Sometimes one has to wonder what some Division of Motor Vehicles clerks put in their coffee in the morning! It is as if someone has given some basement-cured drug that helped him or her remain in  Dr. Jekyll’s Mr. Hyde  state for a full eight-hour shift! After meandering in serpentine lines at the local DMV I had finally made it to the final gate where I carefully and anxiously confronted the Cerebus of the DMV! The rights of passage attaining the golden prize of a renewed driver’s license were about to be consummated. This bureaucratic beast   gave a burning gaze at my previously pre-approved documents and said, “Your name is different on certain documents. You can go no further!”  (Which meant that I would not have a renewed state driver’s license!)

Scrambling for an answer or believable excuse I recalled how I had changed the spelling of my first name from “JOHN” to “Jon” while in my rebellious years and then converting it back to “John” when an illumination sparked a spiritual metanoia. I lied to this administrative guardian of the gate of hell “it was a clerical error made on my marriage license application years ago and I never changed that mistake.”

I avoided explaining that back when I was born children seemed to be named after grandparent’s .So being a good mother my mom selected John after my paternal grandfather. My father’s family story was that Jadec (my grandfather) was reported to be a descendant of a King John of Poland in the 16^th century, who was infamous for being the hero saving the Holy Roman Empire from an invasion of the Ottoman Turks! Rumors grew to mythical proportions of how the Viennese people celebrated their salvation from the Turks by creating a pastry in the form of a halo in support of King John’s saintly effort.  They say that pastry was the birth of the bagel.  However, this King had fathered a child out of wedlock and had an illicit affair while married. Maybe that’s why he was never “sainted”.  (Nice namesake huh?) But I realized that this King spelled his name “J-A-N”, not the common everyday

 J-O-H-N.

The real “A- Ha “ moment sparked as I became aware of how my good ole bachelor uncles had nicknamed me “Janko.” Coincidentally it was also the same nickname given to my ancestor King John was given as a boy.  Somehow my connectedness to this ancestor was being confirmed.

Yet, it is Janik that is a familiar form of Jon in Polish as it is an affectionate term loosely translated as “Johnny.”  But then Janko in Polish was also a different adaptation of the name Jon. Its been said that this nickname of Janko is an affectionate term loosely translated to mean “John the Troublemaker.”  That ancestor king was noted as being so mischievous even in his early days and that he was called “Janko.” Hmmm, again I felt a sense of connectedness! So without further forethought of any possible legal implications fifty years hence I changed the spelling of my first name to “J-o-n. “ I thought that this would be some affirmation of my roots and distinguish me as being a little different from my contemporary “Johns.” Like I needed the help of a new sir name to do that!

 So before I could further qualify my remarks about the different spellings of my first name to this formal control freak DMV clerk she retorted instantly, “No, that’s not it. You se on some of the documents you have a middle name, Francis, and on most documents there isn’t any mention of a middle name. “

I danced, bobbed and weaved and the clerk finally said, “well I’m just saying…you might run into a problem with social security.” Quickly I answered “Why do you say that as I am collecting social security now.” She took my picture, where my smile looked more like a grimace, produced the picture and handed me my new license and I think I heard her say “See ya in four years - Janko!”   http://www.about-poland.com/polish-history.html

But the truth be told is that over the years I have been given several other nicknames or labels by others. During a Catholic ceremonial rite of passage called confirmation, Sr. Philomena of the Sorrowful Sisters of No Mercy asked what name I had chosen as my confirmation name. I was proud as I thought I had put some serious thought into this exercise and selected the name Dismas, the good thief on the cross next to the crucified Jesus. While hanging on the cross next to Jesus the thief attests to his belief that Jesus is the Son of God and then Jesus says to the thief   that he will be with Jesus in Heaven that day. I believe that Dismas is the only person other that Jesus who is mentioned in the scripture as being in heaven. I thought that this was not too shabby for a thirteen year old to figure this out. But Sister countered that Dismas was a mythical name and not a saint. Catholics were supposed to select a name of a saint (a lot happens in thirty years as Dismas is now a saint) and therefore I needed to select another name. Immediately I shouted “St. George”, the hovering nun responded just as quickly “Why? “ and quipped, “Because he was known as the dragon slayer.” Janko rides!

During my first year of high school I accidentally won a persuasive presentation competition in taking the pro side of the argument that the Confederate States of America separated from the union over preserving states rights (too long to argue e that perspective here and I don’t want to give ant Tea Party members any further ammunition,) In reality I recall being more obstinate than persuasive.  As a result of this victory my friends labeled me “Reb. ” The girl I was dating at the time thought the nickname was “cool” and meant something else. She gave me the Shirelle’s single “He’s a Rebel” as a Christmas gift. Reb , Janko …at least I was consistent.

When working in Copperhill, Tennessee some of the locals  labeled me  “The Reverend” as I seemed to preach more than speak with them.  Of course the sports teams I coached called me “coach” and some students I have taught called me “Captain” (but you will have to watch the movie the  Dead Poets Society or read “Oh Captain, My Captain” by Walt Whitman to understand that nickname.) They also like to call me “Mr. S. O. B.”(I thought it meant “soft ole bugger.”)

But out of all the nicknames and names I have been called and have chosen for myself I prefer one. It is a name that makes me melt every time I hear it said. It is a name that reminds me of how an imperfect pilgrim can be blessed(by the gift of my two daughters) It is a name that I would change my first name to if I could legally. Out of all the names and nicknames I have been called it is a name that describes how I would like to be remembered. Every time I hear this name called out by someone else I cannot help but to look up and believe the person who was saying the name was calling me. I know many others who have been called the same. However, the one name I love to be called is “dad.” 

I wonder how the DMV clerk will react in four years if I come in with a new sir name – “Dad.”

But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.

    -.(Isaiah 43:1)

amdg

John Lennon-Watching the Wheels

John Lennon-Watching the Wheels

Thanks John...Happy Birthday.
I have adopted this song as my own.
(Click to link to listen)

People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing
Well they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin
When I say that I'm o.k. well they look at me kind of strange
Surely you're not happy now you no longer play the game

People say I'm lazy dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall
Don't you miss the big time boy you're no longer on the ball

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go

Ah, people asking questions lost in confusion
Well I tell them there's no problem, only solutions
Well they shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry
I'm just sitting here doing time

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go

Part Four: Odysseus meets Alice in the Town of Princes

“…'It's very good jam,' said the Queen.
'Well, I don't want any today, at any rate.'
'You couldn't have it if you did want it,' the Queen said. 'The rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday--but never jam to-day.'
'It must come sometimes to "jam to-day,"' Alice objected.
'No, it can't,' said the Queen. 'It's jam every other day: to-day isn't any other day, you know.'
'I don't understand you,' said Alice. 'It's dreadfully confusing!'
'That's the effect of living backwards,' the Queen said kindly: 'it always makes one a little giddy at first--'
'Living backwards!' Alice repeated in great astonishment. 'I never heard of such a thing!'
'--but there's one great advantage in it, that one's memory works both ways.'
'I'm sure mine only works one way,' Alice remarked. 'I can't remember things before they happen.'
'It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,' the Queen remarked.”

- Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

Roaming from town to town with or without the Belmontettes can be an odyssey of sorts . Coming to a crossroads like Alice confused about which path to take is not the time to trust the counsel of an obscure wisecracking Cheshire cat. We have learned that it is the Aeolian winds and songs that direct the pilgrim’s earthen vessels to uncharted water and unexpected experiences on an unknown sea.What will happen and what will be learned is known only the Mad Hatter and a select few of the gods. The source of the secret is said to be reason for the clash between the Titans and Olympians.

It has been twenty years since the launch the current adventure when the pilgrim’s band of knights commenced their philanthropic crusade for the innocents plagued with neuromuscular disorders on a battleground that would be known as the “fields of dreams.” The fields were built and the players came to participate just as the voice had promised. The joy-filled battle ensued with echoing cracks of metallic bats accompanied with the odors of oiled and soiled leather and freshly grilled hot dogs drifting with the assistance of the breath of God to Rockingham , the historic campaign headquarters of the rebellion’s reluctant king . This land-based island of tigers and the institute that would give birth to relativity eventually became incorporated as the “town of princes” and welcomed future chivalric crusades while harboring the pilgrim-sailor and his princesses on their passage.

In honor of their successful crusade this pilgrim descendant of the once infamous great “troublemaker”, and savior of the papal empire ,and his Samaritan daughters were summoned to be recognized . Penelope disguised as the Queen of Hearts monitored the occasion with DYFS on her cell phone speed dial just in case. The celebration would be broadcast to the kingdom on the date reserved for honoring workers and Jerry’s kids.The landmark in which their holy war’s victory would be consecrated was within a three-pointer of Hawk Hill where the hallowed halls of the Son’s companions sat. Named for the patron of workers and fathers this grace-filled ground of illumination would soon shelter the princesses in their jedi-noviate equipping them for their own adventures against their Cyclops’ and random multi-headed Greek beasts. One princess would chose to return to this place of brotherly love as apprentice care giver taking the oath of a nightingale. While the first one chose the route of Telemachus as a resource in attempting to catch the workers as they jumped off the cliffs into a fields of rye. She would secure shelter and mentoring in the land where a fictionalized house would become somewhat famous on the boro’s plains near the home of princes, tigers and laureates (oh My!).

It is assumed that Homer and Socrates could not be successful in their conjectures , nor could any of poets gathered at their Woodstock craft alliterations, or assonance , the Jungian synchronicity of the pilgrim’s progress. Mr. Joyce even got diverted from this task and took Leopold with him on his flight to France . It is the goddess Pyche who knows where the question and the answers begin and end. “It’s a secret” she says. It all humbles us to remember “if momma ain’t happy nobody is happy.” Yet, the monastics of Manresa in their well meaning discernment of the spirits and the journey’s import chose to rationalize causality of the interconnectedness of events in the form of the centering mantra… “it’s a mystery .”

"Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous."
- Albert Einstein

“If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.”

- Woody Allen

”`Cheshire Puss,' [Alice] began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider. `Come, it's pleased so far,' thought Alice, and she went on. `Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?'
`That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat.
`I don't much care where--' said Alice.
`Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.
`--so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.
`Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, `if you only walk long enough.'"

- Through The looking Glass, Lewis Carroll

“…Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

- Ulysses , Alfred Lord Tennyson

amdg

Part Three : Diversions :The exiled pilgrim finds refuge in a safe harbor

"Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home "

- Basho

The geese that normally rest along the shoreline of the mist-coated lake of the new day’s early morning hour were absent today. No typical honks or to echoes of flapping loosened feathers were present to pierce the silence and solitude.

“ Have they heard the news of the potential storm heading this way and took their

chevron formation to some safe lake further inland? Or , did they begin their communal charted pre-Labor day trek south to their winter retreat?”

The anticipated consociation transformed, the solitude gingerly tiptoed it’s path between the rocks along the shoreline and desolation. Expectation of a forthcoming hurricane is not anomalous as storms are usually advance notices of a change in season. Leaves departing their branches and the transition from warm sea breezes to chilling winds that cause one to lift their collars should be enough to indicate change. However, it seems that nature prefers a dramatic entrance.

This observation conjures a recollection of when the exiled pilgrim had arrived circuitously at the place of hallowed ground that was coincidentally only a short distance from his own home port .Yet , it took finding shelter a thousand miles from this port to receive an invitation to this proximate hallowed ground.

While on a journey seeking legal tender for the selective apportionment of talents a new refuge was discovered overlooking the big muddy that once carried Tom, Huck and Jim into a new world. The prayer on the precipice sparked a consolation that evolved into an unexpected invitation from a recovering resident priest . He knew of a secret hidden hallowed ground along millionaires row not far from this adventurer’s Ithaca.

The sailor's loyal companion, Argos, welcomed the pilgrim on the return to his home and forgave him unconditionally for his meanderings and belief that self discovery was achieved through attachments to worldly things and victories. Both kept the secret of the probability that pilgrim’s journey was not over and that it had most likely just begun. Without discussion, a chart or a plan the pilgrim set out to find that sacred place the recovering priest had described.

In due course the holy ground , once the shelter for a famous former money trader who’s family gifted it for the greater glory, was found without much drama or consternation. This blessed place was now the home of the companions who were called to serve all pilgrims in need of rest on their journeys.

The first companion welcomed this pilgrim and queried:

“ Where have you been? We have always been here and we have been waiting for you”

The pilgrim retorted,

“No one had ever invited me before.”

The first companion ,

“You were invited when you started your journey. You were just too busy to listen to the voice calling you.”

The first companion introduced this self described wayward imperfect sailor to a second companion who then took it upon himself to be the pilgrim’s sherpa . They put the pilgrim’s baggage aside and the journey started anew. These newly found companions immediately loved this sinner and lowered his paralyzed heart into the presence of the wonder counselor. The journey and the man would then never be the same. This house of retreats and solitude had become the intermittent safe harbor from which this pilgrim would take respite to be consoled, illuminated and recharged as he kept retreating from the storms and the wrath of contemptuous world-wise demons . The abundance of blessings of the past became more obvious as grace bathed him while he was immersed into his own new season.

Suddenly the early morning’s meditation concerning the purpose of the little lake for the traveling geese made sense. All creatures need safe harbors and companions on their journey.

Post script: As the Next Season begins

Just a month ago I happened to visit my old friend and former spiritual director

Fr. Lou., who now lives three hours from my home We hadn’t seen each other in years. It took only a minute for us to rekindle the spark that connected us twenty years ago. Also, I ran into former retreat house director , Dick ,who now lives up north not far from Lou and has a new life and family. He and I met again at the retreat house. It was good to reconnect. But then Fr. Tom ,my Buddha, who has been showing wear and tear of a long-time dedicated shepra who had a stroke and has been taken to the society’s infirmary. He has taught me much and I pray for him constantly. Now I discover that that first companion, Fr. Bill, who would eventually guide me

through the 19^th Annotation of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius has been transferred with fellow companion Fr. Ed both near Dick and Lou. I will miss them both as I miss them all. Maybe I need to head north?

I wonder if the fond memories of grace will carry me through my next season and if their “house on holy ground” will continue as source of consolation and safe harbor .

Thank you for The Society of Jesus - especially Lou, Dick, Bill, Ed, Tom, Gerry, Kirk , all the companions who have welcomed me on my journey

into their safe harbors of White House , Loyola and Eastern Point .

The Earth Turned to Bring Us Closer

The earth turned to bring us closer,
it spun on itself and within us,
and finally joined us together in this dream
as written in the Symposium.
Nights passed by, snowfalls and solstices;
time passed in minutes and millennia.
An ox cart that was on its way to Nineveh
arrived in Nebraska.
A rooster was singing some distance from the world,
in one of the thousand pre–lives of our fathers.
The earth was spinning with its music
carrying us on board;
it didn't stop turning a single moment
as if so much love, so much that's miraculous
was only an adagio written long ago
in the Symposium’s score.

(Eugenio Montejo, 1938)

amdg

Summer Bonus track - The gift

(Here is a reflection on what recently happened when my email was hijacked and a financial scam went out to my address book under my name . Suddenly dozens of companions, fellow travelers, associates , friends and some strangers reached out with compassion and concern and again I was humbled )

There is nothing like the melancholic peace-filling mood of a Van Morrison ballad to set the tone for a day or even a week . His up tempo ditties are actually poems that simply sooth the seeker’s heart.

Who would have ever thought that technology would become an instrument of constant communication? Also, who would have thought that the removal of the instrument might bring silence and loneliness to one’s existence ?

Imagine technology becoming your voice and ears and then suddenly some demonic thief grabs these senses from you and you are deaf and speechless. For a moment you are falling into a deep hole where you are disconnected from everyone and everything., or so it seemed . The threads that have kept you connected to spirits of the earth suddenly have evaporated and the wavelength that secured the source to receive the great messages has disappeared from the dial.

Disconnected, lost, voiceless, helpless, prayerful , wandering and desperately trying to unravel the web of self-pity a depressing realization overwhelms. There doesn’t seem to be any way to tap into self-reliance to deliver one from a morass of despair.

Hope magically arrives in the form of previous connections secured in relationships with fellow pilgrims , wandering family members and companions of the sacred heart . Without hesitation these fellow journeyists lift the sense-less paralytic up and lower him into the presence of the wonderful healer and consoler.

Realizing one is not created to be here alone and that the previous giving of one’s self was returned to ten fold with the awareness that connection was never lost.

They say that prayer is a form of seeking connection…but one doesn’t need wifi or 4G service on a cell phone to make connection…just an opened heart .

Days Like This

When it isn´t always raining there will be days like this
When theres no one complaining there will be days like this
When everything falls into place like the flick of a switch
Well my mama told me there will be days like this

When you do not need to worry there will be days like this
When no one has in a hurry there will be days like this
When you do not get betrayed by that old Judas kiss
Oh my mama told me there will be days like this

When you do not need an answer there will be days like this
When you do not meet a chancer there will be days like this
When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit
Then I must remember there will be days like this

When everyone is up front & they are not playing tricks
When you do not have no freeloaders out to get their kicks
When it is nobody´s business the way that you want to live
I just have to remember there will be days like this

When no one steps on my dreams there will be days like this
When people understand what I mean there will be days like this
When you ring out the changes of how everything´s
Well my mama told me there will be days like this

Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this
Oh my mama told me
There will be days like this

amdg

Van Morrison - Days Like This

Van Morrison - Days Like This

Jackson Browne - Time The Conqueror - New Album

Jackson Browne - Time The Conqueror - New Album