The inner most part


I guess restlessness is a real problem with me much of the time.  The feeling that there is something ‘out there’ that needs to be done, the desire to move at any cost and at bottom, a fear of coming face to face with myself and my own basic inwardness.  A whole universe resides within, made up of good and evil, images powerful and at times terrifying, emotions strong and primeval, longings sharp as any sword cutting the soul in half, or so it seems.  Also dwelling in the depths is great beauty, love and a deep longing for union with something more that lies beyond the shattered sense of self, which can arise from this experience of the apparently bottomless depths of our inward selves. It can at times seem like an unruly jungle filled with both treasure and danger, which can be repressed for a time, but in the end, sooner or later, has to be faced.  Life is not about escape, though there are many ways to seek to do so, that however in the end fail. 

People can at times underestimate the power of their inward selves. Well they do until they are perhaps swallowed up and their lives can unravel because of it. Or cause other lives to go through great suffering and pain, when they become victims of the demons that arise during stressful and chaotic times.   It is easy to scapegoat others and punish them, when some kind of personal responsibility is not taken for what lies within.  If not, then this becoming a victim, this feeling of helplessness, will eventually lead to seeking out others on which to take out this sense of injustice and the overall unfairness of life.  A victim looking for someone to single out for punishment, becoming a victimizer in the process, which I guess is a continuing cycle that can be passed on from one generation to the next.  It is possible to carry the burdens of our ancestors, reliving old patterns that can stop only with the mold is shattered.

Complexity does not even begin to describe the inner web that we as a species have to deal with on a daily basis, even if it is not adverted to.  In fact the less it is understood the more power it has over our conscious life, though in an unconscious manner.  “Mirror, mirror on the wall” as the poem starts off, but I will add my own ditty, “I hate my reflection over all reflected in those I meet”.  The inner life will control those who are unaware of what is driving them.  Many possibly see this process in others but it is very hard to see it in oneself.  Perhaps that is why we need ‘wise ones’ to help us on our journey.  In the Christian tradition they are called “Spiritual Directors”. 

Of course the image projected could also be something luminous which can host its own set of problems.  It is just as hard to ask someone to carry ones darkness as well as ones light, for in the end those who carry our projections will have to pay a heavy price for it,
(for we seem to not be able to stay on a pedestal very long). If again, responsibility is not taken for what ones sees or projects onto the other.  We can only see, or name, or experience in others what also resides in us in a greater or lesser degree even if not adverted to or accepted. 

Below this inner web there exist utter simplicity and silence, but the only way there is through the experience of the unconscious, which is in fact, even in its darker aspects, is pure gold only waiting to be mined.  Empathy and compassion can only arise from self knowledge, for if it is lacking, only harsh judgments can be made for those who do not live up to what is in fact impossible expectations. 

Our inner demons and angels are in reality teachers propelling us forward if listened to, or if not making our lives a cauldron of inner suffering until some form of communication is forged.  This process works in ways that I don’t often understand, or perhaps I really never will.  Each person is so unique that the experience of the inner world is fitted for their own needs.  I am not in any position to judge anyone, at least on the level of their true worth and depth, for in my own life I am only just at the beginning of any kind of understanding.  Even when I get a small glimpse, it is often lost by my inconstancy and lack of discipline.

In the end there will always be more questions than answers, for that is what mystery is, something that can be studied and learned from for eternity. For a mystery has no bottom, just an endless learning and a diving in deeper.  In fact I know that the above for many, what I have written, may be nonsense for them, for I am after all only speaking from my own limited experience.  Where is God in all of this?  Well that is for each to decide.

Purgatorial grace

What is it that you envelop Lord,
how do you experience your creatures?

I foolishly think I know myself,
shallow understandings of my depths,
dark interiors the dwelling place,
or perhaps a place of hiding
where hidden demons dwell
waiting to be awakened. 

Yet you love what you see;
what would crush me
you embrace with infinite love
and yes with compassion.

How can this be?

“Love your neighbor as yourself”.

Such a strange thing to tell a species,
filled with self destructive impulses
projected outwards to be expressed,
exquisite pain bestowed on others
and yes received from others selves
in equal measure.

One day these inner sanctums,
hiding places of frightened angry things,
will all come to the surface,
brought to the light,
all masks torn away,
scapegoats seen for what they are,
a waiting game keeping truth at bay;
purgatorial grace.

Virtues’ exposed for what they are,
a thin layer over the irrational depths,
what has been rejected
seeking resolution,
a moment of truth none can escape. 

Lord of our flesh,
you carried our weight,
a burden you bear still,
for it is loves joy
to seek out the beloved
and not rest until consummation.

I am often tempted to doubt,
to despair,
yet I am upheld
grace unasked for
yet freely given,
no rest until I return.

How can I judge others?
Look down upon them,
knowing what lays hidden below,
for at times I see their faces,
these little satans,
teeth gleaming,
rage deep and primordial
that only your love can heal,.

Agnes R.I.P.

The call came on Saturday morning at 6: AM. I knew what it was about before I even got to my cell phone and answered.  Hospice was calling, letting me know that Agnes died a few minutes before; peacefully I was told.  I was hoping to be able to be there with her when she died and I did tell her I would try, even though at the time I knew that the chances were slim that would happen.  I guess it was good news that they did not call me, for that meant that she simply slipped away without any kind of struggle or distress.  They have medicines now that help keep the bodies distress down, which also helps with the breathing, so there is often very little struggle at the time of death.  She really needed only slight sedation, for thankfully her brain cancer did not give her painful headaches.

I saw Agnes for the last time the Wednesday before her death.  She mostly slept but would open her eyes every once in a while and look at me.  She gave me very little response when I spoke to her but she seemed to know it was me, for she gave me a little smile.  She was so still, something she was not good at while healthy.  She had a beautiful laugh that would carry, well, just about everywhere.  She was a tall woman, very beautiful in her youth but as the years flew by she gained quite a bit of weight, but her vibrant personality was always intact.  So now all of that was missing; death takes away everything.

She was not perfect and had her share of inner conflicts and wounds that she struggled with all of her life I guess.  At least she did for the 20 or so years that I knew her.  She had a tendency to push people away whom she did not think were supportive of her, often forgetting that perhaps her friends might need her to just listen to them once in awhile.  She was not malicious in this; it was just a part of her personality that she struggled with all of her life.  To her credit she always fought it, though she did not always have much success.  She did stick it out with her father (who from her account, gave her very little attention or care) and did what she could for him until his death; which cost her, but in the end thankful that she did not push him out of her life. 

About 9 months ago she called me saying that she did not want to talk to me anymore because I was not supportive of her.  I was not surprised for I knew it would happen sooner or later, for I could not always support her in ways that she wanted to be.  What brought it on was something I said to her twice.  She had a friend who was robbed and shot in the face.  So he was having a great deal of trouble adjusting back to a normal life, which should not surprise anyone.  So I recommended that when calling her friend that perhaps it might be best to just listen to him, support him and not talk about her troubles, which by the way were many.  She did not understand and felt I was not listening to her, so I was another one placed outside of her life.  I had mixed feelings, though there was some relief, for she did make a lot of calls to me which I had to listen to.  There was also sadness, since I knew that slowly she was isolating herself, but I let it go, there was nothing to do.  For I knew that in the end it was fear that drove her, something I have some knowledge of.  For anger, one of my greatest struggles is rooted in fear.

She called me back three months ago and filled me in on her cancer and how long she had to live.  So we reconnected and I was glad that we did.  As we talked I asked her to please not push me away again, but if I should say anything that she felt was off putting, to just bring it out in the open so we could talk about it.  She had only a few weeks to live and during that time, perhaps it would be good to try to not to isolate herself again.

I wanted to go back and see her the Friday before her death, but I had some kind of cold with a fever and did not want to endanger anyone living at hospice. As a result I planned on going in on Saturday, since by Friday evening I was feeling better.  So that never happened and I am a little sad about that.  On my last visit I only stayed for half an hour, was restless actually and found it hard to sit in a dark room with someone who was dying.  So I left early.  I don’t like to come face to face with my limitations for they are many and this is a time when I saw that I in fact have little to give.  I guess all I can do is to continue trying.

I felt honored that Agnes called me backed and welcomed me to walk with her on her last mile.  She was very fearful at first and could not believe that her end was so close.  Then some peace came and finally she told me that she was at peace and she could feel God was near.  She got to be reconciled with her daughter, whom I met, and she is a lovely woman.  I am so thankful that I did not have to call her after her mother’s death, for now that I have met her, I know that she would have been devastated by that.  She loves her mother warts and all and we had a couple of good talks a bout her.

How do you sum up a life?  You can’t, at least I don’t have that ability.  It is hard to think of her not being here.  I feel that old familiar inner void that comes with a death and I think quite possibly I am mourning more than I know. For I am not really in touch with some of my feelings, they stay hidden only poking out once in a while.  I hope before I die to be able to have access to them more readily.  I suppose it is fear that keeps them at bay.  I sometimes think there is an ocean of unfinished mourning inside of me, not bottomless but deep none the less and as I age and lose more friends and yes family, for I have many brothers and sisters (unless I go first), I often think that inner ocean will only deepen.  I think something many can relate to.

Bye Agnes, where are you now?  My faith says one thing, and I believe that.  My doubts say another thing and I am not sure I believe that at all……strange, so many different things can go on in the human soul, seeming to be at odds, yet perhaps not.  I like the unknowing it keeps things open ended.  For me, doubt points to something more, not to some form of reductionism that seems so popular today.  You were a mystery to me Agnes and mysteries unlike my inner ocean, are bottomless.  Perhaps in that way we are made in God’s image, nameless, without form, beyond space and time, eternal.  No label can contain you Agnes for you are 63 years of a mystery, a deep awareness, who suffered, loved, laughed, cried, fell and got up over and over again. Yes a work of art whose name only God knows.  I hope that you are rejoicing in that name my dear and well loved friend and that your beautiful laugh fills the hallways of heaven.

Purgatorial grace


What is it that you envelop Lord,
how do you experience your creatures?

I foolishly think I know myself,
shallow understandings of my depths,
dark interiors the dwelling place,
or perhaps a place of hiding
where hidden demons dwell
waiting to be awakened. 

Yet you love what you see;
what would crush me
you embrace with infinite love
and yes with compassion.

How can this be?

“Love your neighbor as yourself”.

Such a strange thing to tell a species,
filled with self destructive impulses
projected outwards to be expressed,
exquisite pain bestowed on others
and yes received from others selves
in equal measure.

One day these inner sanctums,
hiding places of frightened angry things,
will all come to the surface,
brought to the light,
all masks torn away,
scapegoats seen for what they are,
a waiting game keeping truth at bay;
purgatorial grace.

Virtues’ exposed for what they are,
a thin layer over the irrational depths,
what has been rejected
seeking resolution,
a moment of truth none can escape. 

Lord of our flesh,
you carried our weight,
a burden you bear still,
for it is loves joy
to seek out the beloved
and not rest until consummation.

I am often tempted to doubt,
to despair,
yet I am upheld
grace unasked for
yet freely given,
no rest until I return.

How can I judge others?
Look down upon them,
knowing what lays hidden below,
for at times I see their faces,
these little satans,
teeth gleaming,
rage deep and primordial
that only your love can heal.

Sitting with the dying

Sitting with the dying I feel is a privilege, to be able to do simple things for them.
To place their hand on top of mine, to give little sips to help fight off thirst, or to wipe a fevered forehead with a cooling clothe; yes just simple things.

Or to sit in silence, or reading from the psalms, or saying some prayers and talking when they seem to need it; which they seldom do in their last days and hours; for in the end they are waiting.  They are enclosed by the in-between, a land of grey mist and desert surroundings, where one world is fading and another slowly coming into view.  It is the middle place, the inner desert that the waiting takes place. Their own private Gethsemane, where with Christ the chalice must be emptied, all dregs imbibed  The final stripping after a long journey of slow diminishment, the loss of so many things, now the final letting go is soon at hand.

It is as if they are hanging over a dark abyss, their souls being healed of their life long journey.  For who does not have wounds deep that make life constricted and painful, pulling the strings at the most inopportune time, keep the fullness of life at bay?  So, it is the waiting for release that is witnessed by those who simply sit and accompany the dying. 

In sitting, we see our own deaths, for in the end what we do, all of us (at least I think so), is wait for our turn.  Each day we have little deaths, losses, diminishments, preparing us for the final death and all that implies.  To face that is freeing, though at times it can bring terror, for the place of in-between is one of ruthless stripping, the final cleansing by infinite love, that is beyond all our exalted and yes petty ideas, of the ultimate mystery we call God.

What lies beyond, I have no idea, could death be the end, yes it could.  If it is, well we still need to sit with the dying, hold their hands, give them drink and wipe their foreheads and pray with and for them; well at least I think so.  For we live in a world where I think we are not supposed to know, but to live in trust, hard as that may be.

Another trip to hospice (Agnes)

On Saturday, the 14 of November, I went in for my second visit to see Agnes and to also meet her daughter; let’s call her Joan.  I was a little nervous about meeting her because I had talked to her the day before and she was really upset about not being called about her mother’s condition. Even though I filled her in about mothers’ very strong request that she was not to be notified until after her death.  I could tell over the phone that she loved her mother and really did not understand what was going on.

My first impression of her was a good one.  She was tall like her mother and very beautiful.  She had a lovely smile and she gave me a warm embrace after she got up to greet me. She then introduced me to a friend of hers who lived in the area and came over to see if there was any way she could help out.  I then sat down for a few minutes with Agnes to see how she was doing.  She was in twilight consciousness, in and out, but she did recognize me and smiled when I took her hand.  I then asked if I could talk with the daughter for a few moments.

They have a beautiful garden outside with a fountain in the middle and some small benches.  We sat at the fountain and talked a bit about her mother, her request and the why of it all.  Joan was a critical care nurse herself and while there helped in taking care of her mother and which I could tell meant a lot to her.  She told me how happy she was to have reconnected with her mom, in fact she was the one who did the searching when she was in her early twenties and they reunited in ninety two.  They spent almost every Christmas together and always had a good time.  However it was all about Agnes, but the daughter understood how her mother struggled with her inner pain and accepted it.  Well until she had her first child and was a bit overwhelmed with it all.  Agnes has trouble understanding the needs of others, though there is no malice involved, it is just how she is.  So when the daughter asked for some space to recoup, Agnes interpreted that as rejection and withdrew.  It seemed that they both wrote letters to each other but they remained unsent, such is the nature of family quarrels.  She was hurt about her mother’s initial wishes about her notification but was happy that she was in fact called.  She was better than she was when I last talked to her over the phone and was happy to see it.  After we talked a bit I asked her if she wanted to receive the Eucharist.  I brought it for her and her mother but she was not able to receive, so I asked if her friend would like to receive also.  They both did.  We prayed and I gave them the sacrament.  I also got her in touch with Judy’s lawyer and they were going to meet at her house so she could get some mementoes. 

Before I left she asked me to talk to the head nurse to see if one dose of Ativan could be skipped so she could talk to her when she was more alert, for she was leaving on Sunday and knew this was the last time she would see her mother alive.  I asked the head nurse to skip a dose if it would not be too hard on Agnes and she agreed to do that.  So I left very glad that Joan was more at peace and that she had this time with her mother.  I shudder to think what it would have been like if she did not have this time with her mom.

I will be going back on Monday evening to spend some time with Agnes, perhaps all I will be able to do is to simply set with her and pray for I don’t know how present she will be, for her diminishment is speeding up.  I am very happy that she is in no pain and that I will have the honor of spending some time with her. 

For all of her problems and they were many, Agnes never stopped trying to get better, and even though she perhaps failed to achieve what she was after in the way of inner health and balance, I feel that her life was not in vain and that in her very struggle resides her greatness. For it takes courage to deep on striving, in the not giving up, even if the progress sought was not achieved; well least on the level that I could see.  Since I believe in God and in Christ Jesus, I believe that God’s grace is ever at work in the secret depths of the soul and that Agnes’s progress is perhaps much greater than I can understand or perceive.  I will try to be there with her when her time comes, but in any case she is surrounded by the love of those who care for her in hospice; her daughters, her lawyer who is also a friend and last of all me.  She is not alone and she knows that at last.

A reunion

In late October, about the 23^rd, I got a call from Agnes’s lawyer letting me know that she was very confused and that perhaps it was time to have her moved to hospice.  He is her financial power of attorney and I am the medical.  I was glad to hear from him and after I talked for a few minutes, I was very thankful he was on board with this.  He is a very caring man and is also a friend of Agnes.  While he does take care of her legal business, he also does some work for her without charge.   He has done this with more than a few of his clients, who were walking their last mile over the years, so he knows how to go about it.  I was very relieved, for Agnes did not go into detail over all that he did for her besides the lawyer work

I was getting ready to go see my family in Texas and I was worried about her being on her own and perhaps dying alone while I was away, for when she was first diagnosed she was given only two months to live.  It was past that date, but from her confused condition (according to her lawyer) it could be soon.  So I was in some ways relieved that we were going to facilitate her moving into a hospice facility. 

That evening I went to her apartment and she did seem confused, though she looked strong, for although she had lost a lot of weight (she being overweight), she looked pretty good.  However she was frightened and confused and nights in her apartment were scary for her.  Also hospice was sending people in to care for her, but there were so many that it only made her more anxious.  I helped her to fix some pictures for her daughter, got some of her paper work in order, though it was difficult, she is not the most organized person.  Then I went out and got her some dinner at McDonald’s, one of her favorite places.  Her lawyer came and took her credit cards, since they could be easily lost or stolen in her confused state.  We then arranged for someone to come and stay the night with her.  The next day she was put in hospice.  At first, the nurse that came in that evening to evaluate her did not think she would be admitted into the actual care facility but into the residence section for observation.  They have limited space, so one has to be at a certain level of acuity before they can be admitted.  I had almost no doubt that in a week’s time she would be ready for admittance.  If not, the lawyer thought it would be best to put her into assisted living, for her apartment would be too dangerous for her to go back and live in.  So I was able with some peace of mind to go for my family visit, which by the way was very pleasant for me. 

After about a week into my trip I called the hospice nurse that was in charge of her case and found that she was admitted into the facility.  I called her a couple of times and she seemed at peace though of course confused.  She forgot that I was not in town each time I called but over all the conversation was pleasant and to the point.  I came back on the 8^th of November and she was still alive, though I could no longer contact her by her cell phone.  I was told that she could no longer walk and spent much of the day sleeping, though she could still remember people.  I also found out that one of the hospice volunteers contacted her daughter which she forbade me to do, even though I brought it us a couple of times.  I was happy about that since the daughter seemed to want to come down and see her and Agnes seemed pleased. 

I went to see her on the 13^th at the hospice in which she was staying.  It is considered one of the best in the city and I was impressed by what I saw.   She had a nice room that had a cloistered garden outside her room so that her bed could be pushed out into if she so desired.  She was of course in her bed when I first went in and she seemed happy to see me.  I sat with her for a while and held her hand.  Or allowed her hand to rest on mine, which would allow her to remove it when she so desired.  We talked a bit and she told me that she was at peace and no longer afraid.  Also she said that God seemed close to her.  She also told me that she was glad that her daughter was coming down to see her.  As we were talking my phone rang and from the area code I knew it was her daughter calling me back.  I left a message on her home phone to call me if she could. 

It was a good conversation.  She seemed to love her mother very much and was devastated about the news of her illness.  She told me a few years back she was going through a very trying time and because her mother can be very difficult, some words were said that caused pain on both sides.  She told me that she tried to write a letter a few times but could not send it, now she was overwhelmed with regret, but was also happy that she found out about her mother’s condition.  So she is coming down on Saturday and I will go in to meet her and maybe take her out to lunch, though most likely she will want to spend all her time with her mother.   I took my phone in and put the speaker phone on and they had a few words that cemented the relationship back together. 

After a loved ones death, if there was some rift, only the love and regret remains.  Agnes only being 63, I guess the daughter thought she had time to get back in touch, thank God she did.  Also I am very happy I did not have to make that call of notification, which is what Agnes wanted me to do, I can’t even imagine the pain that would have caused her daughter.

Christmas list

As I was leaving the doctors office I saw my friend talking to a woman sitting in her car.  She was young, at the most in her late twenties and she was asking for directions.  She was looking for the ‘St. Vincent DePaul society’, a catholic institution that helps those who are in need.  In was 11:40 and she wanted to get there before 12:00 so that she could put her children on their Christmas list. 

Someone gave her directions to the society but they were wrong since the street she was looking for was not in the area.  So my friend went back into the doctor’s office to see if he could find out if one of their offices was in the immediate area.   While we waited she told me something about herself.  She was from California, just arrived, had two children and had a job, but it was only four hours a day.  Her husband was abusive towards her, so she wanted to get away from that situation.  She was smiling as she told me her story and was not looking out for any help from me, but I could feel the underlying anxiety that she was feeling for her children. 

So I turned away for a minute to see what was in my wallet and was able to give her something for her children.  I was surprised at her response, for in truth it was not that much.  She at first wanted to refuse, her eyes wide and unbelieving.  Then I said; it is for your children so please take it.  She then got out of the car and told me that she did not know why people would give her money, but it always seemed to happen when she most needed it.  She then started to cry and asked if she could give me hug, so we hugged. 

My friend came out telling her that no address was like that in the area, however we both knew where another society was that just five miles away.  So we gave her the address, made sure that she understood it and she was gone.  We also knew the lady who ran the particular place. It was based in a Catholic Church and we told her to give Ruth our names.  I was glad she was lucky enough to run into both of us.

You can’t help everyone; some people really can’t, for they are so overwhelmed by their own family needs, which of course come before the needs of others, so I felt happy that I could help in some small way.  We each do what we can when the situation shows itself. 
I think she will be alright, for she is working and looking for other avenues of making a living.  She did not look like someone who was looking for someone to take care of her.  She simply was concerned for her children’s welfare; what mother wouldn’t.

pointing

in a circle we stand,
fingers pointed with both hands,
to the left and to the right
at those who think differently,

seeking to set them aright,

perhaps in the end
when all is said and done
none of us knows
what the hell we really understand.

a dose of unknowing perhaps is what is needed
for a listening ear to grow in place.

Family reunion

The children of not so long ago,
now have little-uns of there own,
so big and mature
who once ran around my knees,
nephews and nieces
now all grown.

It is all a blur at times for me;
you can see the passage of time
moving ever faster.

Laughter about the past,
yet underneath,
wondering,
if we will,
perhaps,
possibley,
be togeather like this again.

Yet we have this time to embrace,
joy to share,
love to give,
and yes jokes galore
about our past childhoods,
regaling those younger of our expolits.

They

Perhaps not believing we could,
the old ones
have ever been like them.

An unending chain,
for I once was the little one
thinking those adults so old
and I (?)
well,
I would always be young,
funny to even think about it,
since it was only a blink away.

Yes it is good,
life a blessing,
I would not take back one day.