 August 2, 2006 A Rambling Testimony from the Eye of the Storm.... Ah, how happy shall I be once I pass through the glowing, fiery gates of purgatory! Now don't you look down on my Catholicism. I don't have a Catholic guilt complex, or whatever you want to call it. I just have a tiny seed of a conscience growing within me. Very, very tiny, but oh my joy, it is there. Yes, I'm a miserable person most of the time, but that is that-- no huge conundrum. Contrary to New Age babble, none of us are deep down omnipotent- we are not mystical lords over our personal lives and destinies. We merely have to bear our burdens the best we can, and do our best with God's help. Ain't nobody gonna rapture me up to the sky when the going gets tough either. I'll just be down here whimpering the name of Jesus; here amidst the chaos that the world may very soon become. Down here in the ranks of sinners I'll be. The ranks of sinners- the only possible place where you could ever hope to become a saint. Leon Bloy, a French author who was so unfashionable as to espouse Catholicism, once said: "There is only one sadness- not to be a saint." Could it be true? That all of us are given a cross to carry. The trick being to be grateful and accepting, and when things don't work out, to simply trust in God's help, no matter how far away or impossible it might seem? "My yoke is easy and my burden is light." The Master himself said those words. It really may be a joyful thing to be a saint, and it may not be so bad to be a sinner either; because repentance and grace are all around us, often only a step away. May my bouts of depression not be cured. May my struggles with addiction humiliate and weaken me. May I be unemployed and socially nothing but a loser. May I continue to be broke. May I remain a lonely little queer. But don't take away my Catholicism. As the great outlaw poet Villon wrote in a poem for his mother (shortly before he was himself hanged as a robber): "In this faith I choose to live and die". May God save us all: Catholics baptized in water, Catholics baptized in the blood of matyrdom, or even pagans baptized in the desire of their humble and searching hearts. May mercy redeem the thieves dying to the side of Jesus, may mercy shine down on the mothers of poet scoundrels (and their wretched sons as well), and may even an S.O.B. like Mel Gibson be saved. Yes, even a drunk, raving, anti-Semitic Republican. May all these be saved and more-- it is not for nothing that Catholic means universal. The heart of Jesus is the heart of the Church, and his love extends to those inside who betray our principles, and to those outside who hate our guts. Peace. August 4, 2006 I've a headache and my stomach is queasy! No, this is not an hour of pleasure for me, but nothing too tough nags at me. Just mediocrity. Good night. August 5, 2006 My life is my life is my life.... I guess this will be my Gertrude Stein diary entry. Hasta Manana. August 10, 2006 Hope everyone was delighted by my litle sermonette above (the first entry). All I can report at the immediate moment is that I have been getting stoned and much enjoying the poetry of William Blake. A Good Christian shouldn't be a stoner. Blake might fly, but only beatniks read Blake while stoned. One day elected to salvation, the next day consigned to perdition, this bipolar Calvinism is a frustrating mess. Never attaining spiritual peace for too long. Always being rudely interrupted from my security by the grim reaper. August 21, 2006 I just got back from seeing "Dirty Harry" on the big screen at the Monday night classic movie showing. This at a theatre in Seal Beach. Pretty cool, really. I've always liked Clint Eastwood. "The Outlaw, Josey Wales" is his best, I think. I'm just saying all this to prove that gay guys can like movies other than musicals. Anywho-- a good friend of mine is in the psych ward right now, but I think he'll be doing OK. As for me, I am going to try and be very disciplined with my drug intake (no extracurricular activities!). I want to use my meds to help me survive and do the best I can. God help me. Well, that's all for now, folks. Sorry I'm not very faithful to my diary. August 22, 2006 The waning of the day has come for me. As reward for the boring, upright manner in which I spent my hours, I have now taken my evening pills: Klonopin and Ritalin. Small doses, but strong enough to make me just a little dreamier, just a little more free from the regular torments of my exasperating mind. I have written a poem, two e-mails, and now this diary entry. Playing quietly in my room are love songs which whisper tales of joy into my heart. I am now something of an artistic fool, an intoxicated aesthete, but thankfully a benign one (at least I hope so). Tomorrow I will do some reading, watch a documentary, finish watching the movie "The Killing Fields", and get some exercise. My sister, brother-in-law, and niece and nephew will be moving out soon. I have not given them over the past few years the time and attention they have deserved; especially the kids. Hindsight is approaching, and I fear it will reveal me to be more than just an artistic fool. I wish I were a better Uncle. September 2006
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