Johannes

It is strange but the character from the motion pictures who I relate to most is Johannes from Dreyer's Ordet. Because I am a schizophrenic hyper-religious Christian who complains to my parents that we should get rid of the television because it is the devil's tabernacle, and nobody listens to me even though they show care for me and show love for me and support me. "He has lost his wits," they say. Though I never studied Schopenhauer.*

And my dad comments on how he wishes me and my brother would go to the demonstrations. I should have told him that the only demonstration that I would be interested in going to would be the march for life, but he makes fun of them (which made me get angry and break things). He laments the fact that I am not a communist and I lament the fact that he is not a Christian. And I noticed the absurdity of him being a promoter of masks and social distancing and that this disease is really serious and not over-hyped;  "a monster" he called it, and that we have to be safe, yet he also is promoting massive gatherings with no precautions in this time of pandemic.

I have yet to raise anyone from the dead, so there is that.

I made Manhattan clam chowder yesterday. The girl said it was the best clam chowder she has ever had and she has had a lot. I followed a recipe I found on the internet and changed it a bit which must have made it better. And I did not use fresh clams, but only the canned ones. I thought it tasted good. So there is that.

*edit. Robert, one of my few faithful readers informed me that I made an error. It was Kierkegaard that Johannes studied which made him go insane, not Schopenhauer. Forgive me for my error as I have never read Kierkegaard and misremembered.

Mectilde

There is a monastery and one of the Fathers there has a blog which I read. The blog is called Vultus Christi, meaning the face of Christ. I have been reading it for about ten years. He has a devotion to a nun who died several centuries ago on this date named Mectilde de Bar. She was a Benedictine who was devoted to the Blessed Sacrament, which makes sense because this monastery is one where the monks spend a lot of time before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.

When I first discovered this blog I would read it and sometimes it would make me cry real tears, thinking about holy things. They say the old Mass and chant the old office, but they are not SSPX or sedevacantist. I don't know much about all their ideas, just that they seem pious.

Everyone should have a favorite saint. There is Jesus, then the Blessed Mother, and then whoever you like. Some say Saint Joseph should be next. Others say Saint John the Baptist. Others have personal saints who they are devoted to.

Michael is home with the girl. They like to cook things. Michael scolded me for not having enough important things to do because I like to eat dinner early in the day, as if I have nothing to do but eat dinner. I did not respond. I am happy with my life. It is not a hard life. I have my little prayers and my walks and my prayers. I do not have much work except for running errands and cooking dinner. I like Michael but we see things differently. I do not think he prays much. Even if I end up going to hell because of my sins, I like to say my prayers and love the saints and Mary and God. Everything is a blessing and I am happy with my simple life.

My father wants us to watch a movie together as a family so I picked Sansho the Bailiff. If my brother can connect his computer to the television successfully we will watch it. I watched it once over a decade ago. It was a worthy movie, I remember, but I forget most of it, so it will be nice to watch it again and rediscover it. I think my brother will like it.

Just to record my thoughts on this night of the Monday of Holy Week. Now I should say my prayers and go to bed.

The Dead

Everyone is dead. The world is full of skeletons walking. Pestilence is our father. Worms are our sister. Dead bodies enlivened by necromancy.

I like to think of myself as a living creature. The living, the living. I pray for the dead. I hope I am alive. The living, the living. But I am a creature. A creature has a creator. The Office of the dead for a poor dead soul whom I love. One can pray for the living as well as the dead. Poor souls. Among the living as well as among the dead.

There is a famous sermon where a pessimistic sainted priest relates two private revelations where it is claimed that basically only one out of every ten thousand or so people who grow to adulthood are saved. It is something that people talk about on the internet where all everything ever written is kept in digital databases and people share the strangest things. Even I am not so pessimistic. Because these stories come down to us from times when the people were more pious. To think at a time where everyone went to Mass and everyone tithed and they built all those beautiful Churches which I have never visited and never will visit, as I am a creature of New York and will never travel to Europe or South America to see them. But it is frightening. To think that all of those souls who contributed so much to the Church and lived far better lives than we did are damned. Are there no children of God?

But in these times I try to have a heart full of love. I am just a poor creature. Of no account. I am of no account. One day a possibly drunken man came up to me and kissed my hand and said I was a good man. No I was a great man. It was so strange that it seemed like a hallucination. I spoke to him for only a moment and then went away. It was as if I was a noble lord and he was my peasant. Though he was an old man. I should have stayed with him. But that was a few months ago.

Nodoby knows me. Prayer in this time of plague. I am feeling okay. On the day after St. Patrick's day, when Michael arrived with the girl, I was so stressed out that I had to have some beer for the second night in a row. My father was worried so he drank with me to make sure I was alright. Then I finished and went right to bed. I am not an alcoholic, but sometimes, and it is not very common, I get stressed out, and when I do, I like to have beer and it cuts my nerves and helps me sleep, and usually I feel better in the morning. This time I felt better, and now, four days later, I am almost perfect. I still would like to go to confession. I did not fall into a new sin, but I was thinking of something I did a long time ago and felt remorse for it and a pain of soul came upon me. But Mass was cancelled and the Churches are closed. I may call a priest and ask if he could meet me so I could confess. I am young and have no symptoms so it would be no danger to him.

Prepare for death. For when it comes, it comes quickly, and the preparation for death is the only thing that matters in this life.

I am not afraid and my nerves are getting better. I just wish things would go back to normal soon. Pestilence is our father. Worms are our sister. Not that I am afraid. But I would rather be praying before the Blessed Sacrament than alone and I would rather eat heavenly bread than mere human bread, even the finest sourdough from the best bakery.

I may indeed go to the Lourdes Grotto again. But not tomorrow for it is supposed to be raining.

I was reminded of the Japanese director Kenji Mizoguchi and how he made some wonderful movies. If I ever get back into watching movies, I think his should be the first ones I watch. I don't like most movies anymore.

In this time of pestilence perhaps I should listen to more classical music. And maybe some old Church music. I have to go pray for the dead now. I am waiting for the time when there will be nothing to eat but rice. Everyone is dead. Especially here in New York City. The whole city is a mirage. A fantasy like the spirit house in "Ugetsu" and we are really living in ruins and desolation but our soul is tricked into thinking we are in a beautiful mansion. When will this veil be lifted?

The living. The living. Everyone is dead here in New York City. Everyone is dead.

Saint Valentine's Day

Today my father got two stents. The surgery if you could call it that was in Mount Sinai Hospital on the upper east side. The head doctor was an Indian. I went in to the city with my father and mother but I left early, before the surgery because I was nervous and stressed. And a little bored I must admit. It was breaking my routine and my reaction was a sign of my weakness. I went home and felt fine soon after. And went to Eucharistic Adoration and prayed and ordered pizza for us and now I am on the computer.

But today is Valentine's Day. I was talking to Julian the other day and I mentioned this day for some reason and he corrected me twice. He said "SAINT Valentine's Day". So it is. I am alone but I am happy enough so I am not sad. I have no one to be my valentine. It would be nice to have a wife but considering my condition and my sensibilities and desires it will likely never happen. I remember the movie by Tarkovsky where the man goes to bed with the witch named "Maria" to save the world from a nuclear holocaust. I have to watch that movie again, though I preferred Andrei Rublev. My brother told me to watch it. Why? Does someone want to make a deal? Is there a witch who wants to go to bed with me so the devil can grant favors? Like me, the ambulance takes him away to the nut house, and our house also burned down, though I did not set the fire, and it was not so vast or so beautiful. The internet says that the first time they burned down the house with the camera rolling the camera malfunctioned so they lost the footage and had to rebuild the house and burn the house down again, and the second burning is in the film. "In the beginning was the Word."

So it looks like my father is okay after getting the stents. He should be home tonight. Tomorrow I hope to go into the city to see Cardinal Zen say a High Mass. And then Sunday, the best day of the week. I hope to live. I am alive. The living, the living will give praise to Thee as I do this day. I like that prayer. Things are looking up and there are little birds flying. I did not speak about it but yesterday after Benediction I was walking down 118th street and as I always do, I saw the grackles hanging out. There were dozens of them again and I watched them for a few minutes and listened to them. As dad said they are a spiritual presence. I always see them when I go to the beggar's Church on the south side of the avenue. I am not afraid. Peace be to you all. Now it is almost time to go to the blessing!

Line Sea-Eater

I went to the bird store and they had a new kind of bird for sale. The owner was Chinese and he told me the name of the bird. He said it was a "line sea-eater". In English, "line", not "lion". So it is confusing. I am glad he explained the name to me. I do not know the meaning, but that is what he called it. It was a beautiful bird. I did not get a good look at it in its cage because it was high on the wall above the line of my eyes so I could barely see her. She had a white breast and dark feathers above the breast and a dark head. She was beautiful. I hope next time I go to the bird store they have more of them and they are at eye level so I can get a good look at her and hear her song.

There were so many birds, but I was focused on the new one, the "line sea-eater". To eat the sea? What poetry. As Saint Augustine said that eternity was like trying to empty the sea and put it into a hole in the sand, which would be impossible for a man, yet it is easy for the good God. And here we have a line that eats the sea? The blue horizon? The circumference of the circle around the eyes of the sailor perched in the crow's nest. I hope to learn more about the new bird at our bird store. It is next to the auto shop that my father used to go to called "Chris and Charlie's" on Atlantic Avenue.

Go to your local pet store and listen to the birds sing. Werner Herzog was wrong In "Burden of Dreams" [which should properly be called "Burden of Nightmares"]. They do not screech in pain, they cry out with Joy to the good God as Saint Francis spoke of. It is only that the wicked do not understand the language of the animals as Adam did, and as the Holy Ghost does. I do not understand the language but I do understand that all the creatures praise the Lord with everything they do, even if they are not eternal like mankind and the angels are.

Actually it is not as poetic, it is called the "line seed-eater", it is just that Chinese sounds like gibberish to English people: