David Bowie and Providence

Today is Easter Sunday, 2008. There is so much symbolism in my life right now – I don’t even know if its worth delving into, I mean it must be obvious. Well reguardless, its obvious to me.

I’ll sum it up. I landed back in the house in which I lived for 20 years (give or take a couple) Easter morning circa 1:30 am. A month ago, all which was my life for five years was abruptly tossed up into the air (which I feel is a week description applied to the situation out of charity).

Easter is a time of rebirth in the Ressurection of our Lord. I’m here in Cleveland, where I am picking up the pieces and starting over. See what I mean by obvious?

So, its Easter Sunday. My family doesn’t do much of anything — outside of wishing each other a happy Easter — to celebrate the day. This fact put a very mellow spin on my celebration of the end of the penitential season. A few times during the day my mind drifted back to the family I lived with for a time, and imagined them all celebrating and rejoicing. Feasting like kings (and they deserve it, the family doesn’t touch a drop of meat for 40 days, they do not snack between meals, and they do not eat desert  — they know how to have a good Easter). There they sat, dipping with laughter, surrounded — and I do mean surrounded; there were eleven children, five of whom have started familes of their own (I believe the family already boasts at least ten grandchildren). Nothing is wrong today. It is true, at times I wished I could be with them — perhaps drop by for a bit and say hello, but truly, I am quite content with my mellow Easter.

My brother and I ended up driving around a bit, due to extreme boredom — and as we all know, sometimes those times are the best. It gave me a chance to check out my old stomping ground. So much has changed in five years; I am beginning to realize how long I have been gone. This realization, which will be slow and sometimes painful, is conducive to many mixed emotions. Just at the peek of these emotions this afternoon, as I drove past my high school with my little brother, Changes by David Bowie came on the radio. I love when providence shows its self in these small unseen moments, it still makes my heart skip a beat.

Why Did the Hobo Cross the Street?

Well now, here I am – in the back of my parents white cargo van. We are on our way to Cleveland. They picked me up this afternoon from my dear friend’s house in New York. I used to get such a thrill from being on the highway. Wonder-lust will do it to you. When I was younger, and still full of unreasonable expectations for life, I wanted to see every corner of the world.

I always remember wanting to travel, when I was young. I wanted to live exactly the type of life I have lived up to this point. I’ve been in New England for five years, virtually cut off from the rest of society. The only news I received was that come from hear say, or sought after on the internet. I’ve been in a bubble.

I don’t live in my bubble any more – and to be honest, it’s a little over whelming at times. Actually, it’s a lot over whelming. I feel as though I lost a fair amount of my independence and braveary in the last five years. And now I feel as though the world is so big, and I am so small. At times I feel as a young child must feel, the first few times they are aware of what is going on around them. I do not know if my friends and associates understand any of this — how could they. How could I expect them to. The best way I can describe it to them is culture shock.

For example, crossing the street. This is something i have known how to do my whole entire life. Always look both ways and do not walk out in front of cars (thats how you get dead). Street crossing, a fundamental ability in this human experience, used to come as naturally to me as say, walking. This, however was before i spent five years in a place with one blinking light and dirt roads, i think there were all of three cars in town (well that may be a bit of a hyperbole, I simply want to emphasize how rare the street crossing was in NH). You could literally walk for miles and miles with out ever coming to a cross street. Here you have to cross a street every block and to me is real business. . . it kind of scars me, and makes me feel ridiculous all at the same time. Basically, when it comes to crossing the street I'm the worlds tallest kindergardener. I'm going to keep practicing, however, I'm sure i'll get good at crossing the street again someday.

That's what i mean by culture shock.

March 9, 2008

Well, its Sunday March 9, 2008. Once again, more time has passed than I have been aware of. The last date that I remember remembering was February 26 – my brother’s birthday, the day that I got to see George Clinton and Parliament/Funkadellic – and the first day after my last night in Richmond.

It amazes me how quickly everything can change, I don’t know why. Its not like this is the first time that all has been tossed up in the air and landed all topsy-turby here in my life. St. Theresa of Avila, the great Spanish Mystic and Carmelite reformer, says that “God alone remains the same”; but no matter how well my intellect grasps such concepts, my nature still finds a way to be baffled that once again all of my plans have fallen back into the potency of matter [yes, I realize that that is not the 100% accurate usage of the term “Potency of Matter” – I officially calme artistic license on that one].

Oh bother, St. Louis Marie De Montford says that we must always resign our self to Gods will in all things – so much so that even if everything we do falls to ruin we must not feel anxious or angry, as it is God’s will. Detachment, I think that’s what’s necessary – detachment from your own will. . . from self.

So really, those things in mind, I clearly have no idea why I am waisting time being baffled that in a rather abrupt matter I have just packed up and relocated five years of living. Apparently, things like these are too be expected when you strive to be a saint.

In other News, I attempted to go to the local parish church, Our Lady of Mount Carmel, for Mass today. Didn’t really work out. I realized today that I am going to have to fight for my faith out here. In Richmond it far to easy to take the Mass for granted – it was right across the street every day. I know I took the sacraments for granted, the last couple of years, but now – I have a feeling – I am going to start to understand that I took the sacraments for granted.

Normally, when I am visiting in Elmsford, I attend the Latin Mass at Immaculate Conception church in Sleepy Hollow. Its really quite a lovely mass, and from what I have seen it is relatively well attended for the area. Its only about 15 minutes away from the place where I stay when I am in town – and I will admit that it is quite convenient that Mass starts at 3. But this week – this week, my car is unsafe to drive. So instead of coping out on Mass all together, and going to a St. Patrick's Day parade with some friends, I decided that I would check out the 11:30 Mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel right up the street from where I stay.

I’ve been inside of our Lady of Mount Carmel a few times – twice for funerals, which I didn’t really attend – I was afraid that I would become aware of something displeasing to our Lord in the Mass and have to walk out, which would look incredibly disrespectful to the dearly departed. In the case of both funerals I did my best to sneak in at the last moment undetected.

I got to the church this morning around 11:15 to say some prayers before the Mass started. While I tried to make my morning offering, the faithful began to assemble, and greet each other in the middle of the church, while the king of Heaven reposed off to the side, in a quite corner to be forgotten. Its true, it breaks my heart to think of our Lord so over looked, but its not the first time I have seen our Lord forgotten. As it got closer to the time for the Holy Sacrifice, I noticed people setting up music and guitar stands. I assessed the situation for a few moments and realized I couldn’t stay for Mass.

I don’t do very well at the English Mass. I’d even go so far as to say that I do badly at English Masses – so badly, that it may even boarder on fault on my part. I get angry – too angry. The thing about it is that I become out raged at the offences being done to our Lord by others and in the church – but I do not get nearly as outraged at myself for the many times that I have offended our Lord. If I was a saint, I would be so troubled by my sins that I would not have time to succumb to temptations to be troubled by other’s. Alas, just another thing that I can understand but have yet to obtain.

My blood boils at irreverent English Masses, actually that’s how I know that there’s Irish somewhere in my blood line. I normally do not get fired up and angry over anything, but disrespect for God makes me go blind with anger, It takes a lot to restrain myself from doing something quite un-virtuous. A few years ago I decided that it was an occasion of sin for me to attend any new mass that will make me that angry. I hope that’s not a cop out, but at this point I feel as though I have enough information to back up my decision, and as I constantly try to put my trust in the Sacred Heart, all I can do is pray that I don’t do anything stupid, and that when I inevitably do do something stupid, that I’ll get the grace to get back to where our Lord and Lady want me.

So as I walked away from Our Lady of Mount Carmel in Elmsofrd New York before the Mass even started, I began to realize some of the things that this new life out side of Richmond may entail – the fighting has just begun.

The thing is

Well, you see ive returned from my little Christmas adventure, during which i traveled from NH to New York; from New York to Cleveland, back to New York for a week until finally my circle was completed and i returned to New Hampshire (all in the span of 3 weeks mind you). Its taken me a few days to get back in the groove of being here, but i think at this point, I've got the situation situated and am amply prepaired to proceed forward with all of life's what not for a while.

Unfortunately, while i was in the middle of nowhere in a hotel i was under the impression that i would have time to blogg in the future, because i had time to blogg in the moment. The truth is, this may not be the case. In fact, i am so busy with work – which involves being in front of my computer for 8 hours a day – that when i'm not working, the last place in the world i want to be is infront of my computer.

"Blogg at work," you might say. "No dice" I would respond. You see, my job takes way too much concentration to share any of it with blogging. Not only that, but my boss pays me to work, not to write meaningless whatnot, i can't in good contentious get paid to do this. I already get paid to do enough non sence.

In short, i will try to write something when i can. But for now, it looks like my writing skills are destined to go back on a shelf where they will continue to rust, until another time.

so it begins

So i found myself in a familiar haunt over this last week, surrounded by memories and all that nostalgic crappy what not, having a few cocktails with a few friends.  As we caught up on life and old times, two of them told me to start blogging.  They seemed to really mean it, so i thought about it.  Everyone is busy, but i feel like I've been abnormally busy, and unable to do anything like this.  Perhaps i just never had the proper motivation – perhaps i can use the old excuse of writers block; regardless of the reason, i never thought to blogg.

I think i just didn't know where to start. See,  when i was younger – like so many people in this world – i liked to write.  In fact i secretly, or not so secretly, wanted to be a writer forever. 

To be Frank and some what proud, i was a good writer back then. . . when i wrote.  But something in me changed when i left school, dare i say it - i do think that writers block (which they speak of  with such sorrowful tones) settled down nicely into the depths of my soul.  

For one – it is easy to write when someone tells you what to write about.  In school a professor or teacher or someone in charge of your homework assignments gives a topic, or guide lines to follow.  Looking back i have realized that this structure can be comforting for a writer.  I feel as though the world of writing is as limitless as life its self. It can be a bit overwhelming to limit all of the options down to one. 

. . . or maybe so much was changing in my life.  When i left school, there was so much confusion and change about everything in general, my whole perspective of the world and of life shifted.  Suddenly, i wasn't sheltered in the safety of being a student – i was in the real world basically on my own and i had to figure out how to do it.  Maybe, so much of my mental and emotional energy was being devoted to those crucial formative years in the life of a soul, that i had not the energy to write about it too.  Or! or i  had no idea what was going on, and how does one write about confusion and chaos. 

(Here i must warn anyone who may read this: I often ramble when i write.  Oh i just bumble along saying what i am trying to say – jumping from one topic to the next sorta like a butterfly floats from flower to flower – I'd get a kick out of it if you'd bear with this little defect in my personality and press on to find what ever point i am ambling towards, and i won't be offended if nobody cares.)

For the last year or so, i've had the itch to start writing again, but not the courage or direction to do it.   So when two of my oldest and bestest friends and i sat together at a bar of our youth, and they told me to blogg, i figured they were right.  Thanks guys, this is why i love you.

I have to be honest, and apologize a little.  You see, i feel very compelled to talk about myself right now. Its not that i think I'm abnormally interesting, or that the universe revolves around me.  At least, i hope thats not it.   A lot of people have asked me to write about everything that has happened in my life in the last five years or so.   Clearly i've lollygaged a bit.  To be honest, its a sensitive subject, that makes me feel nervous and vulnerable. I'm sure these feelings are not founded in reason, but what emotions are?  

I figure what's going on here, on this blog, is that i am going to begin to recount my life from the age of 20(ish) until present.  I am doing this for the bums and my family  – I know its not been the same since i left. I've missed you.