Orthodixie

[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Wilderness …

We were too smart for the Hill. The dream must have worn off. Now, in the Wilderness, we are tired and hungry. O soul, where art thou?

Depression sinks in. It is lonely and arid in the Wilderness. We know that in the Garden there is an abundance of fulfilling things. In the Garden is fame, fortune, and power. In the Garden is sensual pleasures, passionate pastures, and delights for the eyes.

O, to be in the Garden.

As we enter the Garden, we again see the beautiful and inviting creature on the Tree. He assures us that we will not become sick. “Come, eat!” In an instant our soul cries out, “Evil!” Our bodies deny the hearing. Our bodies KNOW better.

Better me, O Garden Tree. Better me, I beg thee …

[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden …

Sick. Having eaten so much of the Fruit of the Tree in the Garden — Pride, Anger, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Avarice, and Sloth — we are sick. The Garden no longer seems so filled with light. We have once again discovered that the fruit which says “Come” speaks a lie.

If this is so, what of the Tree on the Hill?

It seems to be dark, Hell. What of it? Must we go and see?

The man hangs there. Is he dead? Why does he look upon us so?

There is pity and love in his stare. Before we have strength or ability to suppress it, our soul says “Yes!” — we hear — and suddenly, we are there, on the Hill, beneath the Tree.

Our eyes of Faith are opened and our spirit soars — for here on this Tree is the Fruit of Redemption, the First Fruit of God. God Incarnate.

The refreshment of our souls overshadows our bodily lusts and passions. We are at peace.

[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden …

From where we sit, in the Garden, we can see, off in the distance, the Hill, the Tree, and what appears to be a dying man hanging there. In the Garden, there is light. Yet, as far as we can see, the Hill looks dark and foreboding.

Again, we listen to our soul which seems to long for the Hill. We begin to make our way out of the Garden — toward the Wilderness — only to realize that the headway that we make seems to take forever. It seems that we are not moving. Our bodies, our senses, our bellies and tongues begin to scream at us “You hunger! You thirst! Eat of the Tree!.” We begin to question our motives, our movement, the Hill.

As we turn and look back toward the Tree in the Garden, we no longer see PALE GAS, but fruit — ripe and inviting. There is a lovely creature upon the Tree in the Garden beckoning us to “Come, eat.” We glance toward the Hill — a dying man upon a Tree covered in darkness. Our body begins to come alive, our soul withers. We turn back, back toward the Tree in the Garden.

[Meditations are intended to be read sequentially, from 1 to 33.]

Again in the Garden …

The fruit that looked so wonderful, so inviting, eventually turned bitter in our bellies. It appealed to our eyes, tongues, and senses. And although our souls said “No,” we listened instead to our bodies. Now, with bellies full, we are still not satisfied.

For once, we understand out soul’s definition of the fruits of the Garden’s tree: Pride, Anger, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Avarice, and Sloth … “Pale Gas.” To us, however, it is familiar fruit. The source of our nourishment. It all seems very natural.

Even silencing our soul seems familiar … natural.

I entered college in the fall of 1979. My family had always belonged to the Democratic party. I feared Ronald Reagan. I truly believed that his election meant the beginning of the end of the world. It was the Cold War. Everyone was a bit edgy.

Back in the day, those of us in the dorm played a card game, Rook, every night. (Yes, Mom, every night.) There was a promising rock star who was a favorite on the dorm floor: Prince. Prince’s song, “Ronnie Talk to Russia,” came to mind yesterday as I watched the news coverage of Ronald Reagan’s passing.

Ronnie talk to Russia before it’s too late

Before it’ too late

Before it’s too late

Ronnie talk Russia before it’s too late

Before they blow up the world

You go to the zoo, but you can’t feed guerrillas

Can’t feed guerrillas

Left-wing guerrillas

You can go to the zoo, but you can’t feed guerrillas

Who wanna blow up the world

Ronnie talk to Russia before it’s too late

Before it’s too late

Before it’s too late

Ronnie talk to Russia before it’s too late

Before they blow up the world

Before they blow up the world

Dontcha.

Don’t you blow up my world

Back then, all of us believed that World War III was inevitable & soon. When the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, some of us registered as conscientious objectors. Daily, we were reminded of the Cold War dangers that might escalate into the unthinkable.

When it came time to encourage folks to play Rook, I was known for saying, “Come on guys! One day you’re gonna be 40 years old, married with children, and wishing you were back in Gardner dorm playing Rook!” Anyway, thinking we were all gonna die, we often partied like it was 1999.

Now having crossed that age marker, I hugged my tearful wife yesterday and explained to our children who Ronald Reagan was. It all seems so long ago. I’ve yet to want to be back in the dorm, in the Cold War, playing Rook.

I was wrong. With gratitude, I admit I was wrong … and Ronnie was right.

May God be merciful to him and those who mourn.