she is such a mystery, we salute her today

 SAINTS DU JOUR

Sainte Marie-Madeleine

Ps 62:2-9 Anima Dominum sitiens “Ad Deum vigilat, qui opera noctis reicit.” Una sábbati, María Magdaléne venit mane, cum adhuc ténebræ essent, ad monuméntum. 2Deus, Deus meus es tu,*   ad te de luce vígilo. Sitívit in te ánima mea,*   te desiderávit caro mea. In terra desérta et árida et inaquósa,†   3sic in sancto appárui tibi,*   ut vidérem virtútem tuam et glóriam tuam. 4Quóniam mélior est misericórdia tua super vitas,*   lábia mea laudábunt te. 5Sic benedícam te in vita mea*   et in nómine tuo levábo manus meas. 6Sicut ádipe et pinguédine repleátur ánima mea,*   et lábiis exsultatiónis laudábit os meum. 7Cum memor ero tui super stratum meum,*   in matutínis meditábor de te, 8quia fuísti adiútor meus,*   et in velaménto alárum tuárum exsultábo. 9Adhǽsit ánima mea post te,*   me suscépit déxtera tua. Glória Patri et Fílio*   et Spirítui Sancto. Sicut erat in princípio et nunc et semper*   et in sǽcula sæculórum. Amen. ... Una sábbati, María Magdaléne venit mane, cum adhuc ténebræ essent, ad monuméntum.

Psalm 62 (63) Thirsting for God Very early on the Sunday morning, just as the sun was rising, Mary Magdalen came to the tomb. O God, you are my God, I watch for you from the dawn. My soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you. I came to your sanctuary,   as one in a parched and waterless land,   so that I could see your might and your glory. My lips will praise you, for your mercy is better than life itself. Thus I will bless you throughout my life,   and raise my hands in prayer to your name; my soul will be filled as if by rich food,   and my mouth will sing your praises and rejoice. I will remember you as I lie in bed,   I will think of you in the morning, for you have been my helper,   and I will take joy in the protection of your wings. My soul clings to you; your right hand raises me up. Glory be to the Father and to the Son   and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning,   is now, and ever shall be,   world without end. Amen. ... Very early on the Sunday morning, just as the sun was rising, Mary Magdalen came to the tomb. https://www.barroux.org/offices-de-chaque-jour/

a bit obtuse; / at times, indeed, almost ridiculous

 Hence I was introduced to the Russian novel Oblomov.

Oblomov (Russian: Обломов, pronounced [ɐˈbloməf]) is the second novel by Russian writer Ivan Goncharov, first published in 1859. Ilya Ilyich Oblomov is the central character of the novel, portrayed as the ultimate incarnation of the superfluous man, a symbolic character in 19th-century Russian literature. Oblomov is a young, generous nobleman who seems incapable of making important decisions or undertaking any significant actions. Throughout the novel, he rarely leaves his room or bed. In the first 50 pages, he only manages to move from his bed to a chair.^[1]

The novel was popular when it came out, and some of its characters and devices have imprinted on Russian culture and language.  (--Wikipedia)

I found an obituary of a Trappist monk, Dom Bernardo Bonowitz. Here’s what was written:

He had a keen sense of the absurd and a terrific sense of humor. Early on in his illness he began talking about “Oblamov.” Oblamov, it turns out, is the anti-hero of a 19th century comic Russian novel by Goncharov about an extremely lazy Russian aristocrat who can’t do anything or make even trivial decisions. He is the embodiment of the superfluous man. It takes him the first fifty pages of the novel to move from his bed to a chair. That Bernardo was comparing himself to Oblamov struck me as very funny—both ridiculous and yet in a way apropos. A friend of Oblamov at one point tells the protagonist he’s suffering from “Oblamovitis”—and Bernardo and I liked to puzzle his various doctors by suggesting we thought that might be his problem—what did they think: acute Oblamovitis? Had they heard of the condition? More than just an endearing personality trait, Fr. Bernardo’s sense of humor—part of what made him such a sought after speaker and retreat master— was a spiritual resource, and sometimes, at least, allowed him to transcend even very bitter anguish. 

 

Born Jewish, the gifted son of a troubled and demanding father, Bernardo converted to Catholicism in his teens, a decision which created a terrible rift—both with his father and within himself. One of his main preoccupations during his illness was how to reconcile his Jewishness and his Christianity. In fact in our last real conversation, just a few weeks before he died, this was what he spoke about. While he may not have been able to resolve this tension he did, many years ago, reconcile with his father, and cherished the friendship that developed between them. That he chose forgiveness instead of resentment, despite so much suffering, strikes me as a clear sign of both the grace at work in his life and his basic goodness as a man. https://www.trappists.org/2025/02/13/the-passing-of-bernardo-bonowitz/

I, too, suffer from Oblamovitus.

Have for a long time. It's not any of the illnesses, nor of the spate of pneumonia this recent month, nor of younger distraction and diversion from any settled path of work. No, it's the sense of always having been superfluous, never necessary, perhaps a bit absurd, perhaps an imposter, a Prufrockian fool having measured out my life in coffee spoons.

There's no respite from non-continuation. I have lived a life of non-continuation. A non-initiatory quasi-resignation realization of one's absurdity standing in the face of continual effacement.

Still, I enjoy coffee-milk, periodic cups of tea, seltzer-water, and Zero mixed berry Powerade. I've not much of an appetite, I lose weight faster than rain, and my oncologist sent me with his two nurses to the Emergency Department down and around warrens of hallways to be assessed and worked-up for four hours yesterday. They told me go home, try to breathe, and let the stubborn remains of pneumonia find their way out of my lungs.

The dog Ensō visits my room. He is sweet, calm, and snores.

In my phantasmagoric mind I am a novice of Anthony of the Desert (251-356), a Trappist, a Franciscan, a Benedictine, a Carthusian, a wandering nomad, and a Zen monk. In dreams before waking I am walking some variation of cloister that both confuses and comforts. I allow as how some variation of reincarnated retrieval is taking place in unconscious defusion (and diffusion). I am somehow still where I was some past ago, and now my recollective imagination interfuses what and where I do not comprehend into a phasic intertwining that reminds me of something (perhaps) once experienced and now crisscrossing the synapses of mind with alluring simplicity and solemnity.

The embodiment of the superfluous man. Millenia of monastic/eremitic wandering, never at home anywhere. 

A suspicious realization that:

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

(--T.S.Eliot, in Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock) 

I no longer have to reside in a stable presentation of established conformity to societal or cultural expectation. I am homeless, although, for the moment, not unhoused.

Wraithlike I wander through the weather and timepieces of the day.

In silentio (perhaps sub silentio) I am given to understand that my life has been overturned: 

Sub silentio is a Latin legal phrase that translates to "under silence" or "in silence." It refers to something that is understood, implied, or done without being explicitly stated, discussed, or formally acknowledged. It is commonly used when a court overrules a prior ruling or decides a legal point quietly without directly referencing or addressing. (--search.)

Or returned.

Or, coincidentally, retrieved. 

the loss of then and when, τὸ τί ἐστι

Listening to chapters from:

• The Complete Eastern Philosophy Collection: Tao Te Ching, The Bhagavad Gita, The Dhammapada, The Upanishads, Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, The Gospel of Ramakrishna, Analects of Confucius, The Art of War. audiobook, 2025.

I began hearing something familiar. About loss. 

Then Shotetsu:

 

With every new spring

The blossoms speak

Not a word,

Yet expound the Law,

Knowing what is its heart

From the scattering

Storm winds

    --Shotetsu (1381-1459) 

Is loss the reality undergirding all existence?

The coming, yes; then the going?

The taking away of sin. The eradication of the three poisons. The coursing of death through all life. 

Separation, divorce, attempts to substitute something (someone) new for that which is no longer there.

Entropy, the decline from order into disorder.

Buddha’s death by food poisoning. Jesus’ death by crucifixion.

The insanity of thinking that something, anything is going to last.

(Recognizable fare, eh?)

But something new arises for me, namely, "now" is really all there is. 

And now is the loss of then and when.

Now, as it is, is all there is -- what is here, a coincidence of opposites.

The coincidence of opposites, or coincidentia oppositorum, is a philosophical and mystical concept suggesting that seemingly contradictory or opposing forces (like good and evil, light and dark, or finite and infinite) are interdependent, interconnected, and ultimately unified in a deeper reality. (AI Overview)

This breath

This breath

This sound

This sound

This sight

This sight

Haecceity 

Thisness

"τὸ τί ἐστι," 

We ask, "what is it?"

τώρα, now

they also serve off the tee and on the pitch

 War with Iran

Continues

No one wants

To end it

So

Three American

Soldiers decided

To end it

For us

Over last few days

And were killed 

While the president

Played some golf

And took in 

a soccer game

in the roses / and the thorns

 Watched on Kanopy some NYC history.

"The Witness" --2015, 1hr 29min

The name "Kitty Genovese" became synonymous with urban apathy after The New York Times printed an article stating that she was stabbed to death during an attack that lasted more than half an hour, while 38 witnesses did nothing. Fifty years later, her brother uncovers a lie that transformed his life, condemned a city, and defined an era. 

 

Winner of Best Feature Documentary at the Boulder International Film Festival. Nominated for Best Documentary Feature at the Critic's Choice Documentary Awards. 

 

"An engrossing detective story, an enlightening sociological study, and a heartbreaking story of unreconciled grief, THE WITNESS is one of the best documentaries of 2016." - Peter Keough, Boston Globe 

 

"Skillful, complex, and purposely understated, THE WITNESS succeeds not just as a re-examination of one of the most talked-about crimes in modern memory, but as a very touching, human tale of a brother trying to get to know the sister he lost too soon." - Alex Segura, Under the Radar 

(--Kanopy)

A deeper quiet sits in this cell, this ersatz hermit room, following the credits and Rosanne Cash singing "God Is In The Roses"-- such a fitting song, complementing lyrics after the documentary.

As the silence deepens, the final lines of W.B. Yeats' "Under Ben Bulben" slide into the room:

Cast a cold eye 

On life, on death.   

Horseman, pass by!

Good on her brother, William Genovese! 

indecipherable

         "Chaos is merely order waiting to be deciphered." 

                                    (--José Saramago, The Double)

Space is a pretty big place. 

So is the human mind.

Easy to get lost in either

Dangerous, most certainly,

but terribly sad as well

the narcissistic insanity of Der Furious

Intentionally or not

he fascinates the world

with absurd power and deception

Entropy in a red tie

a tattoo of bird's nest hair

the very definition of mendacity

We're uncertain whether he will

melt in hysterical crying on the floor

or wreak nuclear holocaust across globe 

effluviating his reeking psychological

deficiency over a wary populace 

unsure whether to laugh or cower

It is a trying time

There is no joy in foxholes

The church doors are all locked

finalmente

Hola, España!

prolepsis

 I don't know 

If it has been 

my sanity taken 

away or if is 

the silence of 

God muting me --

the day goes away

evening comes

I haven't a thought

nor any desire

to move or speak

a corpse in a copse

gentle sway of branch

whisper of root beneath

earth welcoming home

eremitic pathway

 When I stayed

With the Trappists

Thirty years ago

I de-accessed books

For their library

In the silent room

Each removal took me

Into mined mind, near

flowing laura by Shenandoah

upon being, asked

Friend’s father dies

Some fire-light through

Night to clear his way

as medicine protects from poison

 Thinking of Nirvana (not the band; the quality.) It literally means the "blowing out," the extinguishing of the fires of greed, hatred, and ignorance.

Nirvana,^{[note 1]} in the Indian religions (Jainism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism), is the concept of an individual's passions being extinguished as the ultimate state of salvation, release, or liberation from suffering (duḥkha) and from the cycle of birth and rebirth (saṃsāra).^[3][4][5]

In Indian religions, nirvana is sometimes used as a synonym of moksha and mukti.^{[note 2]} All Indian religions assert it to be a state of perfect quietude, freedom, and highest happiness; liberation from attachment and worldly suffering; and the ending of samsara, the cycle of existence.^[8][9] However, non-Buddhist and Buddhist traditions describe these terms for liberation differently.^[10] In Hindu philosophy, it is the union of or the realization of the identity of Atman with Brahman, depending on the Hindu tradition.^[11][12][13] In Jainism, nirvana is also the soteriological goal, representing the release of a soul from karmic bondage and samsara.^[14] The Buddhist concept of nirvana is the abandonment of the 10 fetters, marking the end of rebirth by stilling the "fires" that keep the process of rebirth going.^{[10][15][16] wikipedia}

This by Nagasena (c. 150BC): 

 "How good to hear that, Nagasena! Speak then, quickly, so that I may 

            have an explanation of even one of the aspects of Nirvana! Appease 

            the fever of my heart! Allay it with the cool sweet breezes of your 

            words!" 

            "Nirvana shares one quality with the lotus, two with water, three 

            with medicine, ten with space, three with the wishing jewel, and 

            five with a mountain peak. As the lotus is unstained by water, so is 

            Nirvana unstained by all the defilements.--As cool water allays 

            feverish heat, so also Nirvana is cool and allays the fever of the 

            passions. Moreover, as water removes the thirst of men and beasts 

            who are exhausted, parched, thirsty, and overpowered by heat, so 

            also Nirvana removes the craving for sensuous enjoyments, the 

            craving for further becoming [the craving for reincarnation], the 

            craving for the cessation of becoming [the craving for the end of 

            reincarnation]. --As medicine protects from poison, so Nirvana from 

            the torments of the poisonous passions. Moreover, as medicine puts 

            an end to sickness, so Nirvana to all sufferings. Finally, Nirvana 

            and medicine both give security.--And these are the ten qualities 

            which Nirvana shares with space. Neither is born, grows old, dies, 

            passes away, or is reborn; both are unconquerable, cannot be stolen, 

            are unsupported, are roads respectively for birds and Arhats 

            [Someone who is or is becoming a Buddha] to journey on, are 

            unobstructed and infinite.--Like the wishing jewel, Nirvana grants 

            all one can desire, brings joy, and sheds light.--As a mountain peak 

            is lofty and exalted, so is Nirvana. As a mountain peak is 

            unshakeable, so is Nirvana. As a mountain peak is inaccessible, so 

            is Nirvana inaccessible to all the passions. As no seeds can grow on 

            a mountain peak, so the seeds of all the passions cannot grow in 

            Nirvana. And finally, as a mountain peak is free from all desire to 

            please or displease, so is Nirvana." 

            "Well said, Nagasena! So it is, and as such I accept it." 

        (-- in The soul as an image of Nirvana: from 'The Questions of King Milinda.'  (excerpt from 'Buddhist Texts Throughout the Ages') (Peace issue) by Edward  Conze; I.B. Horner ; David Snellgrove; Arthur Haley, Parabola, Vol.21 No.3 ( Fall 1996), Pp.18-19

What would it feel like if the fires of greed, hatred, and ignorance were extinguished? 

Nirvana was a good name for a band. I wish its leader, Kurt Cobain, had not committed suicide.

It seems we all want to get out of the delusional allurements of an existence rampant with mental and physical poisons. We're often, or mostly, unsure how to approach or navigate such a journey.

It is the journey home. Literature is filled with such stories. History abounds with such tales.

Let us pray for one another that we find a caring, safe, and sane way to find ourselves on that road back home!

"shall the son of man be born again in the litter of scorn” (from ‘murder in the cathedral’)

The last temptation is the greatest treason:

To do the right deed for the wrong reason. 

—T.S.Eliot

Who will rid us of these meddlesome pests?

Ticks, secy of state, mosquitoes, secy of defence, 

Identity thiefs, el presidente, pickpockets, 

Secy OMB, spammers, acting attorney general, 

Moribund senators, yellowjackets, secy HHS, allegators,

VP, jellyfish, mindless devotees, black flies, DNI nominee —

These meddlesome pests! Our suffering flocks

Stand with mouths agape, wondering from

Where their next sane breath, their next sane hope

warum es selbst, für sich, unwissend

 I seem to have forgotten

why

everything is hidden within

itself

these days hiding out away

alone

how odd, how unusual, this

unknowing

ऋत ṛta

There is something, it is said,

Holds everything together 

 In the Vedic religion, Ṛta (/ɹ̩t̪ɐ/; Sanskrit ऋत ṛta “order, rhythm, rule; truth; logos”) is the principle of natural order which regulates and coordinates the operation of the universe and everything within it. [1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E1%B9%9Ata

 So, we are held

Together, everything, it is said

from away

 She sits by bed her father occupies

His look of exhausted life by window

There’s nothing to do, hand on shoulder

Hand on hand, eyes on backyard flowers

Death is near, the day creeps slowly

No need to go anywhere, no task undone

No corrections to be made, no amends

Just daughter by father in quiet light

that men agree to call a heart

Fernando Pessoa, with his heteronyms, came to our attention at our bookshop/bakery in the late ‘90s through 2000s at Saturday poetry sessions. A colorful psychologist would make Pessoa a regular at the poetry sharing. One of the many characters presenting the points of view only poetry unveils.

Autopsychography

BY FERNANDO PESSOA

TRANSLATED BY EDOUARD RODITI

The poet is a man who feigns

And feigns so thoroughly, at last

He manages to feign as pain

The pain he really feels,

And those who read what once he wrote

Feel clearly, in the pain they read,

Neither of the pains he felt,

Only a pain they cannot sense.

And thus, around its jolting track

There runs, to keep our reason busy,

The circling clockwork train of ours

That men agree to call a heart.

 

Source: Poetry (October 1955)