October 24, 2008

The Retreat

The nave of the Arch abbey church of St. Meinrads Arch Abbey St. Mienrad Indiana. The hub of Benedictine spirituality in the United States, this combination monastery and seminary is a 150 year old experiment in community living. The Abbey Church with its splendid mural of Jesus the Pan creator is stunning. I have enjoyed coming here for the day and participating in the noon worship services here

From Conjectures of A Guilty Bystander, By Thomas Merton,OCSO (1966):

In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness. The whole illusion of a separate holy existence is a dream. Not that I question the reality of my vocation, or of my monastic life: but the conception of "separation from the world" that we have in the monastery too easily presents itself as a complete illusion: the illusion that by making vows we become a different species of being, pseudo-angels, "spiritual men," men of interior life, what have you.

Certainly these traditional values are very real, but their reality is not of an order outside everyday existence in a contingent world, nor does it entitle one to despise the secular: though "out of the world," we are in the same world as everybody else, the world of the bomb, the world of race hatred, the world of technology, the world of mass media, big business, revolution, and all the rest. We take a different attitude to all these things, for we belong to God. Yet so does everybody else belong to God. We just happen to be conscious of it, and to make a profession out of this consciousness. But does that entitle us to consider ourselves different, or even better, than others? The whole idea is preposterous.

This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud. And I suppose my happiness could have taken form in the words: "Thank God, thank God that I am like other men, that I am only a man among others." To think that for sixteen or seventeen years I have been taking seriously this pure illusion that is implicit in so much of our monastic thinking.

It is a glorious destiny to be a member of the human race, though it is a race dedicated to many absurdities and one which makes many terrible mistakes: yet, with all that, God Himself gloried in becoming a member of the human race. A member of the human race! To think that such a commonplace realization should suddenly seem like news that one holds the winning ticket in a cosmic sweepstakes.

I have the immense joy of being man, a member of a race in which God Himself became incarnate. As if the sorrows and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now that I realize what we all are. And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.


This changes nothing in the sense and value of my solitude, for it is in fact the function of solitude to make one realize such things with a clarity that would be impossible to anyone completely immersed in the other cares, the other illusions, and all the automatism's of a tightly collective existence. My solitude, however, is not my own, for I see now how much it belongs to them—and that I have a responsibility for it in their regard, not just in my own. It is because I am one with them that I owe it to them to be alone, and when I am alone, they are not "they" but my own self. There are no strangers!

Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed…I suppose the big problem would be that we would fall down and worship each other. But this cannot be seen, only believed and "understood" by a peculiar gift.

Again, that expression, le point vierge, (I cannot translate it) comes in here. At the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, from which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is, so to speak, His name written in us, as our poverty, as our indigence, as our dependence, as our sonship. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely…. I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere. **



** Conjectures of A Guilty Bystander. Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1966. 140-142. Reprinted with permission of the publisher and of the Merton
Legacy Trust.

This changes nothing in the sense and value of my solitude, for it is in fact the function of solitude to make one realize such things with a clarity that would be impossible to anyone completely immersed in the other cares, the other illusions, and all the automatisms of a tightly collective existence. My solitude, however, is not my own, for I see now how much it belongs to them—and that I have a responsibility for it in their regard, not just in my own. It is because I am one with them that I owe it to them to be alone, and when I am alone, they are not "they" but my own self. There are no strangers!

This paragraph from Merton's "Louisville Epiphany" likely the most famous piece written about the city, struck me firmly... I feel this way about this city that has taken me into its self. I have made friends here and connected here in ways that have not happened in any other place I have ever lived... They don't call this the "City of Hospitality" for nothing. I have met so many people and without exception they have been wonderfully cordial and gracious. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend the city as a great place to visit for vacation or to relocate

My greatest regret is not spending enough time in the city its self. I was downtown with a friend from Watkins church last Saturday...she had free tickets to the Imax there in the Science Museum then had lunch at the very cool Lynn's Paradise Cafe...(I think we saw Bobby Flay there but Im not sure). I didnt make a huge effort truthfully because I was so taken with the countryside and loved my country drives and I was being careful socially.... It wouldnt do for me to meet someone that I couldnt live without... Maybe someday I can come back for an extended visit and I can explore more of the city

I have been hugely busy working at home on the business, there are hours of listening to David Geller on how his programs work, I have been packing and am nearly done. I have left out what I will need for the next week but soon it will all be whisked into a carton and onward home to the Ozarks.

I have been amazed at how things have sort of pulled together in the last two weeks. My time with my therapist has yielded some interesting fruit with regard to my issues with anger. I have spent a lot of time praying about my relationship with Woody and how I can better cope with the irrational behaviour that seems to make me sink into irrationality. Woody does things that make no sense to me and that have very large implications for my future. Woody doesnt understand this of course and even as we were planning his arrival here a situation came up that was a real problem for me and he did get that it was a problem after a while but it was a stretch for him. I cant turn off my feelings and his lack of concern for consequences of his actions make it unlikely that anything will change...

The stress that I felt at this potentially damaging issue and my inability to have any control over what happened stressed me out to the point of misery. I am unable to just let it go. I have had a life time of people taking advantage of me and my situation and I am fed up and not going to allow it anymore. Yes some things are unavoidable, and yes to be concerned over every little detail of life is a touch over the top... but for some one who became self directed only 20 years ago...( I was so mentally ill I couldnt plan a menu or make a grocery list and follow it through) every time I can take care of myself in the face of someone that wants my life to be crazy is a triumph...


Mark asked me to watch out for the smallest thing that shows me that Woody wants to change and grow...I will watch... and try to keep an open mind...

I drove up to St. Meinrads a few days ago...and I have spent a lot of time these past few months looking inward. This has been a sort of retreat, a rather extended one for sure. I know that I learned a lot of things about myself many things not recorded here. I was profoundly effected by being self directed self contained and leaning on God for direction and not having to dwell to much on the needs of another. This sadly shows me that I have failed in community living and hope to work on being positive and work towards my own goals.

I will never have enough positives to say about the people that I interacted with and befriended during this time. Even the neighbors in the development gave me food for thought. I will miss the peace and quiet and the sound of my own soul. I fear that I will lose myself again once I go home. I pray rather that this personal retreat will extend its self.

Labels: Dreams, Kentucky, Louisville, Woody