Emanon’s Journey

The realizations which had begun to seem like an undefined blur flashing past my careening awareness have slowed enough for me to begin taking stock of what I’ve learned in the past 8 days … and it’s considerable.

I feel as if I’m looking down on a huge pile of boxes and bags which all need to be sorted through, categorized, and put away … only the pile is even deeper than what we usually bring home from camp after our two month stay. I’m a bit overwhelmed - wondering where to begin … wondering if the sequence will make a difference … and wondering if I’m even up to it. Something keeps nagging at me in the back of my mind … I should try to get some help, maybe call Dr. A and ask to be referred … but then he may want to see me, and after over a year, I don’t want that … and worse, I’d find myself nose to nose with a stranger, expected to bare my soul. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do something like that.

There have been changes along those lines already though … and they didn’t take any volition on my part. They just suddenly were. I don’t feel like I need to hide anymore. I’m beginning to see why I never want to admit the negatives to anyone … why scrutiny of almost any sort is so painful for me. I’m even beginning to see how I could have tuned out all of those changes as they gradually encroached from all directions, making me a prisoner in my mind, in my home, in everything and every way I am.

There’s so much working together right now, that I know I can’t see all of it. I can’t tell where it’s all coming from - if it’s a natural response from within myself to what I’ve learned and what I’m realizing, or … if there may be some “Outside” choreographing. It all just seems to be such an unlikely harmony …

Yesterday’s lessons …

… Annie came to Mass. I was amazed to see her during the winter. She only flies in from England in the summer, usually in order to be here for the date of the St. Anne de Beaupre pilgrimage. I could tell there was something wrong from the look on her face - and the fatigue in her eyes. I wondered if she was upset with me for having cancelled last summer’s pilgrimage …

As soon as the Mass was over, she asked if I had change for a $20 … I looked, but only had a few ones and a five. She told me that she wanted to light a candle for her mother, so I gave her the five, and then asked her what was going on. Her mother is going to die this week. Imagine knowing that! No wonder her eyes were empty and lifeless. Mrs. Janu had been through a series of very serious health crises in the last year, and after this most recent set-back, needed a ventilator to continue to live. She didn’t want that. She wanted the ventilator turned off. Annie looked at me, and with her soft accent, said: “Doris, it’s going to be a hard week for me.” Ah yes Annie … it will create a memory that will echo in your heart for the rest of your days. Her father had always been so concerned about his wife’s salvation, since she still belongs to her Hindu faith, and Tony is so spiritual. People I love are going to be in a very serious hurting way this week.

My own lesson in this came when Annie looked up at me from behind lost, bewildered brown eyes and said: “I have lost my faith.” Time suddenly slowed to a crawl for me. I felt myself sit down next to her on the pew, and wondered what I would say to her. From nowhere, the words came … I told her that I was in the same place. I didn’t even have time to feel shocked that I’d admitted that, before more words came … that neither of us could allow that, because everything we live loses meaning otherwise. I told her that when we feel God becoming unreal in our lives, that we need to find a quiet place and listen for Him … for the sake of sanity and survival. I said much more, but I don’t remember it all anymore. I saw a little spark of life come into Annie’s moist eyes, and she said, “Yes, yes. I will do that. I will find a way.” Next week, I expect I’ll see Annie and her sister, and Tony at Mass. I only hope that I can be there for them in some real way.

My second lesson wasn’t far behind …

I left Annie in front of the statue of St. Anne, lighting her candle, and went downstairs to the coffee hour. No one had signed up for next week’s coffee … I reluctantly put my name down. That twenty bucks was going to be hard to scratch up …

Maria caught me first - wanting me to help with organizing the bean supper. Hearing about the bean supper made me realize that I’d missed a meeting last week … but immediately following that thought came the realization that I would not have been able to help much even if I had been there.

The next people who caught my eye were those two ladies from the Midwest who visit the parish occasionally. They’re apparently partnered, since they have matching rings on their left hands, and “feel” like a couple. I went over to greet them, expecting to be caught up on their adventures since I last saw them, some time last summer before we left for camp. The conversation ended up being far more involved than that …

Valerie had been moved out to New England from the west coast by her employer. Chris worked online for an insurance agency, and her work was portable. Neither of them were very fond of the area, and found the locals to be somewhat cool. They were attending a parish in Portsmouth, and in 8 months, no one had ever greeted them. They kept coming back to St. George’s because whenever they came, they found warmth, community, and that people remembered who they were and took an interest in their lives. The only thing keeping them from joining the parish was the liturgy - very difficult to adapt to for someone from the Roman Rite … I know. Now I can respond in Aramaic with the best of them, and none of the Mass seems odd anymore, however I have a bit of a background in some Middle Eastern languages, and I’ve been in the parish since December 2002.

Chris immediately began to pour her heart out - Valerie had been fired from her job. They’d been moved out here for the job, had nothing else here, and now Valerie had been fired. And that’s not all - she’d been fired the day after Chris had renewed the lease on their house. I could see that Chris was making herself sick over it - and that Valerie wasn’t feeling much better about it. She had the added burden of seeing Chris fall apart so badly. I gave Valerie some practical advice on how to get by until a job in her field opens (not always easy for a 57 year old woman) … and Chris advice on how to not have a heart attack. There was quite a bit said … about them remaining open to each other, about being quiet enough to hear and see where to go next … I could see them exchanging meaningful glances.

Then my number came up - again. Chris said, “All of this is just so bad. I’m losing my faith over it!”

I felt as if I’d been punched in the gut. I don’t think she noticed, because she kept right on with her frantic monologue, oblivious. I grabbed her hands, which caught her attention - and in the momentary silence I told her, “Look, you’re the second person this morning to tell me that they’ve lost their faith over something happening in their lives. You haven’t lost your faith - you’re just struggling so hard against what’s happening that you can connect with your faith. Slow down and find a silent place to listen!” That struck a nerve for both of them.

The conversation was interrupted as my lovely parish matrons began to leave, and each one came by tell me how they were doing. Evelyn has broken another rib … Lorraine seems - so tired - and I don’t know why …

Finally, our conversation was brought to a close when Toby tapped on the table and rattled his keys. Yes - we were the last ones out, yet again. Valerie and Chris agreed to “splurge” on the way home … to stop and do a few things they enjoy. They were both far more peaceful than they had been a short while ago.

And this time, I’d gotten as much as I’d given … odd thing is that what I’d gotten had come out of my own mouth.

Once back home, I got to savor an email that I’d seen only briefly before leaving for church. Up until now, when I’ve mentioned this person, I’ve used the name “St. Luke.” St. Luke - the physician Gospel writer … truth-sayer … exemplary researcher into details which no one else seems to notice. It was an apt “nick name.” Dr. Bob and I had been exchanging emails since November, when the imagery and spiritual impact of his blog posts had become like a fire inside of me. I’d created an untraceable gmail account, and sent him an anonymous brief question about his faith - never really expecting an answer. However, he had answered, and his answer had only provided me with more questions. What followed was a series of emails which continue to be exchanged even now. Some of his earlier emails used such intense wording that it had become almost physically painful for me to read them … and although I miss the evocative poetry inherent to his verbal illustrations, I’m still a bit relieved that he no longer paints his replies in such exquisite detail. Perhaps later, when I’m not bruised emotionally and spiritually from head to toe …

I’d used the name Emanon … “No Name” … too embarrassed, too ashamed to admit who I was, even though he wouldn’t have known me if I had. I began putting our email exchanges on another blog, so that I would have a place to read it all together. Soon, I began to use that blog as a journal, and only last week did I abandon it as a journalizing tool to begin this blog - Emanon’s Journey. Too much has changed … I couldn’t continue there, in that shadowed place where everything I say is veiled and obscure. I can say who I am now, and somehow, it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t know if it means that I’m getting worse - or that I’m getting better - but it’s OK if people know that I’m Doris, I’m Moof … I’m Emanon. I can no longer expend my energy in maintaining layer upon layer of false personae - I need to put my energy into becoming whole again.

I’m amazed that I can write that in a public place, and not immediately want to delete it - or make it invisible somehow. In his last email, Dr. Bob talked about pride being an obstacle to faith … and he’s right, it is. And so is fear … and sometimes our fears are borne from pride (and vice versa) … and they’re not just an obstacle to faith, but also to healing, honesty, openness, and even a will to survive.

This has been a long entry, and I still have so much more to say. Before I can just jump into the meat of the issue, I feel that I have to show who I am … not just say who I am. In that way, I hope to not just be “journalizing” my thoughts for whatever unlikely others who may be interested in the life of some unknown white haired woman in Maine who’s lived too long, and not long enough … but hopefully you can become me, in some ways. Perhaps I can help you to see through my eyes, and feel through my heart. And maybe in doing so, neither of us will be so lonely any more …