(no subject)
I have no idea where this came from or where it's going. I don't know who the narrator is. He just started dictating and I wrote the following.
Last night a revolution took place. Yes, my friend, I said a revolution. You do not believe me? Well that is most unfortunate, for we are all affected; how could we not be? You see before you a changed man, re - born and cast out upon the waters of human society as a witness. I shall not shrink from that duty, no matter what the cost, for I am obligated -- one might even say commissioned to preach to The Masses. I am certain that if you were in my place, you would feel the same obligation. Everything has changed now. As of last night, the planets and the stars have altered their courses. Well, perhaps not the stars -- as you so kindly point out, they are fixed in their places. Perhaps it is the course of their history of which I speak? Yes, that must be it. This revolution to which I refer is at the most fundamental level -- perhaps even a mystical level -- and deeply spiritual in nature.
I see your grimace -- is it the word "spiritual" which causes you discomfort? Of course that is most understandable, given the state of so - called spirituality these days. I fear we shall have to throw off the burden of the church entirely now that things have changed. Perhaps that is a good thing in many ways...
Ah, a smile now? You have perhaps had an unpleasant experience with the church? Pardon me if that question intrudes a bit too much, please, but it seems evident by your reaction. We have all had our run - ins with Mater Ecclesia; you should not be apologetic. I was an altar - boy once myself, long ago. That was when I discovered pain.
Yes -- I said pain. It was one of those early morning low masses when I was the only server. I was still young, 13 or 14 years old at the most. It was January and I had overslept and was in a rush and neglected to -- do you mind my digression? Not at all? Well thank you. You are most kind. -- I had neglected to show the proper respect to my stepfather and had already received a verbal thrashing. In any case, I was late and hadn't bothered with a coat, being so eager to get out of the house. The church, when I got there, was colder and damper than it was outside. You know how all that old stone holds the damp, don't you? Well, things took their usual course and soon I was there on my knees on the cold stone floor before the altar. No, Father Richard had removed the kneeling cushions. He believed in the mortification of our sensual desires, which was somewhat ironic... but I digress farther. As I knelt there, I gazed up into the face of The Christ on the crucifix and as I had been taught, I thought of his agony and suffering as my own knees began to ache from the cold. I dwelt on each wound, each bloody blow to His pale youthful body and imagined my own discomfort being as His. You see, my friend, I quite lost myself. I forgot where I was and what I was doing. Father Richard had to remind me of my liturgical duties, and he was quite firm in his reprimands, firmer than usual even, in the sacristy afterwards. He beat me. No, my friend, that was not uncommon in those days, but this time he was much more enthusiastic than usual. Perhaps it was because I was late, or perhaps it was because I had spilled some of the holy water while in my reverie. Perhaps the previous night's supper had not sat well on his stomach.
As I received my punishment, the vision of The Christ's wounds came back to me. It was not so much an awareness of Our Lord Himself, but of his actual wounds. I will not impose upon you, my friend, with an exact description, but suffice it to say that it was quite detailed and I remember it all quite clearly. The significant thing was that with each blow of that priest's leather strap, I rose higher and higher out of my own body until I was looking down on the scene in a detached way. That was when I discovered pain. I discovered pain as a means to other ends.
to be continued
Last night a revolution took place. Yes, my friend, I said a revolution. You do not believe me? Well that is most unfortunate, for we are all affected; how could we not be? You see before you a changed man, re - born and cast out upon the waters of human society as a witness. I shall not shrink from that duty, no matter what the cost, for I am obligated -- one might even say commissioned to preach to The Masses. I am certain that if you were in my place, you would feel the same obligation. Everything has changed now. As of last night, the planets and the stars have altered their courses. Well, perhaps not the stars -- as you so kindly point out, they are fixed in their places. Perhaps it is the course of their history of which I speak? Yes, that must be it. This revolution to which I refer is at the most fundamental level -- perhaps even a mystical level -- and deeply spiritual in nature.
I see your grimace -- is it the word "spiritual" which causes you discomfort? Of course that is most understandable, given the state of so - called spirituality these days. I fear we shall have to throw off the burden of the church entirely now that things have changed. Perhaps that is a good thing in many ways...
Ah, a smile now? You have perhaps had an unpleasant experience with the church? Pardon me if that question intrudes a bit too much, please, but it seems evident by your reaction. We have all had our run - ins with Mater Ecclesia; you should not be apologetic. I was an altar - boy once myself, long ago. That was when I discovered pain.
Yes -- I said pain. It was one of those early morning low masses when I was the only server. I was still young, 13 or 14 years old at the most. It was January and I had overslept and was in a rush and neglected to -- do you mind my digression? Not at all? Well thank you. You are most kind. -- I had neglected to show the proper respect to my stepfather and had already received a verbal thrashing. In any case, I was late and hadn't bothered with a coat, being so eager to get out of the house. The church, when I got there, was colder and damper than it was outside. You know how all that old stone holds the damp, don't you? Well, things took their usual course and soon I was there on my knees on the cold stone floor before the altar. No, Father Richard had removed the kneeling cushions. He believed in the mortification of our sensual desires, which was somewhat ironic... but I digress farther. As I knelt there, I gazed up into the face of The Christ on the crucifix and as I had been taught, I thought of his agony and suffering as my own knees began to ache from the cold. I dwelt on each wound, each bloody blow to His pale youthful body and imagined my own discomfort being as His. You see, my friend, I quite lost myself. I forgot where I was and what I was doing. Father Richard had to remind me of my liturgical duties, and he was quite firm in his reprimands, firmer than usual even, in the sacristy afterwards. He beat me. No, my friend, that was not uncommon in those days, but this time he was much more enthusiastic than usual. Perhaps it was because I was late, or perhaps it was because I had spilled some of the holy water while in my reverie. Perhaps the previous night's supper had not sat well on his stomach.
As I received my punishment, the vision of The Christ's wounds came back to me. It was not so much an awareness of Our Lord Himself, but of his actual wounds. I will not impose upon you, my friend, with an exact description, but suffice it to say that it was quite detailed and I remember it all quite clearly. The significant thing was that with each blow of that priest's leather strap, I rose higher and higher out of my own body until I was looking down on the scene in a detached way. That was when I discovered pain. I discovered pain as a means to other ends.
to be continued