Dead Bird

It may have been a day or so after my brother found the dead baby bird in our garden.

My mother drove us to the grocery store and we were parked on the street. I got out of the car to go pay at the parking meter and I stepped on something. It was another dead baby bird, squished on the sidewalk. I took it to be an ill omen.

The quarantine is going well, but we are running out of money. My father is using my stipend to pay the bills. I will go shopping today. I will buy some rice for just in case. None of us have gotten any stimulus or unemployment money yet. When they do get it we will be better any I may even be reimbursed for some of the expenses I have covered. But I do not need the money.

My expenses, other than the food I buy for my family. Diet soda. I found an acceptable one for one dollar at the dollar store. Beer. This I have been drinking one or two times a week during the quarantine which has now gone on for more than forty days. So my expenses are low. But the bills are a killer. Yesterday I gave my parents money for one bill and the one bill was 240 dollars. And there are many. If they do not get their money we will not be able to pay any of the bills. But God will provide. And perhaps this quarantine will end soon. I do not mind it. It is nice having family with the dinner most nights, even though me and the girl are not comfortable around each other, or at least, I am not comfortable around her.

I have been watching Vespers from a monastery in Ireland, and sometimes Mass. It is according to the old rite, but I noticed two things that seemed odd when I was watching Mass yesterday. One of the monks in just a habit and no vestments read the epistle facing the people and the priest abbot read the gospel facing the people. All in Latin. I do not know why these practices are different from what I am used to, but the services were beautiful.

The weather is lovely and I am happy watching the birds when I go out. The sparrows and the mourning doves and the starlings. Even the pigeons, and the less common birds like the mockingbirds who sing for us and the robins who eat worms and the song birds.

I have seen some butterflies this spring, but not many yet. I love watching butterflies. And not many bees yet. there are a lot of flowers on our block so we get them in the summer time. Many years ago now we had a bee hive above the front door of our house in a hole where a lamp is. One day a bee stung my father. But then the bees went away. The hive died and ceased to exist except for in my memory. Why does memory matter? Who remembers those bees other than me and our family? Why does it matter if your children and your children's children remember you and think about you, and then after them you will be forgotten and never thought of again. Except in the mind of God?

I have a happy life now. I hope I do not fall int o despair! Or if I do fall into despair, I overcome it!

It is wonderful to wake up, say my prayers and then watch Vespers on the computer from Ireland at noon. It is calming to hear them chanting. My life is not hard as I do not work. My work is living with being an imbecile. Ah life. I vaguely remember when I was normal. I am happier now. But if I continued being normal, perhaps I could have had a normal life with a wife and some kids and then grandchildren. Alas. I am happy . . . for now. I try to love God. I think I do.

My beliefs are strange. I am a lonely wanderer. I am a Catholic of some sort. A traditionalist, I guess, meaning I prefer going to the old Latin Mass and services. But I am not a sedevacantist. I attend at an SSPX Mass normally. But I sometimes go to the indult Mass, though not regularly the Novus Ordo. But even though I do not like going to the Novus Ordo, I think it is valid and that Jesus is really there. So I like going to Eucharistic adoration even at Novus Ordo parishes. So my beliefs are strange. During the quarantine, I went to the indult parish in Manhattan for Eucharistic Adoration to sit quietly and pray and it was calming and serene. Karen would say not to go because there re devils there. Julian would say it is idolatry.

Pater Noster. Sed Libera Nos A Malo.

The girl is baking a cake. She is going to bake it, cut it in half and make two layers of frosting, one on the inside and one on top. Yellow cake with dark chocolate frosting. We are eating well. Perhaps soon we will have nothing but rice. I need to buy more rice.

Praying for people. But who am I to pray? Yet I pray for people. People I know. I hope to meet them again. Alone in a house unable to think normally, a nut, an imbecile, but I have family to take care of me and am happy. There is a girl I pray for, and then I pray for everyone. Everyone needs prayers. And I pray for myself. To God and to Mary and to Gemma and to Mary of Egypt and to the saints. I pray.

Pray for me, a sinner who needs prayers. Pray for me St. Moses the Black. Amen.

An "Uncharitable" Comment About Taylor Marshall's Appearance

Taylor Marshall is a relatively new traditional Catholic celebrity. He makes a living off of us traditional Catholics. While we slave away at Starbucks or live in obscurity off of disability or are hopelessly in debt because of student loans acquired while studying at a Thomistic traditional Catholic Liberal Arts College and are unable to marry and raise a large family, he makes a comfortable living off of selling books to us. He has the large non-contraceptive using family that we can only dream of, off of our backs. He is the nobleman. We are the peasants. (Well he is really bourgeoisie and not of the nobility). I am not envious of the man, but he is fortunate while we are less so (materially at least). I do not have a whole post in mind, but I just wanted to say that he looks like a gremlin to me. That is in no way to judge his character as looks of the body do not necessarily reveal the soul, and he could be a saint and I do not want this post to be seen as a judgment of character. But looks alone, which are not important. But when I look at him I just think that he looks funny.

As a reference, Bishop Athanasius Schneider who has done interviews with TM and is friendly with him looks like a saint to me. Looks are not important.

On Making Money

I have no problem with people making money. It is necessary in the fallen world we live in. I make money myself. I get a small disability stipend for being crazy which I mostly give away to my family (because father takes care of me and deserves it and because I love my brother). But some people are good at it and make a lot of money. But as a reason to exist it is lacking to me. I have no desire for money or the things that money can buy, after the meeting of basic necessities. Perhaps it is because I do not watch television. Sometimes I buy books; I do like some of my prayer books. But what else is there to money? What is the point of luxury after necessity is met? Saint Benny had his office and his Imitation of Christ and a rosary around his neck and one in his hands. Even he did not have nothing. He carried around those two books in a bag and read from them often. He begged for coins and for bread and if he had a crust and needed more to share he would multiply the bread like Christ did the loaves on the mountainside and share it with his beggar friends on the streets and in the Colosseum of Rome. I have a little more. I have a book case with books I sometimes read. But they are more for show than for reading. I do not need them. The only books I regularly read are my Way of the Cross and my Little Office, and I also have my little Holy Hour booklet, but I would like to also keep a picture of Gemma like a soldier carries a picture of his young wife and looks at it and dreams of being with her while in the trenches. I could shed those and have nothing. I could be like a desert Father and spend my life meditating on a short prayer or a single line from scripture. I could say over and over again "Oh Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto thine heart" and after thirty years I could tell my friends that I was only beginning to understand the meaning of those words. I am a little person. I love people and things and my family and women and God and I love even the cruel hard world. And I love you if you are reading this. Yes, you. I love you. There are abortions and there are sparrows. Blood and tears and Our Lady of Guadalupe. There is a heaven and there is a hell. This I know. There is a God and a devil. Some worship God and some worship the devil. I think a lot of people are wretched and a lot of people are not honest. I don't want to make a lot of money. I would be happy if I were a slave whose master gave him a place to sleep and food and daily tasks and other slaves to talk to. I would be happy as long as the master did not abuse me and there was a little Church I could go to to pray.

People go to Communion. We are to believe that the Blessed Host is Our Lord Jesus Himself, come down from heaven, dying on the Cross for us and He is to be our food. If one is well disposed it will raise one up to the highest heaven and if one is ill disposed one will be hurled into the deepest pits of hell. There is nothing more perilous than appearing before the altar rail to receive Holy Communion. It truly is as it was in the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when the professor had to guess which chalice was the true Holy Grail and drink from it, and to choose wisely will lead to life and to choose poorly will lead to death. I go to Communion at our little mission in the upper room. So do many of us. I go to confession once a month and I receive Communion every Sunday. I am not afraid because I do not feel guilty. I feel as if I were a friend of Jesus. I try to visit him every day. It is special when he is in the monstrance, but more often he is still there only inside the Tabernacle. I like to sit close to him and look into his heart. I can only see bread, as only once did I see the Light of the World, but I know that he is looking back at me and sees deep into my soul. I do not doubt these things. It is my reality and it has been for eleven years.

I like to pray the Holy Hour every Thursday evening. It makes the day a special day. I read the little meditations and pray and think and look at the pictures of Gemma, for in her face I see the Christ Crucified as she bore His wounds in her flesh. It has become a favorite prayer of mine. I look forward to reading the parts that move me most and I hope to have it memorized some day so I can go back to it over and over in my mind during the week. If I had a friend and I wanted to convert her I would take her into my room and pray the Hour with her if she was interested. Gather around the Christ in Gethsemane and tell Him that you love Him.

I do not have a wide audience with my blog. I only have a few readers, I am not sure how many, but I seem to have a reader from Portugal. Blessings to you, my Portuguese friend. I have a wider audience when I make posts on the niche Catholic forums I like to post on. But here this is a place of my own where I can leave a record of my own thoughts. A record of my thoughts. I am only a fool. Do I seem pious? Or do I come across as a fraud? I think I am always talking about the same things. I have been thinking of God and the angels lately and have been speaking of the same things over and over again. Yet there are those who are always speaking of Nietzsche.

His blood! His blood! What profit in His blood? I don't know? Nobody in my life takes me seriously anyway except for my friends from Church. Julian takes me seriously. My good friend who I will visit tomorrow. He prays for us and since he is blind all he can do is pray. And listen to the television. We will pray together the Chaplet of St. Michael as we always do. And I will bring him some food. A salami sandwich. And angry Tom takes me seriously. He asked me if I wanted to become a religious brother, but I do not think anywhere I wanted to go would take me, being too old and infirm and crazy. As a young man he went to the seminary but he said at the time it had become too liberal and he left. He wanted to become a priest but instead he became a social worker. He did help people in his life. More than I have done.

I want to be like a little child and love God as a little boy loves his father. Only more. Everything good He has given to me. Life. My life is charmed. Envy not for envy is the source of unhappiness.

I used to roll cigarettes. I rolled them better than anyone else in the world. It probably took five years off of my life. That was ages ago. I remember I used to get enough tobacco and papers for fifty cigarettes for four dollars. I would smoke them constantly. My brand was Drum. It was the thing I did. But then I gave it up. A few years after my conversion, and after I had given up cigarettes, I met a traditional Catholic at Mass (of the tweed suit variety) who rolled his own cigarettes. Unlike me, he put little filters into his cigarettes as he rolled them. I guess he was worried about his health. He was travelling and I only saw him twice, but he talked to me after Mass at the coffee shop. One Sunday he told me that the night before he was at a party and he challenged a protestant to a fist fight because he blasphemed Our Lady. I thought of asking him what he was doing at a party with such people but I held my lip. He seemed like a good chap, but the kind of person who would be good at making money. I wish him the best even though I can not remember his name.

Sunday is something to look forward to now. The whole day. Now we have music at Church. More people are coming to the Cenacle now. Church is at five. So I go in early and try to visit one or two of the Churches in Manhattan before. And after we have coffee and food. I am liberal with money on Sundays. I have a happy life. I am so happy. Not all the time when I am busy doing things, but in the quiet of the night and in the silence I am a very happy person.

I don't want to be an important person or be famous or be a great artist. I do not want to abuse women. I do not resent people with money or men who have beautiful women. I do not regret becoming crazy and losing my chance at a normal life. I am happy for my father and my mother and my family for my brother. I am happy for my friends and for our priests and for Church. I am happy for God and for the angels and the saints. I am happy for my Gemma and that I can look at my pictures of her and read about her and pray to her. Thinking about her makes me so very happy. You do not know. I am happy for so many things. Even if the world is full of ugliness and sin and pain. I often forget all the pain I was in when I was being tormented by the devils, but I knew what it was like to suffer. And now I have a life of peace and joy. I am grateful for being tormented by the devils for all that time because it makes me grateful for the peace I have now.