November 2: Getting You Down, My High School Friend, "All Souls' Day"

"I'm not getting you down at all, am I?" he[Marvin] said pathetically.

"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really. . . ."

"I wouldn't like to think I was getting you down."

"No don't worry about that," the lilt continued, "you just act as comes naturally and everything will be just fine."

"You're sure you don't mind?" probed Marvin.

"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really . . . just part of life."

Marvin flashed her an electronic look.

"Life," said Marvin, "don't talk to me about life."

He turned hopelessly on his heel and lugged himself out of the cabin.  With a satisfied hum and click the door closed behind him.

"I don't think I can stand that robot much longer, Zaphod," growled Trillian.

This is the passage my finger landed on today.  Marvin, the chronically depressed robot, is one of my favorite characters in Hitchhiker's.  Probably because he sort of reminds me of myself, raised to the power of 1,000.  People who don't know me that well have a hard time believing that I have a Marvin side.  I do.  I just keep it under wraps most of the time.

Some days, it's hard to fight off Marvin.  Last night was one of those nights.  I won't go into the reasons, but I went to bed feeling pretty lousy about myself and my life.  Thank goodness I woke up in a better mood.  The sun was shining, and I could hear a neighbor leaf blowing outside.  And I had a lot to accomplish, including grocery shopping, playing the pipe organ for Mass in the afternoon, and cleaning my house tonight.  Plus, my book club meets tomorrow evening, so I have to prepare for that, as well.  If I survive doing all of that, I will go to sleep feeling better about the universe than I did last night.

I am trying to prepare myself for the upcoming holidays.  Arranging some surprises for my kids.  But I am struggling a little bit with my Christmas spirit at the moment.  (Those of you who really know me personally are probably picking yourselves up off the floor about now.  I am a Christmas nut.  I listen to Christmas music all year long.  Every 25th of every month, I do something to prepare for the holiday, so I'm not overwhelmed come December.  My Christmas cards have been filled out since February.  I watch Christmas movies all year long.  My favorite podcasts are Christmas-themed.)  Usually, I put my Christmas decorations up the weekend after Halloween.  Not this time.

For those of you who read last night's post about my high school friend, I received news that he passed away this morning.  All Souls' Day.  Never got a chance to visit him.  I pushed off the plans to see him until tomorrow afternoon.  I've been struggling with that fact for most of today.  It's had me reevaluating my priorities a little.  Thinking about what is really important.

My high school friend wanted to see me.  He asked for me.  I didn't go see him, and now it's too late.  Life doesn't offer too many second chances, and there isn't any second chance this time for me.  Or him.  I blew it.  Now, all I have left is a bellyful of regret and some distant memories of a friend who was born on the same day as I was.  A friend who really struggled in his life with a lot of things.  Again, it's not my place to talk about the details of his life.

So, tonight, I lift up my friend, Tim, to all of you.  Veteran.  Loving father.  Devoted friend.  As they say in my church, eternal rest grant unto him, Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon him.  May he rest in peace.  May his soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.  Amen.

Saint Marty lit a candle for his friend after Mass tonight.  It was the very, very least Saint Marty could do.

All Souls' Day

by:  Frances Bellerby

Let's go our old way
by the stream, and kick the leaves
as we always did, to make
the rhythm of breaking waves.

This day draws no breath--
shows no colour anywhere
except for the leaves--in their death
brilliant as never before.

Yellow of Brimstone Butterfly,
brown of Oak Eggar Moth--
you'd say.  And I'd be wondering why
a summer never seems lost

if two have been together
witnessing the variousness of light,
and the same two in lustreless November
enter the year's night . . .

The slow-worm stream--how still!
Above that spider's unguarded door,
look--dull pearls . . . Time's full,
brimming, can hold no more.

Next moment (we well know,
my darling, you and I)
what the small day cannot hold
must spill into eternity.

So perhaps we should move cat-soft
meanwhile, and leave everything unsaid,
until no shadow of risk can be left
of disturbing the scatheless dead.

Ah, but you were always leaf-light.
And you so seldom talk
as we go.  but there at my side
through the bright leaves you walk.

And yet--touch my hand
that I may be quite without fear,
for it seems as if a mist descends,
and the leaves where you walk do not stir.

October 31-November 1: The Nature of the Universe, All Saints' Day, "Amen"

Curiously enough, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was Oh no, not again.  Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the bowl of petunias had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the Universe than we do now.

Knowing the nature of the Universe.  That's sort of like understanding the mind of God.  Whether physicist or theologian, politician or poet, every person grapples with the laws of Mother Nature, human nature, or divine nature.  Having been a resident of this little piece of rock called Earth for several decades now, I'm no closer to understanding these laws than a bowl of petunias.

This evening, I received a message about a high school friend who is quite ill and wants to see me.  I care about this person deeply.  He was one of my best friends when I was growing up.  We even share the same birthday.  After we graduated, we lost touch with one another.  His life went in one direction, and mine went in another.  Yet, on our birthday every year, I thought of him, sent a little prayer/wish/hope out into the universe, wishing him love and happiness and grace.

My friend has struggled in his life.  He's struggling now.  It's not for me to share his life journey in this post.  But, I was surprised to learn tonight that he's thought of me throughout his life.  Quite a bit.  In the last year or so, he discovered my blog, read it, appreciated it.  It gave him a kind of comfort somehow.

It's strange for me to sometimes think about the disciples of Saint Marty.  I furiously stab my fingers at the keyboard, crank out these little virtual messages, and send them into the ether on an almost daily basis.  Yet, I don't often contemplate how these little pieces of writing affect others.  I sometimes go back and read a post I published two or three or five years ago.  I don't recognize the person who wrote it.  I've changed.  Evolved.  Devolved.

I am trying to understand how the universe works, and, in the process, how I work, too.  I guess that pretty much sums up the entire goal of this little blog.  I work through the messes of my life in these posts.  Maybe they help some of you disciples out there figure out your messes.  Give you some comfort or hope.  Maybe that's what my high school buddy needs right now.  Comfort.  Hope.  The love of an old friend.

That's all I have to offer on this All Saints' Day  No answers.  Lots of questions.

And, for his birthday friend, Saint Marty has a poem tonight. . .

Amen

by:  Stuart Kestenbaum

It's easy to ignore the moment we dwell in
the time when we should be our own choir

shouting amen to every second that's given us
but we forget and think only of the machinery

that's driving our lives, the idling
engines of our day-to-day, the endless

tapping on the keyboards.  Or else we're waiting
for something better to come along, some

out-of-town engagement better than where we
are now.  Life isn't some film we can review again,

it's live theater, and even if we could go back
what's the point?  Sitting in the darkened room

with the film ticking along and we reverse
the projector and see ourselves

returning in the car before we've ever left
walking backwards to our house

or leaping out of the water
we thought we were swimming in.

October 30: Smiled More Warmly, Wife's Birthday, Peace and Love

"Hi, honey," [Zaphod] said to her.

[Trillian] flashed him a quick tight smile and looked away.  Then she looked back for a moment and smiled more warmly--but by this time her was looking at something else.

This little exchange takes place just minutes before Zaphod and his girlfriend, Trillian, steal the Heart of Gold spaceship, with its Improbability Drive.  Having spent this year living with Hitchhiker's and these characters, I can pretty confidently say that their relationship is a little complex.  Not the standard Earth girl meets alien at a party in England, alien sweeps girl off her Earthling feet, girl escapes Earth with alien who turns out to be the President of the Imperial Galactic Government story.  Most true love isn't simple.

Today is my wife's birthday.  I could say many things about our love and life together, but I cannot say that it has been simple.  In the almost 30 years that we have been together, we have experienced tremendous joys and tremendous sorrows.  Tremendous ups an tremendous downs.  I have been pretty honest about our marriage in the eight or so years that I've been writing this blog.  Tonight will be no different.  I will be honest.

Through all the good times and hard times my wife and I have experienced, my love for her has never wavered.  We were separated for a year, and my love never wavered.  Through mental illness and addiction, my love has stayed the same.  When I see her at the end of a long day of work, my heart still skips a beat, the way it did when I first laid eyes on her close to 30 years ago.

I am still made about my wife, on this birthday night, the thirtieth one I have shared with her.  Beth, you are complicated, frustrating, beautiful, funny, stressful, sexy, heart-ful, hurtful, exciting, lost, and found.

Saint Marty wishes for his wife a soul filled with peace and love.

October 29: It's Just Life, Grace, "The Peace of Wild Things"

Those who study the complex interplay of cause and effect in the history of the Universe say that this sort of thing is going on all the time, but that we are powerless to prevent it.

"It's just life," they say.

It's very easy--when life seems a little or a lot out of control--to simply walk through the day with blinders on.  I do it all the time, moving from one job to another, never taking a moment to breathe or relax or look around.  Even when I crawl into bed at night, my mind isn't focused on sleep.  It's focused on what I have to do the next day.

For the most part, there's not a whole lot of time for reflection in my daily life.  These blog posts are the closest I come.  Reflection is for people who have just one job that pays all the bills and leaves a little spending money behind.  Even with my four jobs, I don't seem to ever have spending money.  There's no such thing as "extra" cash in my household.

I'm not complaining.  I'm explaining why I always feel so driven every day.  It's how I survive my weird, hectic schedule.  Well, that and a whole lot of therapy.  In fact, I just had a session with my therapist this afternoon.  I'm not going to delve too deeply into what we discussed, but it was difficult stuff.  At the end of our time together, my therapist handed me a poem by Wendell Berry, because of a comment I made about never having a minute to rest.

This is the poem:

The Peace of Wild Things

by:  Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief.  I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.  For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

After I was done reading this poem, I was in tears.  Again, my problems are complicated, and they are not the subject of this post.  The subject of this post is grace.  Every person deserves to rest "in the grace of the world" some time during the day.  For me, this poem is a reminder that grace is always available.  God sends us still water many times during a day.  Most of us--myself included--just don't take the time to notice it.

Tonight, however, I am going to try to hold off my despair for the world.  Instead, I will find some place where the wood drake rests and great heron feeds.  In my imagination.  In the stillness of my home.  In the wild places of my heart.

Saint Marty will be free for a few, fleeting minutes tonight.