The orb!

In speaking of the paranormal this morning, I remembered a photograph that I took about six months ago here in this house of refuge, of an orb. The orb is just below the mirror right next to the closet door. I used Adobe 7 to blow up the image and it does not look like light. It has form. The photo posted above is the original and has not been enhanced or changed in any way. Also, you may see that behind the main door there is a plastic disk to protect the wall--think nothing of it.

Not only did I manage to photograph this orb, but I've seen it with my bare eyes. I've been followed by this orb from the other house. Or, I've seen two different orbs in the past year! I first saw it one night when I was alone when the boys were traveling and I was shoving my dining table up to the French doors because I thought somebody was trying to break in. All of the sudden I saw this orb, maybe eight inches across, clear like a closeup of a drop of water falling into a pool, zip across from my right side to the other end of the table and then vanish.

Another thing in this photograph that mystifies me is the reflection in the mirror. This may have perfectly normal explanation such as the way the light is cast from the beside lamp shade. But there is a clear dark line reflected in the background just above the dresser--however, the room was recently painted a light gray color and is not darkened there in any way.

Dread:

Predawn, up before the sun. Summer's end is heralded with the briskness of early fall. Summer's heat was freedom and health. I could spend all day outside. I could throw open a window and air out the toxins that make me sick--I can't tolerate any at all now, I think. I could open a window for the night or spend comfortable hours outside doing tasks normally done inside. My neighbors think I'm weird and I wish the yard was more private. I find any excuse to go out that door.

As I take in the still total darkness near 6:00 AM, I feel the dread of the coming winter and I'm afraid that fall will be altogether too short. My bare arms feel the chill and I think it is time to get my jackets and sweatshirts out and wash them. I rub my arms briskly to warm them as I look up at the dark sky and try to discern how cloudy it will be today.

I used to anticipate winter with the same joy and excitement that I anticipated every other season. But not anymore. The thought that my anticipation of winter will ruin my beautiful fall is almost as bad. Will that dread fill me every time I get a goosebump from a chill wind between now and December? Besides, I have a longer list of things to do before the weather becomes too cold.

Time does pass quickly. I drive Ike to school just as the first glimmer of sunshine breaks through the striated clouds on the horizon, tinting them a soft promising pink. As I drop him off and watch him carrying his horn to the football field, I think, 'One hour down! One hour passed so quickly. So much to do, so little time--before the cold comes in.'

I'm all alone out here:

I've been all alone for the longest time. It is dark and cold and lonely. I want to talk to somebody, but they have all gone away. They closed their doors and their windows to keep me out. They turned off their lights to pretend they weren't at home. They turned off the phones or they won't answer.

I sit here and talk to myself sometimes. I try to figure out what it is that they are avoiding. It isn't happening to them. It is happening to me. I once believed the fiction that they loved me. We had a good happy life. We had things and we did things. We laughed and we played, we worked and we talked. But now it is all different. They only want to think about themselves. If I keep trying to talk to them perhaps they will pick up a shovel and dig a hole to bury me in so they won't have to hear me.

Sure, they have had hard times. And I did listen. I listened for hours as they told me all the awful things that happened to them. I loved them. I tried to soothe them, to brush away the hurts, to soften the blows. But now I wonder what good it did because when I needed them they all ran away.

I know what it is. They don't want to believe me. They don't want to believe this could happen. And so they put their fingers in their ears and they shout, "La,la,la, I can't hear you!" and they turn and look away or they look right past me as though I am already gone, a figment of their imagination.

I'm a voiceless voice, a bodyless body. I don't exist. I'm turning black and melting away. My life was nothing. My days were spent on nothing. There was no love. There was no me.

Long Dark Night

(I haven't forgotten my Southwind project, but my Gremlin has absconded with my journal.)

This is just an effort to put words on the page.

The discussion of late has been on Mother Teresa. It seems that many can't comprehend her long Darkness.

I checked out the book from the library. It is lovely. Mother Teresa's words echo out of the past in a way that is very similar the more ancient mystics. She followed the classic faith and her sentiments were those of the classically trained Catholic. It was easy to read, interesting and moved right along.

I can relate well to her "Dark Night of the Soul." It is the controversial aspect of Mother Teresa's life that for forty years she lived in relative spiritual darkness, even claiming to not see Christ in the Holy Sacraments. I have a great deal of compassion for her in her extended Dark Night. I've been sitting still for a year and a half now and it takes a lot of patience. I feel sorry for her, but I also feel that she will be well rewarded for her persistence.

As I read the book I wondered what could have caused it. I realize that to wonder at the cause of a Dark Night is a strange occupation--how could I have the temerity to question God's will? My own Dark Night could have so many different causes that I can't choose one. What weakness is God weeding out? There are so many that I can think of. God might just leave me eternally in the Dark now. (Yes, I am chuckling!) So it is far more interesting to contemplate M.T.'s Dark Night since she was such a shining example of how best to follow Christ.

As for Mother Teresa, I noted that the editor commented on the fact that M.T. tried to hide her suffering from Christ. I can't help it--I keep thinking that there is no hiding anything and when we try to hide something, we end up hiding completely. I did that in the 70s out of fear of the spiritual world.

Another thought I've had is that her mind was so full of what she had to do that she couldn't listen very well and Christ was there with her all along. The reason I suggest that is that her success all those years, her tireless devotion and her inner strength had to come from somewhere. It was superhuman. And then there are all her beautiful quotes. Her insights are inspired. Her love of all people shimmers and reflects the love of God. And so despite her inner darkness, she was receiving the light somewhere all along.

Silly of me, isn't it? Well, Dark Nights can cause a lot of deep dark reflections that can be hard to admit to. That's my way of confessing that in the quiet that I've been sitting in, quiet is my all. Every now and then I still come up with some profound thoughts--gifts--that give me a little hope. But then I end up sitting quietly again. I gather that Mother Teresa had those same small flickers, too. She was better at admitting her pain to her confessor.

More seriously, (since the conversation got away from being serious somehow) Mother Teresa continues to be one of my favorite people. She led an exemplary life. I'm amazed at how brave she must have been when she launched her institute. The power of her faith and her determination to save those souls for Christ during those first few weeks. Such a small young woman seeking out the poor in their dark holes and taking Christ to them, all alone, in the meanest, darkest, most miserable places people live. And to her, at the time, the need must have seemed overwhelming.