made in the world.  Sometimes the absence of just one person can be like that.  I appreciated the silence in memory of the death and burial of Jesus, in honor of his family, Mary and Joseph, of his friends, what it must have been like for them to lose such a remarkable light.  I am thankful to know those in my life whose presence has been a light for me, and I keep a candle burning for those who have gone out.  I am also thankful for the power the promises in the scriptures and the hope of the resurrection brings.  Also, until we meet again, Jesus left us with a meal to remember him by, another Jewish tradition I admire.

Before:  Silence

After:  "Say hello to jumping for joy!!!"  Jesus Resurrection

Unexpected Holy Relic

 “Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine”

Barna da Siena - c. 1340

     An unexpected holy relic: "This painting shows Jesus slipping the Holy Prepuce onto St. Catherine’s finger.  St. Catherine of Siena is one of the Jesus’s 76 virgin brides.  During the mystical marriage Christ appears to his bride in a vision and presents her with a ring.  This is followed by a ceremony where his mother, saints, and angels are present." reposted from:

 Marriage of St. Catherine of Siena 

     In the painting of the Mystic Marriage, "Jesus gave her His Holy Foreskin to wear on her finger instead of the usual gold ring."

     A medieval Book of Hours includes an illustration of Jesus with the Rings of Saturn as the Holy Foreskin, which the 17th century Catholic scholar and theologian Allacci Leone (Leo Allatius) "published the treatise De Praeputio Domini Nostri Jesu Christi Diatriba (“Discussion concerning the Prepuce of our Lord Jesus Christ”) in which he proposed that the Holy Foreskin had ascended into heaven at the same time as Jesus, and had become the recently observed rings of Saturn."  reposted from:  Rings of Saturn

     Since holy relics were abundant and not always authentic, there were several holy prepuce in circulation during the middle ages with stories surrounding their existence.  The most recent was stolen from it's location in Calcata, a small town 30 miles north of Rome, in 1983. 

     This was one holy relic I didn't expect to hear about but which has a familiar ring to it, considering the story told about the circumcision of Jesus in the gospels (Luke 2:21). 

    

Second Skin

In memory of Adrienne Rich who died on Tuesday, March 27th, 2012, I always think of her when I hear this song:

Second Skin lyrics

I've thought about it a million times
It takes all my strength just to keep it calm
I hove to tell myself, just let it breathe
holding it inside will only help to do me in
Each time I close my eyes I see another chain
it's one I can't forget, something I can not break out of
I need a second skin, something to hold me up
can't seem to get out of this hole
I've dug myself right back in
Just to wake up tells me I must be brave
It hits me like a drug shot into my vein
It's not as delightful of a pain
immobilizing me
almost makes me think I'm dead
I need a second skin
something to hold me tough
Can't do it on my own
sometimes I need just a little more help
I want that chance to give every drop that's left in me
I need a second skin
something I can not break out of
I tell myself, just let it breathe
It's a calmness I'm always searching for
But the dirt it gets so heavy
it falls above my head
seeping from under my feet
it just keeps on getting deeper
I need a second skin
something to hold me tough
Can't do it on my own
sometimes I need just a little more help
I've got that chance to give every drop that's left in me
I need a second skin
something I cannot break free of
Though no one ever said it'd be easy
Still one's left to deny the choice that comes
between your willingness to survive
Though you're knowing what you stand up against
a world set to deceive
You need a special strength
I've got that second skin
I've got that chance to give
I've got the only way that I know how to live with it
I need a second skin
something to hold me tough
I need a second skin
something I cannot break out of

"aahh, matsushima

aahh, matsushima

aahh, matsushima"

-basho

Le bonheur de vivre

the joy of life, a painting by henri matisse is a print i found at an antique store at the beginning of this year. it was printed by the barnes foundation, one of the sequestered paintings in their collection they had never allowed to be reproduced in color until more recently. the print was an inspiration to me regarding renewal of health this year, as well as for the pursuit of my minor degree in women's studies. i hope to continue with women's studies for my master's as well, and see what the future holds for an opportunity to earn a phd at a university in wales in conjunction with my professor who is head of the department for women's studies at uco.

Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving I am truly thankful for my family and friends, those near and those far away, as well as those who have helped me academically during the last year. I am also thankful for the expert medical care I received and for continuing improved health.

So far my health and my strength are better than they have been for more than a year. I really felt a turn around when my weight began to increase steadily over the past two months and is now back up to the ten pounds I had lost since my surgery in February. Even my muscle tone has returned to a healthy firmness and my skin has healthy color as well and I feel so much better every day. I feel like a million dollars and now my clothes fit again too!

And thanks to my Modern British Poetry class this semester, I learned through my research of the poem "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot that there is such a thing as "sympathetic magic," something I knew about vaguely, but I realized it truly applies when it comes to my health and sense of well-being. The vegetation rituals and fertility rites that were enacted to produce energy and life can be very effective when acted out in faith. This is what Abraham did when he believed God's promise that he would have a son in his old age. The scriptures say that he didn't consider his body that was as good as dead, or the deadness of Sara's womb, but he had respect toward the promise of God that He was able to do what He had promised. I am most thankful for that lesson and the life it has brought forth in me even when my own body was a waste land.

Abraham wasn't enacting a pagan ritual, of course, but by faith he believed God and it was counted to him as righteousness, and he received his promise, his own son Isaac. I think my professors are shamans, I learn so much from them because of their participation in the learning process! The learning process forces me to push myself to reach new goals and obtain knowledge that is useful in my own life.