15: Why Bother?

15

Why Bother?

Letter to Ascended Master

St. Padre Pio,

Friday, August 19, 2011

6: 50 A. M.

           

Dear Padre,

          You did tell me after the spiritual healing that you gave me that I would write more from the heart now than from the mind, which you said would be how I would connect with my reader, but whether what I write is from the heart or mind I have to ask you—something that has been brewing from the day those foul karmic winds began to blow into my life, leading to the unexpected loss of my tooth and leaving me in a state of inner turmoil—a very pertinent question: why bother?   

          I’ve devoted the best energies of my life to finding my true self, and I was blessed to awaken to the Way—the mysterious River of God that flows through life that you also awakened to by living la via di sofferenza (which is why we have a meeting of minds) — and I devoted my best creative energies to demystifying the Way for my reader with every book that I write, but I ask you again: why bother?

          When you were alive, you devoted every ounce of your energy to serving Jesus in his mission to bring souls back home to God, saying the daily Mass which people came from everywhere to witness, such was the spiritual intensity of your Masses, and listening to  over one hundred confessions daily (people were given numbers, there were so many who wanted to confess their sins to you, and it has been estimated that you heard five million confessions in your lifetime!), and still you prayed to do more for the love of Jesus and your fellow man—which you did by initiating the project of a new hospital which you called a House for the Relief of Suffering—and still you wanted to do more because your love to serve was so great that you could never do enough; but I can’t help but ask the question: why bother?

          The more I experience life—what I witness on television and the daily news and life around me—the more I am forced to agree with what the great Spiritual Master Rebazar Tarzs said to Paul Twitchell: “As you grow older in your observations of the peoples of the Earth world, it becomes more noticeable that stupidity is the reigning virtue.”

          In principle, I know you would agree with this comment; but having experienced you for an hour and a half once a month for ten months I know that you would also say, “Yes, that’s one interpretation.” And then you would proceed to inform me of the goodness of man, which would then soften my hardened and inflexible view and pry my heart open a little more; but you know what, Padre? I really don’t know why I should bother.

          You saw results from your service to Jesus and your fellow man—despite all the flak that you got from those who resented your spiritual gifts—by the love and affection of your “spiritual family,” but my world is barren of this goodness that comes with service. Which can mean one of two things: either my heart is not pure, or my time has not yet come.

          Let’s look at the first. Is my heart pure in my intent? I’ve always wanted to write, and I write about my life experiences—with a liberal use of the imagination; but do I write for myself, or to serve my fellow man by passing on the wisdom of my own spiritual quest?

          In all honesty, the very thought offends me that I am writing for pure selfish reasons, because I vowed that I would pass on the wisdom of my own spiritual quest simply because I KNOW how hard it is to find the Way and I simply want to make the search easier for the seeker. That is the raison d’être of my writing life—to help the seeker awaken to the Way. But I cannot help but wonder: why bother?

          I’ve experienced this feeling before, Padre. In fact, “old whore life” pushed me to the point once where I climbed on my platform and shouted: “Let the world find its own way!” And in an ironic way, you confirmed this when you told me “life is a journey of the self.”

          If life is an individual journey, then why bother? Everyone has to find their own way through the labyrinthine tunnels of their own karma, and we can give them all the Ariadne’s string in the world, but it won’t mean a damn thing—because “life is a journey of the self.” So, why bother?

          I read a book a couple of weeks ago about a Roman Catholic who could no longer suffer the indignities of her faith—the same indignities that I suffered in my belief in eternal damnation and that salvation was only possible through Jesus Christ and the “one true Church”—and I experienced this woman’s spiritual anguish as she wrestled her soul free from these false doctrines, which only goes to prove your truth that “life is a journey of the self,” and I have done everything in my power—which I am still doing, with these letters to you—to awaken my reader to the eternal saving grace of the Way, which is everywhere to be found; but again I ask, why bother?—because no one’s listening!

          I know, I know; you told me to speak only to those who have ears for what I have to say, but where in the hell are these people? I can’t help but feel that the whole world is deaf to what I have to say!

          You told me it would take three years for the ripple effect to reach out and touch the people who would hear what I have to say, and it’s only been a little over one year now since you told me this; so, am I impatient? And why should I believe you? Am I supposed to have blind faith in you?

          I know you did everything you could to bolster my confidence, by showing my yet-to-be published books to my spiritual sensitive, and that I should commit myself to getting them out there (especially my novel Jesus Wears Dockers, which my spiritual sensitive felt was the main reason why I was having those spiritual healing sessions—to get that book out there), but since that foul karmic wind blew into my life, I can’t help but ask: why bother?

          Last night, sleeping alone in our big king size bed because Penny went up north to attend her niece’s wedding and visit with her father, I almost came to tears because I could have poured more energy into making Penny’s life a little more financially secure, and I had to ask myself whether all of my creative efforts to demystify the Way were worth it.

          I broke the code of the sayings of Jesus, which is why you want to see my novel Jesus Wears Dockers out there, but why bother Padre? You told me that a little worry is good, that it keeps one sharp on and edge, but I tell you that the anxiety wrought by the struggle to survive with dignity is not worth the bother of the commitment to serve life—and yet, I know it has to be this way because service is the ultimate goal of life. God, what a conundrum!

          But I do have one reader who loves my writing and believes in me, and you can guess who that is—Penny Lynn, the love of my life; and thank God for her belief in me, or I would have given up long ago. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have my novels My Unborn Child and Keeper of the Flame out there seeking to find their readers. They may not have connected yet, but at least they’re out there, and that’s all that matters.

          I guess when all is said and done—and I am through with all this moaning and groaning—I have to just bow my head and keep butting at life until I either smash my skull or break through to the other side where all of the karmic rewards for my service to life are waiting for me. What did Henley say in his poem Invictus?

“In the fell clutch of circumstance

            I have not winced nor cried aloud.

  Under the bludgeonings of chance

               My head is bloody, but unbowed.”

          I guess what it comes down to is that these foul karmic winds (“the fell clutch of circumstance”) are bound to blow through our life every so often because our journey is all about spiritual resolution, so we really have no choice but to hold our course through the tempests; but I don’t mind confessing, Padre, it can get quite fatiguing.

I remain,

A very tired companion,

Orest

         

14: The Tempest Has Passed

14

The Tempest Has Passed

Letters to Ascended Master

St. Padre Pio,

Thursday, August 18, 2011

6: 30 A. M.

Dear Padre,

          The tempest has passed. I’ve calmed down somewhat. I’m still not a happy camper, but I’ beginning to adjust to my new reality. I haven’t made my appointment with the denturist recommended by my dentist. I’m not ready yet. I’m not that resolved.

          I drove Penny to Barrie yesterday morning to catch the 7 o’clock Go Train to Toronto. She flew to Thunder Bay for her niece’s wedding, and when I came home I went for a walk around our street.

          I brought my notebook with me. I felt that the tempest of my dismay had passed, and I jotted that down. As I’m walking, I find myself crossing the street to walk on the other side. I have my head down, thinking about the foul karmic wind that blew into my life and threw me out of spiritual balance when I spotted a ten-dollar bill on the ground.

          “What’s this?” I wondered, with mixed emotions. I wondered who had lost it, knowing that there was no way I could return it to the person, which gave me moral permission to keep it, and I knew it was a sign that pointed to something beyond itself (when something out of the ordinary happens, I’ve learned that it points to something else; in other words, Spirit is trying to tell us something), but what?

          I knew it was a good sign, but I was much too suspicious of “good” signs to read too much into it, so I resisted the temptation…

          Penny just called to say good morning, so I had to suspend my letter; she had some good news to share. She brought her father to the casino last night. He went on his motorized scooter and she walked because the casino is a short distance from her father’s apartment, and her two sisters joined them. Penny told me she won four hundred and fifty dollars; and then she shared the dream she had last night, and one part of her dream had to do with a phone call she got from an investment lawyer from New York!

          So, Padre; is Spirit teasing us again? We’ve gotten so many signs that my writing is going to connect that we’re both very suspicious of good signs, and we refuse to read into them what we desperately wish for; that’s why I said to Penny when she shared her dream, “I’m not going there,” meaning that I wasn’t going to tease myself again.

          See what “old whore life” has done to me? She’s made me suspicious of the language of life, and it’s going to take time to regain my confidence. Not that I doubt Spirit’s guidance, which would be foolish; but both Penny and I are tired of grasping at hope.

          Padre, you were known as “a man of hope and prayer” in your life; maybe you could shed some light on our situation. Is Spirit teasing us with these signs and symbols, or are we just teasing ourselves by wanting them to mean what we would like them to mean; or, do they really point there, to a comfortable, successful future?

          I have a little job to go to today, a few hours of taping a washroom for a contractor whom I work for now and then, and Sunday I went to see an old customer of mine (I taped the drywall of his new house before my bypass surgery) to give him a price for taping their basement, so if I get this job it will offset some of these expenses that the foul karmic wind has blown into my life—and by calling it a foul karmic wind, I mean that I didn’t see it coming and the surprise really upset me.

          I would love nothing more than to be free to write without the worry of monthly expenses; that’s why we’ve always read the signs and symbols the way we have, which upon first appearance point to where we would like to be; but we’ve grown suspicious, because life is crowding us.

I don’t want to go into detail about these signs and symbols, because there are too many; but not only do we get signs and symbols, I’ve been told outright by you and other Spiritual Masters that we’re headed where the signs and symbols point to.

          When I asked you point blank in one of my spiritual healing sessions if my writing was going to pay off you said, “He will get what he seeks.” This wasn’t clear enough for the spiritual sensitive who channeled you, so she asked if this meant financial remuneration, and you said yes. And at one of my book discussion classes recently a member of the class, who is also a spiritual sensitive who gives me information that Spiritual Masters pass on to her about my writing, said they told her to tell me to remember where I came from, who I am, and where I am going—implying that when my books connect it’s going to change my life financially and socially. So, what am I to think, Padre?

          I don’t know, and quite frankly in the mood I’m in after this last little tempest I really don’t give a damn. I’m just going to plug along as I’ve always done and hope for the best. You see, I too am a man of hope! Maybe not a man of prayer like you (you prayed the rosary dozens of times a day, calling the rosary your “weapon”), but I have to have hope to get me through the rest of this life; otherwise I’d have to resign myself to a life of angry desperation—which is a side of life that Thoreau failed to acknowledge when he said that the vast majority of mankind has resigned itself to a life of “quiet desperation.”

          I know, I know; it’s all about surrender. We have to let go and let God. I know this, but what the hell’s the point of evolving through millions of lifetimes only to realize our own individuality—a new “I” of God that we have to surrender to God? Isn’t that like saying that God has to surrender to God to become more God? It is a mystery!

          We touched on this theme of in one of my spiritual healing sessions in our discussion on the selfless self.  I guess I still have a long way to go before I experience that bliss that you experienced when you crossed over—that joyous surrender that lifted you to the heights of Ascended Spiritual Master.

You’ll have to share more of that experience with me when I start my next book project with you after I publish Healing with Padre Pio—unless, of course, you choose to tell my in a dream. I’d love that. But, as I said, Spirit does what Spirit wills, so I’m not going to hang my hat on that dream!

I remain,

Your tempered companion,

Orest

         

13: Every Cherry Has a Pit

13

Every Cherry Has a Pit

Letters to Ascended Master

St. Padre Pio,

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

5:35 A. M.

Dear Padre,

          It’s going to take some time before I calm down. It may not seem like much a year or two from now, but losing a tooth for something as accidental as biting into a cherry pit has really got me worked up. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.

          What really hurts is that I asked you to accompany me to my dentist appointment, hoping you would work a miracle and let me walk out of the dentist’s office with my dignity intact; but no, I lost a tooth that’s so obvious I’ve stopped smiling.

          I have to get a partial plate because we can’t afford the expense of an implant or bridgework (four to five thousand dollars for an implant, and three thousand for bridgework). Maybe down the road, if one of my novels connects with the public and we can afford such luxuries as proper dental care, I will get bridgework done; but for now I have to get a partial plate because I have to salvage my dignity somehow.

          And to think that a little thing like a cherry pit could cause so much personal devastation? Talk about a journey through vanity to humility! That damn cherry pit has initiated a chain of events that I could have done without, and I have to ask why?

          When Penny and I went out for a Tim Hortons coffee last night I thought of Jesus cursing the barren fig tree. “That damn cherry pit!” I exploded. “I’m not going to attend any more classes at that woman’s house!”

          I don’t know why yet, but I cannot go back to the house where I bit into the cherry pit after one of our Spiritual Discourse classes. I can’t make the connection yet, Padre; but there’s a message in the barren fig tree and the little bowl of cherries that the woman who hosted the classes put out for after-class fellowship.

I don’t want to give up our classes, but I’m so angry at the loss of my tooth that I just can’t bring myself to go back to that woman’s house; and it’s not simply a matter of vanity. It’s much deeper than that. I can’t put my finger on it, but it has to do with the clash of my energies and “old whore life.” I rankle the “old whore,” and she stirs up karma!

It has puzzled the world why Jesus cursed the fig tree, but I think I understand why Jesus did it. I think he could see “old whore life”—those negative forces that resisted him every step of the way—and that day he had enough and cursed the barren fig tree. “Let no fruit grow on thee henceforward for ever,” said Jesus (Math. 21: 19).

That’s how I feel about the cherry pit that cracked my tooth and given me so much aggravation that I cursed the cherry pit like Jesus cursed the barren fig tree. It may be a preposterous comparison, but I don’t think so. There’s a connection between the barren fig tree that could not nourish Jesus when he was hungry and the cherry pit that caused me so much aggravation, and I think the connection has to do with how my energies clash with energies of “old whore life.” But that’s too deep to ponder now.

“Thank you, Padre!” I lashed out at you when I came out of the dentist’s office Friday afternoon—as if you had anything to do with my cracked tooth!

 Or did you? Was Spirit orchestrating the next chapter of my life? Was Spirit telling me that I bit too hard on life with my spiritual musings on “old whore life” and struck a nerve—like I did when I bit too hard on the cherry pit and struck a nerve? Have I seen through life’s bowl of cherries and gone straight to the pits of life?

The saying “life is a bowl of cherries” has taken on a whole new meaning for me, because I know now that every cherry has a pit, which is what my spiritual musings on “old whore life” are all about—the cherry pits of life!

What gets me is how innocent it was. When I told my dentist what happened to my tooth, he said, “Life is full of surprises,” and was I surprised when it happened!

 We were having fellowship after our Spiritual Discourse class. I placed three cherries onto my plate along with a piece of cinnamon cake, and after I ate the cherries I picked up the piece of cake and took a bite, but I hadn’t noticed that a cherry pit had stuck to the bottom of the cake and I bit into it and yelped in pain when it struck a nerve.

I didn’t know I had cracked my tooth, so I didn’t go to the dentist right away. I thought the pain would eventually go away, but after two weeks of chewing on the right side of my mouth I went to the dentist and learned that my tooth couldn’t be saved.

So what’s the karmic lesson? Is there a price to pay for the cake we eat? Is this what it means when we say that we can’t have our cake and eat it too? We all know that nothing is for nothing in this world, so what’s the lesson, Padre?

Life may very well be a bowl of cherries, but every cherry has a pit!

I really don’t have much more to say. I’m in a real funk, and I don’t know when I’m going to get out of it. It may take a few days, weeks, or months; but I had to write this letter because I just had to vent. Thanks for listening.

I remain,

Still not a happy camper,

Orest

12: Orest Walks with Orest

12

Orest Walks with Orest

Letters to Ascended Master

St. Padre Pio,

Monday, August 15, 2011

6: 30 A. M.

         

Dear Padre,

          Sitting at my writing desk, I can look out the window to my left that looks onto the main stretch of our street and yesterday morning as I was writing I turned to look out and saw Orest walking very slowly towards our house.

          I got up to check and make sure it was Orest, and it was; so I got dressed (I had on a pair of shorts and T shirt, which I always wear in the summer when I’m writing), and went out to the front deck and yelled to Orest in Italian: “Bon jorno, Oresto! Aspeta!”

          I went upstairs and woke Penny up to let her know where I would be. “I’m going for a walk with Orest,” I said, and laughed.

          Orest is a friend of Eugenio, who has a cottage just down the street that he comes to half a dozen times a summer, and Orest and his wife had come up for a visit and he was out for an early morning walk. When I saw him walking down the street I just had to go for a walk with him because it was a coincidence fraught with so much symbolic meaning that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go for a walk with him.

          The chances of going for a walk with a man called Orest were astronomical. In fact, Orest S. (his surname even has the same initial as mine, and our street is called Stocco Circle, the same as my surname) was the only man I had ever met with the same first name as mine, so I knew that this was divinely orchestrated. So, Padre; I know that you planned my walk with Orest yesterday morning, and now I have to explore the reason why…

          Penny came into my room for her morning coffee and chat this morning, as she always does, so I had to put my letter to you aside; and then I had to do my morning chores (today is garbage day, and I had to take out the garbage and blue boxes for recycling), and after I fed all the critters—our goldfish, cat, and seeds and peanuts for our outdoor critters—I was free to continue with this letter.

          Over coffee, Penny and I were talking about my writing. She felt that I quoted too much. “Good God,” she said, “you should be confident in your own voice by now. I just think that all those quotes get in the way. I feel like you keep grinding your point, and I come away exhausted. I love your writing, but it’s exhausting. That’s what my sister said about your novel My Unborn Child. She said the novel kept calling her, but it exhausted her. You don’t want to exhaust your reader. You want them to walk away feeling inspired. I think you should just write with your own voice. You don’t need all those quotes.”

          She’s right. And this is what you tried to tell me Sunday morning when I felt compelled to go for a walk with Orest.

          I listened to Orest talk about his life, and it was so engaging that it took two and a half hours to walk around Stocco Circle, which normally takes less than ten minutes; and after talking with Penny this morning I think I finally got the point—that my life is no less interesting than Orest’s life (he was born in Calabria, Italy where I was born, and he immigrated with his young family to Canada because destiny called him), and I don’t need to lean upon other authors to validate the integrity of my own life and voice.

          And this, believe it or not, is exactly what a psychic old me several months before My Unborn Child was published last summer. She was at Mountainview Mall in Midland, and she gave me a reading (twenty minutes for sixty dollars), and told me that I should just write about my own life, tell my own story, that I shouldn’t quote all those authors that I like to quote because they just got in the way of my story. “The story of your life is going to be your most successful book,” she said.

          So there you have it, Padre; but it wasn’t until Orest went for a walk with Orest yesterday morning that I finally got the point! But what was it about Orest’s life that fascinated me?

          If I had to distill his life story, I would say it was his integrity that defined him. It was obvious from the many anecdotes of his working life that he shared with me that he hates cheaters, liars, and hypocrites (he told me he was Catholic but didn’t go to church because of his experiences with priests), and I related to everything he said; perhaps that’s why you orchestrated our walk yesterday morning—to set me free to write about my own life without depending upon other authors and let my life speak for itself.

          But did you have to orchestrate a walk with another Orest born in the same part of Italy as me and with a defining steely integrity for me to see myself in him and learn to trust in the integrity of my own voice?

          I don’t know what to think, Padre; especially since I lashed out at you Friday afternoon when I came out of the dentist’s office with one less tooth that made me so self-conscious that my vanity almost kept me away from my spiritual book discussion class in Orillia the following day. God, was I angry!

“Thank you, Padre!” I lashed out at you in disgust as I drove home from my dentist appointment. I invited you to be with me during my appointment, hoping you would see to it that everything went well; but I never thought I would lose my tooth. I thought the worst scenario would be a root canal, but the crack from the cherry pit that I bit into was too deep and it had to be extracted and it shows when I smile!

Now I have to get a partial plate because it’s much too expensive to get bridgework (three thousand dollars). Even a plate is an expense we don’t need at this time. We just got news that the bearings on our lawn tractor deck were ceased and have to be replaced, plus a new belt, which is another expense we can’t afford at this time, not to mention the expense for the  muffler on my van this week. I was not happy when I came out of the dentist’s office, and I don’t know how I was able to manage my anger as I did. I wanted to scream, but all I could say was, “Old whore life” sure screwed me good this week!”

I have to stop writing. I’m still too angry.

I remain,

Not a very happy camper,

Orest