Someone Told Me Yesterday

that I made them want to throw up. Back to The Rule of St. Benedict. I used Benedict on a recent paper. He is very specific about behavior. Keep your mouth shut, keep your eyes down. Do good works, he lists 72 suggestions. Obey. Practice humility in all affairs. Work, pray, read as the daily schedule. Stay in the process, don't run away. It is the only way to God.

It prompted reflection. As I said at the time: "Thank you."

Teaching Delmar To Drive, Part II

I just stopped writing a very long paper. I say stopped, rather than finished, because I had a topic that leads. There is no end, and there is no finish, once the subject is opened. I will live now, with the topic. That is the problem, and reward of going to school. I am very busy inside of my being, because these processes, once started, go on inside of me whether I want them to or not. I suppose that is why I am constantly walking, outside. That appears to help manage these voracious, internal activities. I am afraid to stop walking.
I hired a professional to assist me in my attempt to teach Delmar to drive. In publically admiting this, I admit my shortcomings. But too, this is an opportunity to say something I like about myself: when pushed to a corner, I will get help. The man is gentle, kind, and exceptionally talented in couching his instruction. He has several methods, and they are not based on praise. Following the first lesson, Delmar was quick to insist that I ride with them, and learn Ron's method of teaching and responding. "You've got something to learn here. If you went along, you would learn it."

So it seems, one thing leads to another...if you go along.

The title of the paper is Conversatio Morum. It is a Latin phrase that is difficult to translate, but the thrust of it is commitment to an on-going process. It is one of the three vows that Benedictine monks express to govern their lifestyle. A key element in accepting a vow is the freedom to choose it, and embrace it, as one's own. Not imposed by others.

Conversatio Morum is the foremost challenge of my life right now. As I delicately traverse my grief, as I school myself, as I interact with others.

I am thinking about a tattoo, as I witness my squirming...

to go along.

Who Am I Now?

In some ways, it is comforting to know that I am no longer the person I was four months ago. This comfort arrives in feeling the soft edge of compassion, and my own tenderness when out in the world. I returned something in a small town hardware store this morning. It involved electronically processing the return. And it was being done by an woman who was probably near seventy. Familarity with computers is not innate in this age range. I saw the frustration on her face, and her embarrassment at the length of time the transaction demanded. A transaction that acted up, refusing to cooperate. Forcing her to try again, though she did not understand what went wrong the first time. I had made her life in the quiet country store, less enjoyable. For that, I apologized. And that is what death has done to me, and for me. Brought me to the knowledge of my impact in both simple and complex interactions. And hope for a merged edge, rather than a ragged edge, when involved with friends, family, and strangers. I suppose the foundation point of this is an increased sensitivity, that is sensual and intuitive. Do I resent this? I would like to say so, but then would close my mind and heart to opportunity...... and the gifts of a gentle God, offering kindness and solace to my brokenness. The store clerk said to me: "You don't have to worry about me, I am here to help you. This mess on the computer counts for nothing in the big world. It seems to work out, no matter how little I know, or how much I screw up."

Going Back to Minnesota

I am making a short trip back home. This is what my horoscope said today:

Libra (Sep 23 - Oct 22)
You might wish that the tensions would just go away, but they won't until you consciously face what's bothering you.

Oh well.......

Living With An Alien

I am doing what I normally do. My life is fairly routine to those observing me. I walk in the morning, I take care of my house, I work on my projects. I add an artistic touch, here and there. Yesterday, I restrung the lights on my trellis, after cleaning up the explosion of the hundreds blown up by an accurate electrical strike. There is nothing like slivers of glass nestled in the cracks of a brick walk-way. I finally hit on the amazingly brillant idea of the vacumn cleaner. Over and done with.
It is difficult to live with the alien. Quiet, then noisey when least expected... in a moment dedicated to something or someone else. Subtle, then voracious. Showing an appetite meant for consumption, with no care or concern for the menu. Clumsy in enthusiasm for taking the lead and dominating the current involvement and emotional climate. Convinced that what is current is only a distraction, technically unimportant. I feel like a parent trying to ignore the repetitive and needling question of a four year old. Tolerant on the first launch, irritated with the continued need to return to the subject. Clearly no response adequately answers the inquiry or soothes and quiets the psyche of the explorer.
This alien, now with me for an unspecified amount of time, has a life and a quest of its own. This, at five in the morning is like a bad roommate barreling around in the kitchen, drinking the final dreg of beer left in last night's can. Banging the dirty dishes around in the sink, not washing them, but moving them so there is room to brush one's teeth in the kitchen. And when that is done, turning around to say innocently, 'did I wake you?'

The vacumn cleaner is not going to work on this job.

The Invention and Construction of Moving Forward

1. Watch others who are moving forward. Patrick, my next door neighbor, is painting his roof. A couple of days ago, all of his sons and all of the son's friends were up on the roof. Having a job that is hard, dangerous, and difficult seems to act like a magnet.
2. Rent a 14 inch chainsaw, and trim the small trees and foilage out of the backyard. The net result set the course of the next four days. Say nothing but 'Thanks!' to the sweat, branch entwinement, and resultant weak back. Distraction is not valued as it should be. Is working for me. And true to supposition, did act like a magnet.
3. Feel the feelings. Better to feel the feelings when walking, cleaning, and organizing. Doing this in the garage caused more feelings, as the garage has hosted any number of non-paying renters, of the four legged variety, for six months. Do not feel the feelings when reading, or trying to go to sleep at night. Shutting feelings down is okay.
4. Lower expectations. Feeling better is not going to happen for awhile.
5. Eat at the regular times, even though now, there are no regular times for anything. As well as no appetite.
6. Enjoy the ultimate privacy given by unplugging the phone. A little control is appreciated in the aftermath of no control.
7. Go where the dogs want to go, as they are always connected to God.
8. Take hope and faith that emptiness is space for lessons, revitalization, and change.
9. Do not fear change. If fear is present, rent chainsaw.
10. No one knows how to handle loss well. So spend a lot of time cutting a break for all. Most everyone is in some sort of grief process, and most of this is unknown to me. Tenderness and compassion is a good general rule. Especially while driving, and when in the grocery store.

Praxis

A year ago, when I started graduate school, I was actively involved in making a list of the reasons I should quit. This was both a conscious and an unconscious process. To exert control on the unconscious process, I made a decision to behave in the classroom. Not get into it with anyone, and not make assumptions on what appeared to be a traditional Catholic university. I knew those assumptions were grounded in my past. And spear-headed my rather inflammatory and confrontational Catholicism. I also knew that this had nothing to do with God, seeking and listening to God, or understanding and accepting the God ways. Which, deep inside of me, was my real goal. On my list, and close to the top, was my inability to comfortably understand what my professors were saying.
I think it is standard to find that language accompanies environment. I knew from my work experience that volcabulary represented culture as well as functionability. If I couldn't use the language as others did, no matter that it was was invented, mutated, or artistic, success and even comfort, would not follow.
I kept hearing words that seemed familar, but they were words that I did not use in my life. I did not really know what these words meant, and that is not where I wanted to start a rigorous course of study, crippled for mental exercise. My professors frequently used the word praxis. I finally looked it up: 1. practice: distinquished from theory 2. established practice; custom
3. a set of examples or exercises

Now praxis is in my volcabulary. And I can use the word. So let me say, there is no praxis for grief.