Runneth Dry

I occasionally joke on FB that my wineskin runneth dry & I need Elijah to come fill it as he did the widow’s flour sack. This day is one of “those days” in which I wish I didn’t have more than a glass of wine left in the bottle or that I was living on a shoe-string budget and my credit card is currently on figurative ice. I’m running out of empathic things to say to kids. I’m so very tired of parents saying “you got it easier than me”, therefore the kid shouldn’t complain about: AD/HD, depression, anxiety, psychotic features, food refusal, physical/sexual assault, family trauma, etc. I want to turn to these kids and say:

“Look, your mom/dad/foster mom is a P.O.S. I can’t make that better for you. I understand how much it sucks because I’ve been through the family trauma, the family secrets, the physical and emotional abuse; the depression, anxiety and contemplated suicide more times than I care to count. Let’s figure out ways for you to cope so you don’t go crazy like I almost did.”

No one has it easier than anyone else. We all worry about food, money, paying for items.

We just worry about it for different reasons, and we cover up our messes in different ways. Robin Williams covered it with jokes, look where that got him. Lohan covers it with drugs and alcohol. You cover it with cutting scars on your arms, and I cover it with a second glass with dessert & letting the hamster roll across the floor to the sound of my sarcastic antics. However, I can’t say what I want, instead I have to “mirror” and “reflect”. Some of the suckiest things I have to say include, “we can’t solve this in an afternoon”. Yet, it’s a hell of a lot better than something a former therapist told me which is “I can’t help you with that.” I hope I never get to the day where I say I cannot help someone. I may not know the answer. I may not help them arrive at a solution that day or that month, but it can and will be overcome.

The great problem with therapy is not being able to give the wisdom you’ve gained. You’re there to help them connect the dots, and if they don’t figure this out, you’re left with the pain of knowing that they might not make the gain themselves.

Coiled

 

rattlesnake
rattlesnake

I went hiking this past weekend for 2 hours (hiked 4 miles). I like to hike the hard way in and the easy way out, that way I get my exercise in, my rest period with a snack, and some creating (i.e. photography, drawing, thinking), and lastly my cool-down period. On the way back to the parking lot along the deteriorating fire-road, just past the ruins of the Keller cabin, the wind died down. The woodpeckers stopped jostling their brains. I stopped and then I heard it, the rustling of the leaves like a ball was rolling in the brush. I looked closely, and saw this guy ^ gliding on by. He/She’s a rattlesnake, about 3 feet long but not very thick, and the rattler didn’t look very well formed.

The imagery and experience of watching a snake in the grass seems to be a good metaphor of how the month of August has been for me: I was on a monastic visit and I don’t know what to make of my experience; my Spiritual Director quit; gossip at work encouraging/pressuring me to date a male colleague; slanderous gossip at work on a different matter which is abhorrent in nature, & more. As it is late in the month, I’m getting to the point of just watching the snake in the grass. I take a step closer because I’m curious, but I use my zoom lens to get a better look. I stand around to make sure it goes into it’s hole in the ground, and I go on my way. I’m just watching all this “danger” come at me and I’m TRYING to let it pass.

My thoughts since learning of the slanderous gossip at work are as follow:

  • if you have the luxury of enough time to conjure such abysmal stories about me, perhaps you need more clients.
  • I only speak negatively of the people who’ve done me wrong (i.e. my direct supervisor calling me a lesbian).
  • I’ve been honest about my family, why make up more horrific stories – the truth isn’t enough? (verbal & physical abuse)
  • Do you actually desire that kind of trauma to be upon me?
  • Is this a reaction to the fact that I’ve made statements that I’m Catholic and therefore will not have strange unmarried men spend the night in my apartment?
  • Is this a reaction to the fact I’ve stated numerous times that I do not date people at work?
  • Is this a reaction to the fact I’ve stated “I’m Catholic”?
  • Driving into work today, I’m was still furious. I frequently talk to myself in the car at times like this. I explained to myself that my life does not exist to please you, to appease you. I am not standoffish about sex, but I will not engage in sex outside of marriage, I will not masturbate, I will not procure abortions or contracept. Not because I’m afraid of sex, but that these are the teachings of the Catholic Church. If I did not want to have to follow these teachings, I’d go find a religion that does fit my thoughts. For example, if I thought children should not be baptized prior to the age of reason, I’d be a Baptist, if I thought modernity were completely of the Devil, I’d be Mennonite. However, these are man-made constructs. I’m Catholic because that is the Church Christ established through Simon-called-Peter/Cephas. If I were to run around to find a religion that fit me, that wouldn’t be Faith, it’d be Pride. I’m Catholic, I follow what Mother Church teaches since She can only speak the truth of God. I don’t attend the Church of You wherein there’s practices of masturbation, abortion, contraception, fornication, emotional extra-marital affairs, loose associations, and Soul-selling for a few moments pleasure: Let’s see, maybe 20 minutes of sex in exchange for eternity in Hell, or I can forego sex outside of marriage between the ages of 13 to 30ish, and have better hopes of going to Heaven. I submit to God. My life is created for the glory of God. I’m made by & for God, so I’m Catholic. I follow what God teaches through His established Church. I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU.
  • If you’ve never had the experience of seeing a real bonafide Catholic and that scares you to the point of committing slander and defamation, I don’t think I need to say which situation is more foolish.
  • I don’t want to know who this person / whom these people are. Really, I don’t. I’ll lose so much respect for them. I’d loathe calling them colleagues. Their minds are pure filth. Additionally, knowing your name(s) opens you up to a lawsuit.

 

DSCN5788

I’ve been back for a while from my monastic visit which occurred August 7th through the 10th; I only took two days off from work. While I had a nice time with the sisters and doing some of their work with them, I made the personal decision not to openly discuss things with the vast majority of my friends until I spoke with my spiritual director. Unfortunately, he cancelled last minute at 10pm on the Feast of the Assumption of the BVM. I view him as having made immature comments about the review of my vocational questionnaire prior to when I sent it to the sisters: he said that he put it off because it contains “personal” information and “you know us Mexicans, ‘manana'”. I may have to find a new spiritual director, which is unfortunate for me. If you have any suggestions for the Beach cities, Torrance, San Pedro area, &c please let me know.

I’m also thinking of posting my journal from the monastic visit here. These are just thoughts, nothing is decided just yet.

Candy-coated?

I’ve noticed something, when I read the blogs of other women who have entered religious life, and leave their blog running for the sake of future readers, education, information, to say “I was here”, &c. All their blogs are explicitly religious. If something unsavory occurred at work, they don’t mention it on their page. If some dismal words were exchanged between mother and daughter prior to entering, then it’s not shared. It brings to mind a saying of St. Josémaria Escriva, that he disliked the candy-coated appearing statutes of Mary, as though she were made of baking paste to be sat atop a cake.

Am I on display, on a cake, to make you like me? Am I to be all sweet and nice, and you to never see my rough edges? Am I to appear saintly?

No. NO. NO!

I’m not here to say, “Hey! I have a vocation to religious life.” Or “I’m already holy and perfect, please accept me!”

BWAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I’m a mess. I’m human. I fall all the bloody time. I lie. I drink. I own 5” cherry red stiletto heels. I like loud music. I like whiskey & single malt scotch. I have the things that land me in the Confession line every 3-4 weeks. I think mean thoughts.

I’m not here for you to like my posts. I’m not here seeking to promote a pretty picture. I put up posts like “Puddle of Power” every once in a while because that’s my reality. This is my blog, and I’ll put here what I dam well please.

Why?

That would be a farce. Farces don’t go anywhere. They spin ‘round; milling and dawdling. Farces tailspin; crash and burn, spurned.

Religious life isn’t about farces or candy-coated lives. It’s about what is needed most to save your Soul. My Soul. Recall, each day you have God to thank & serve, a Soul to save; Heaven to gain, Hell to lose. These truths aren’t obtained on the days that things have passed well, the days that are respites; rather, the days that are difficult. The days when you have a puddle of power, and you can wallow in it, or bypass the puddle knowing that it will dry up at some point. I need religious life to get my anti-morning-person-butthead into Mass every morning, to pray my daily Rosary, to maintain the daily prayerful conversation with Christ; a steady balance of work, pray, play. God calls you to unity with Him; and He calls me as well. We are called differently, as are the life paths. However, what doesn’t differ is our sinfulness.

Concisely, I’m not pure religion & prayer all day, every day. My blog should be a reflection of my reality.