Post #32.8, Weds., May 18, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         Ana is telling me a terrible story, I would try not to listen if I could. She has been released from the hold of a young monk, by the flailing of her knee.  She tells me she was surprised he released her, as he fell. I can understand what she doesn’t know.

         She continues. “He fell to one side taking the robe that covered us, so there I was naked and unhidden looking skyward and into the faces of a circle of silent monks who probably heard my screams and were standing all around us looking on.

         “The young monk was terrified and burst into tears. Through his anguish he was sobbing that he was sorry, until he got his wits about himself then he just blamed me. He said it was my sin alone. I had tempted him. The monks said nothing at all. They simply wrapped him in his robe and took him off to see Father Columbanus. One covered me with a piece of my dress as they were leaving.

         “I drew the robe up from the ground and pulled it over my shoulders, and I just sat there for a very long time. At first I was sobbing until clarity came over me like a wayward splash of sunlight. Then for a very long time I whispered psalms I knew, then I said a prayer, over and over again, ‘Dear God what can I do?’ It went from plea to curse and then back into a plea, then I felt someone near me. I turned, expecting to see the farmer of this meadow, or maybe the gardener on whose land I was sitting. It was the servant monk, and he had a proper linen woman’s tunic for me to wear when I went to answer for my sins before Father Columbanus.”

         “Did you meet Father Columbanus in person then?” I asked.

         “Yes. I found him to be very thoughtful and kind though I am sure the story I told made no sense to him. Both the young monk and I were given the privacy to make a confession only to the father, as the Irish Rule allows. And apparently what I told him, and what the young monk had said was the same thing. Neither of us told a better tale. But which of us sinned wasn’t at all clear.”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #32.7 Tuesday, May 17, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

Please take care. This post was not written for children to read, even for good readers.

         Ana is telling me a story I don’t even want to hear.

         She continues, “I hadn’t known there was ever a physical sign that would tell of the virginity of a man so I guess he needed to tell it for it to be known. What he really meant by telling me that, was he was offering his purity to me as a sacrifice of himself for the Christian sake of my rescue.”

         I know Ana is looking at me for a reasonable opinion. I mean, I’ve been a man nearly a century longer than the Christian religion ever was, so surely I would know about this.  I turn back toward our worktable to repress my grimace. What can I say?

          “So, by your silence I guess you know what happened.” My silence agrees, and she continues.  “We removed our robes, mine a blanket on the cold ground, his a blanket on his back. He tore away the loose pieces left of my dress on me, so we were both naked between the wools. The young monk, pure and virgin poured his eyes over me like I was some creature he had never seen before. And that affirmed to me he was indeed a virgin. He told me again it was his holy mission to risk his own virtue to save me from my sin.”

          “So there I was, laid out on a borrowed monk’s robe, naked and waiting for the white snake of the druid blessing to go seeking the snake’s den of legend. If I could only be fearless I could be helping this young monk become my savior. But as he proceeded to find a tempo for his flushing checks to brighten I could see nothing but the reddened laughing faces of the pirates. In my mind’s eye he was, himself, transfigured into the very pirates I wanted most to be rid of, so I fought and screamed!  I was frantic, but he cupped his hand over my mouth so no one would hear my screams. I could hardly breath. He groped my body for a place to put that tall virgin phallus he seemed to have acquired so suddenly. I squirmed and fought to free myself, but he pressed my shoulders tighter to the ground so only my legs could move freely, and my thrashing knee gave me a power I didn’t know I had. He crumpled into a writhing ball, releasing me.”

(Continues Tomorrow)

Post #32.6, Thurs., May 12, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         Ana continues her story. “Before this rape happened I could see a man’s good health and physical being as a thing of great beauty. I always considered human beings to be wonders of Creation. But then, after the curse I could see nothing but a filthy disgrace of the beauty of life. I thought I would always have to be alone until I saw the procession of chaste monks to follow.

         “The young monk listened to me with a great intensity. Then he offered a prayer asking God to rescue me from the curse of sin. I hadn’t thought of it as a sin, because a sin seems like it would be a choice for me to avoid a temptation and I had no choice. I was captured. But maybe he meant the pirates’ sins. Whatever, I thought. Yes, I would want God to release me from my fear. Amen.

         “He said we should meet again, and talk some more. Perhaps we could find a place distant from the others so no one would notice and have a bad thought about us together.  I wondered how there could be a bad thought about a holy monk talking with a needy woman.

         “We were already reaching the hills near Annegray when the young monk took me with a strong grip around my wrist and led me to a place in the wilderness he called a ‘secret place.’ He said as a child he was afraid of many things, but his father taught him that the true cure for fear was to face the fear and do that which fears you most; do it until you no longer fear. Does this make sense to you?” She asks me.

         I answer, “Some fears protect us from danger. So I guess it isn’t a recommended cure for fear. It could be dangerous. Usually in my own fearful times I ask God’s guidance, and it reliably comes to me in the familiar words. ‘There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear’ [I John 4:18a]. But in this case that kind of easy scripture answer seems ill advised. So maybe God answers these things without words but from the depths of our most intimate consciences. How did it come to you?”

         “It was indeed, very intimate. The monk told me he was a virgin.”

(Continues Tuesday, May 17)

Post #32.5, Weds., May 11, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         Ana continues her story, “I wrapped a swelling ankle for a young monk and he set about befriending me, Christian-to-Christian he would say, and we talked about our faith in God. But you know how those conversations can turn. Pretty soon he was telling me of his childhood and his calling to follow Jesus into the wilderness. He considered it a testament to his moral character. I didn’t remind him that even the disciples Jesus picked out for himself weren’t really that upstanding.”

         I laugh, but wonder how she knows this. She must be doing a close reading of the gospels on her own.

         “Ana,” I ask her, “How did an apprentice to a pagan healer learn so many things of the disciples and also the doctrines of the church?”

         “Of course I learned from our reading lessons, but then, when you were gone for those years Daniel often took me with him when he and Count Bertigan had work to do at the King’s castle. King Chilperic had a library of books – the gospels, and other writings, Augustine and those bishops from Alexandria and the far away places.”

         “Really? No wonder Gregory of Tours and King Chilperic debated the need for Trinity. He was reading books. So go on. What were you telling me of the band of monks from the island of St. Patrick?”
         Ana continues, “I told that young monk with the swelling ankle way too many things. I told him I had been stolen by pirates from my home, and when I escaped they raped me and beat me so that I would, as they said, ‘never be a proper wife to any man.’ I thought it was a threat that my body would never heal from the rape, but I easily recovered physically and I was soon relieved from the fear that I would birth a baby pirate. What I didn’t know about then was that the pirates had put me under an evil curse of fear. It was a terror of the phallus, and a fear that even my own physical obligation to receive the phallus had been skewed from love to fear. I realized they were right. I was cursed with their evil, never to be a wife or a mother of a loving family. Now I can’t even imagine lying with a man without the faces of the pirates coming to my mind. Their horrible laughs and lust haunt me even in my night terrors.”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #32.4, Tuesday, May 10, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. The Vosges Mountains

         We’ve stopped our work scribing the Rule as Ana tells me how she came to fear men. She had escaped from the pirates and now she was following a band of monks on the long trek from the sea toward Annegray.

          Her story continues, “The damp of the forest and the banks of creeks with waters receding were rich with all those little things that give nourishment for life: mushrooms rising up from the forest floor, easily found because they were stretching taller than their hiding places. There were little clams and fishes in the creek, and all around the grasses had rich seed heads. Stalks of herbs told of pungent roots beneath them. There were thickets of berries for the picking.

         “So at night I crept into their camp and filled their pot with a fine broth. I was thankful for the plenty. They thanked God for the miracle of the manna in the wilderness.

         “One time I crept into the monk’s camp to leave the food and I was noticed by one, who said he saw an angel swoop in on wings of white and make them a pot of stew. They thanked God. I have no ‘wings of white’ as you can plainly see. But I continued to leave them the foods of these forests as I have always known of these riches. They had no knowledge of anything but blackberries. And none had ever even seen a snake before this journey. I couldn’t help but be reminded they were all very young and naïve.

         “As the days came and went, winter was setting in. Some of the monks were gaining skills in finding their own sustenance even though the gifts of nature were lessening with the season. And in my own need for survival I waited until they were all asleep, then I looked for one place or another out of their view where I could curl up for sleep without freezing. One frosty morning I woke after sunrise, and found I was covered with a woolen monk’s cloak. Obviously my presence was not a secret. The robe was not only warm, it allowed me to follow more freely. They already knew I was there and when they met another person on the way I could pull the cloak around me as though I were one of the monks. It wasn’t long before I was offering my healing gifts to help them on their way.”

(Continues tomorrow)

Post #32.3, Thurs., May 5, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

I’m listening to Ana tell of her fear.

          “I was raped by the pirates because I tried to escape but quickly discovered we were moored at Aletum, an Island; so I was easily captured back. I wasn’t raped because I was alluring. It was a punishment rape, like how ancient wars ended with sodomy. But I did escape on the mainland and there I saw a band of Irish monks who seemed Christian wandering into a wilderness of which they knew nothing.

         “They debarked from an Irish ship and started on their journey into the depths of unknown forests looking for Father Columbanus at Annegray. I followed after them, torn and tattered as I was.  I’m trained to heal people, so I expected my wounds would heal. But I’m still haunted with terror.

          “The monks were all freshly shorn and dressed in their dull robes and like one body together they chanted psalms of thanksgiving for their safe journey. Then they turned toward the wilderness said by rumor to be filled with wild beasts, bears and wolves, even snakes and wild boars. They prayed for fearlessness. I stayed at a distance from them so I wouldn’t be noticed but I chanted the psalms with them, and I prayed with their prayers for courage to continue. They kept telling one another God was with them so no one need fear but I think they felt fear.

         “The bruises from the pirates’ fists still blackened my face and I felt like some bloody monster of death. My dress was bloodied even though I’d tried to soak it clean at the briny edge of the sea. The dark stains were deep wounds beneath. I had no mantel to cover the rips in the cloth so my breasts couldn’t be hidden. My attempt to bind the dress as though it were a wound only made it look more revealing. Even these breasts were no longer virgin pure; they were bruised and hurting. I tried to stay a distance not to frighten them, but close enough to be safe and warmed by their fires and prayers.

         “While we were still near the briny waters, I caught an eel. I was finding the abundance of the wild autumn harvest but the monks were looking for pots of porridge already made up for them.”

(Continues Tuesday, May 10)

Post #32.2, Weds., May 4, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         Note to followers: This May chapter is NOT intended for children.

         My mind is still on the list for making this a farm: a roof and a donkey and a shed and maybe some goats and hens. All the years that I’ve lived with little I’ve never really started a life with nothing but a seed and a blade.

         Today our work is in the inks. Ana was assigned more pages for copying rules to post for the pilgrims. But here conversation blunders the holy quiet of a scriptorium.

            Ana says, “Probably other women who have families aren’t under the spell of fear as I — or maybe some are. I don’t know if this is mine alone or if it is a shared terror.”

         “What are you afraid of Ana?”

         “I’ve fallen under a fear of men — men, created and loved by God in the same way as I. Yet I’m afraid in the way one who believes in pagan magic under an evil spell.”

          “You are one of the strongest and most courageous people I know. How can you be cast into isolation by a fear—made a prisoner here. Is this about your wonders of beauty and wisdom?”

         “So you think so too, that I‘m irrational and over impressed with my own attractiveness so that I assume every man is groping after my breasts. Now I’ve said it!”

         What can I say?

         She goes on, “At least you have the good manners to look up from your work and listen to me. But maybe when you mention beauty you are also thinking it would be a great kindness to plant your so-called peach pit in the furrows of my fertile field then suddenly I will know sex is a true metaphor for holy love and my all my fears will suddenly be vanquished!”

          “Ana, how can I offer my human compassion broadly enough to understand what it would be like to be a woman who was brutally raped by pirates?” I can only plead ignorance.

         “I’m sorry for my outburst Laz, surely it’s a sin against Creation to assume all men are rapists. Do you suppose procreation got twisted into the ‘original sin’ by some terrified woman who had been raped?”

         “It was actually the early church ‘fathers’ who claim to have invented that sin. But maybe they knew…” [Footnote] I know she isn’t asking me to tell her the history of Christian doctrine.

[Footnote] Original sin? It was Origin, declared a heretic for a similar reason, then Augustine wrote it using his amazing way with words and it became indelible. It isn’t a Jesus teaching.

(Continues Tomorrow)

Post #32.1, Tuesday, May 3, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         “This is the day that the Lord has made, Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” [Psalm 118:24]

         I thought I’d send that on the leg of a bird.  But on this new day I can say it to her. She’s here. I’m here. We are sipping tea at the hearthside under no roof. No roof could contain the width and breadth of our hopes. 

         We’ve been clearing away brush, moving rocks, turning earth for the garden and we share the weariness of starting all things new.

         Ana’s physician’s fingers have rubbed the work ache from my shoulders, but my thoughts are not all that utilitarian in appreciating this kindness.  I imagine touching her, and I imagine her touches in return for mine.

         Yesterday we hauled a heap of thatching and logs up the long hill from the creek. I intend to set to work making some nesting boxes and a new perch where birds can land along the high shelf of this room with only sky.

         I surmise, “If we had a donkey we could more easily haul supplies and water from the creek up the hill, but if we had a donkey we would need an animal shed, but to build a shed we would need to haul supplies up the hill.” My big plans for starting everything new seems an endless circle of things to do first.

         And Ana already has a plan. “It’s the season for planting right now and we need to plant a field for grain.”

         I contend, “We need seeds and tools, and a wall to keep out the wildlife. We will need lots of things before we can plant a field.”

         “Come. I’ll show you.” She goes ahead of me, down, over the edge of the hillside passed the garden we’ve started, and I see that while she was alone here she’s already marked off a field and stacked rocks to be the wall.  And while I was heaping up the thatching she has already pulled loose the grasses in by the wall and planted two rows already. She is only using the little child’s sickle to do the work while I’m sitting by the fire listing the tools we will need.

         She explains, “They’ve brought me seed for beans and barely from the monastery and if we plant right away we’ll have food this winter when we have to stay inside, then we can build better tools for next year.”

         “Yes, I can see she knows the priorities.”

(Continues Tomorrow)

Post #31.12, Thursday, April 28, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         There, breaking through the brush at the trail, in the spring breeze is all the lightness of sunshine — it is Ana.

         “The servant told me of your thoughts. I ran ahead of him to see you and to say I’m grateful, I’m so happy…”

         I lay down the saw in the heaps of brush and go closer to her for the perfect silence – a gaze with no word spoken.

We stand here just … just looking, until the servant catches up, and he is here with us too.

         “I see you’ve already told him, Ana.”

         “Told me?” I ask.

         “I was hoping you’d come back.” She said. “I didn’t know there was a rule. And you aren’t even a monk, how could there be a rule?”

         “It is as you said, the rule made by men for woman can too easily be oblivious to the nature of women. No wonder we get into tangles.”

          I happen to have a twig in my hand. I just notice I am still grasping onto it. It was with the brush I gathered to thatch the nesting boxes. I laid the tools aside, but I still have the twig. Now Ana is looking down at the twig in my hand so I hand it to her. “It is the way of birds, you know.”

         She takes it from me laughing with her creek-sparkling blue eyes. We both glance at the servant. She explains, “It’s probably not a bird thing for cages, but the wild wrens and the doves know well what it is.” She brandishes the twig. She looks the twig over very carefully then tells me, “It is a very lovely twig.  It is by far the best twig ever offered to me, so let us now just fill the house all up with twigs and sticks and call it a nest!”

         “Thank you God, for simple gifts.”

         Says the servant brother.  “I’ll just walk back alone now and I will let the father know the rule of Ana has been breeched and also we may soon be able to send all of our messages off to Ana on bird’s legs. I will bring you a pair of squabs that will always come home to your house when they are of an age to fly.”

         Brother servant goes on his way, and Ana and I drag the thatch and sticks all the way up the hill to the house with no roof – yet.

(Continues Tuesday, May 3)

Post #31.11, Weds., April 27, 2022

Historical setting: 589 C.E. In the Vosges Mountains

         “Brother Servant I know the rule of Ana is to not even know of her, so I will say nothing at all of her, but I will silently follow you on the path, and when we reach the creek I will stop and cut thatch while you go on ahead.  She won’t even know I’m there.”

         “Somehow, Ezra, I can clearly see you are inching ever closer to breaking the rule.  And what if she doesn’t want birds living there?”

         “Then I will just repair nesting boxes here or if she changes her mind, then maybe there — wherever they are needed. I’ll gather the supplies at the creek.”

          Brother Servant notices, “Inching ever closer… But I figure, since all your construction skills are human, and you don’t seem to have the gifts known by birds with beaks for weaving grasses I will have to supply you with a saw and a blade. You may walk with me as far as the creek. Then I will continue on up while you go about gathering brush and sticks.”

         He’s right. I guess I’m inching my way ever closer to breaking the rule. But in fact, I’m really not bound by any rule here and I could just go up there as I please, but then Ana might feel I’m forcing myself onto her and she wouldn’t want me there, even if all I did was build a roof for her house. And by breaking the rule they have here I would not only close myself from her, I wouldn’t have this place to return to. Cages and rules constrict both bird and man but they may serve a worthy purpose.

         Dear God, let me find the limits to my own freedoms in the many ways of love. Amen.

         We set out on this new morning, I with a saw and a blade, and brother servant with a bird in a cage.

         Now here on the banks of the creek as Brother Servant walks on I find all the materials anyone would need for cages and roofs, broom hedge for thatching and pine poles and hazel branches for building. He’s gone on ahead up the hill with the bird in the cage. The sun is rising higher, and already I’ve pruned a new hole in the brush for sunshine to pour through, and it makes blue sparkles of sky on the water, once dark.  I have a heap of thatching cut here already.

         Now I hear someone romping through the thickets on the path.

(Continues tomorrow)