The Shrine of St. Cecilia

O! how many times I've listened to "The Shrine of St. Cecilia," the song! A bunch of times, so many. I wake up with the tune in mind. I'm out walking the dog and humming the tune or singing. It's inspiring. Musing over how there's trouble everywhere, devastation on a large scale in the area, storm clouds and winds on the march, but the Shrine of St. Cecilia remains standing, inviolate!

I love that song, but sometimes I get it mixed up with a couple other songs I have about St. Theresa of the Roses. So I think I'm singing St. Cecilia and it turns out to be St. Theresa! But they're inspiring too, one by Billy Ward and the Dominos and the other by the DeJohn Sisters. I honestly like about any saint I ever hear of, including St. Charbel of Lebanon and St. Rita of Cascia, who was a recurring character in a series of blog posts I wrote for Paranoia Week in 2014 (links below). I try not to hear about any other saints, because I know I'll like them and life will get complicated.

Today, though, we're thinking of St. Cecilia, also famous in song, with several versions of "The Shrine of St. Cecilia" available on YouTube. Her shrine withstands the various disasters that come around, giving hope and moral support to the people who weren't so fortunate. My life might be the pits -- and my house is actually right now undergoing major renovation because it neglected itself and became a shambles -- but as long as I know Cecilia's shrine yet stands, I too can make it through.

But where her shrine is is a thing I'm confused about. I thought it was in South America, since I've always heard about the Five Peruvian Shriners visiting it, having "traversed not far." But according to online sources, it's in Rome. Which is far from Peru, and allowing for continental drift, getting farther all the time. The confusion probably comes more from what is a shrine and what isn't. And whether the various locales in South America where St. Cecilia is honored are shrines per se. Regardless, we would also commend the Five Peruvian Shriners for going all the way to Rome and yet considering that, because of the saint's sanctity, "not far."

Still, the song of the Peruvians -- We Five Peruvians of Peru Are -- gives a great deal of encouragement to a lot of folks, though for me it's a love-hate thing as well. One of my family heritage things, which I wrote of a few years ago as well, involved Peruvians coming to America and being involved in abusing horses by having them kick their enemies to death. This was an immediate threat to me, having not been conceived yet, and not something I can imagine St. Cecila sanctioning. But every people group has their good apples and their bad, and I can't judge the whole crop by a few especially notorious bruises. Still, I'm watching Peru closely, because according to Grandpa, the Peruvians are among the baddest hombres ever to live. He said they have long memories and aren't given to an easy forgiving nature. The fact that it's all out-of-sight now, and a thing of the distant past involving previous generations, makes it tough for me to judge decisively.

Anyway, it's great to have saints; we can agree on that. They show the possibilities of genuine sanctity even in our usual sinful world. They're the cream of the crop, which is beyond dispute. The typical person is mostly good or mostly bad or some other combination. Then there's some that are mostly bad through and through, usually through some fault of their own. Maybe their parents were bad, so they picked it up. Or their parents were good, but they still turned out bad. For the most part I wish bad people would fall off the edge of the earth, or let's say the earth opened up and swallowed them. Followed by reopening and emitting a burp and maybe allowing for one final scream from the victim for good measure. Bad people make me sick. Then there's saints, better than me by far in their intensity of devotion and allowing devotion to characterize them.

Of course we would want to erect a shrine to them, telling the world, "Here's what our actual ideals look like," despite our own inability (generally) to live the same sanctity. I'm forgiven daily and nightly for my many sins, going back to my childhood. I've already seen the judgment room of God, and let me tell you this much, there's no place to hide. There's literally not even one broom closet in the entire Throne Complex to hide in, not one.

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Paranoia Week links from 2014 involving St. Rita of Cascia:
1. Paranoia - I Hit Rock Bottom
2. Paranoia - This Dark Is Huge
3. Paranoia - I Know Where You Go
4. Paranoia - What Maniac Arranged All This?
5. Paranoia - One Slip, I'm A Goner
6. Paranoia - The Microscopic Level
7. Paranoia - My Fortunes Change

Paranoia -- My Fortunes Change

 

I'm thinking it took a renewed humility in my spirit and the putting of my sufferings in perspective to finally defeat Paranoia, but I don't believe that covers the whole thing. Certainly that covers much of what I got from the example of Desi the Donkey and St. Rita of Cascia, respectively. No one's more humble than a donkey who bears the Redeemer. And few have had the sufferings of the saint and yet zero in directly on the grace in it.

It wouldn't be hubris, surely, to say that I also have something innate -- or something accrued after years of life experience -- to help me find my bearings once again. If not, what is experience for? I can easily picture myself at a younger age in the same grip of Paranoia, making much more tentative, and, possibly, fatal moves. The Valley of Fire Snakes alone would have knocked me for a loop. Then, to have the wisdom well up as quickly as it did to avoid low places, valleys, gullies, bogs, moors, and fens, I think it would've taken longer.

Whether I might have done it alone, though, there's no honest way I can know that. Not having done it, I'm not going to say I could have. A benevolent, watchful eye was over me the whole time, allowing those already named to help me along the way. I would add to them, to a much lesser extent, Dr. Pink, himself suffering, but from megalomania. Still, he's a man of science, and he's naturally enamored with his own theories, coming as they do from his incredible volume of research, his impeccable brain, and an ego that never quits.

May I say, my experience with Paranoia this past week was, frankly, nothing new. I say that, but of course there's always something new about it. Whereas I've had a lot of Paranoia in my life -- perhaps more than my fair share -- it's still something I never seem to exhaust. Paranoia's many dimensions are wondrous to behold, always presenting novel twists on its enduring themes: The World 's Against Me, Enemies Are Endless, and, Something Secret's Always Afoot.

Thankfully -- at least I've found this in my experience -- there's always hope. Hence, the Redeemer figures, and the many lifelines they threw me. One of the enduring images in mythic thought, descriptive of the variations in life's possibilities, is the Wheel of Fortune. You see it in the Tarot deck. Around and around it goes, landing today on Life, and tomorrow Death. The Wheel of Fortune image above is a tribute to the Redeemer figures, St. Rita of Cascia, spelled out, and Desi the Donkey, going back and forth across the stage, in Vanna's stead, lighting the letters.

Of course it's a great thing to always have the sense that you're not in it alone. Applying to everything in life, really. You have friends and family. And you have the values you grew up with, and the things you've believed with all your heart. Then, let's say, Paranoia strikes! Like I said, the things manifested in Paranoia were challenging, almost knocking me for a loop. But because of my grounding, what I believe, etc., there was so much within me that welled up to help. Like friendly bacteria taking on evil bacteria, antibodies taking on corpuscle invaders, or a hedgerow of warring angels taking on myriad imps, arms linked, from the pits of hell.

Now, what would really do me the most good in life, probably, would be to quit wasting my time everyday, and really buckle down. I'm getting old, and like Dr. Pink said, my Vigor Vivus levels are currently piss poor. I seriously should be working on that. Then I might be able to stave off Paranoia when next he comes to call, driving him from my door. That'd be great!

And another thing, which would also add to Vigor Vivus, I'd love to wear a long mysterious robe, have a nice thick candle, and a castle room with a heavy wooden table, and walls lined with wise books each 18 inches tall and 5 inches thick. Can't you picture me, hunched over a book, my mysterious shadow looking very cool flickering against the wall, reading and chanting till all hours?

On the other hand, I'm reminded how St. Rita of Cascia had only a small oratory, and yet found great grounding from her spiritual experience in that small place. She said, "My dear sisters: if you wish to have the esteem and confidence of the good and virtuous, have little or no love for temporal riches. Observe strictly your vow of poverty. A nun who wishes to belong entirely to God must be totally detached from all earthly things." Then there's Desi, brought up as he was in a tiny stall, but when the time came carried the Redeemer. Or Dr. Pink, although I don't know how it was for him. Probably played with beakers in his dad's lab.

Last but not least, there's some other "saints" I want to recognize. And that's my dear readers, among whom I have a special cadre of very faithful ones. Through this week they were in constant contact with me, writing me encouraging emails, commenting on the blog, and one, Lizette, even sent flowers! When you're in the grip of Paranoia, you don't know how much that helps! I am blessed. Of course they know who they are, but let me list them: Lizette, again, Azalia, Jerome, Zelda, Stephen, and Fitzjames, who I sometimes call, "He of the funky name," just teasing!

Paranoia -- The Microscopic Level

I've been worried maybe there's something wrong with me. This week's been filled with total, huge paranoia, so bad I've often personified it, something like a hulking being, Paranoia!

That's certainly how it's seemed, and it'd take a lot at this point to talk me out of it. I've been in strange places, there's been a lot of bad and some good. I've faced basically every disaster I can think of short of a nuclear war, which at least would've distracted me from my own troubles solely.

It's funny how these experiences go. Sometimes you're the center of the universe, so important, and unable to satisfy the powers that be. That field's fertile for paranoia. Other times you're marginalized, alone, at your wit's end on how to manage and survive. I don't know which I hate more. The first involves much more sinister enemies. The second is like Man vs. Self, although, it's likely both are Man vs. Self ... since, honestly, there's no sinister enemy that cares about me that much.

I think the most logical conclusion is that this is internal to me. Was I really in the Valley of Fire Snakes? Yes, although I can imagine a pretty terrible Valley of Fire Snakes. It depends on what we mean by "really," because in some sense I was really there! Now, if it's internal, like I learned that time in the asylum, maybe there's something more our scientific friends can do about it.

I know a man of science, Dr. Pink, who's always good for a go on any knotty scientific conundrum. I went in thinking I shouldn't have kept this entire week of paranoia from him. I knew he would've been there for me, and probably would've had a supply of killer narcotics to deaden it. Although, just between me and you, I prefer to experience these things. But what? I don't want to be failing internally, if that's what it is!

Right away he was looking at my samples from a couple years ago and my samples this week, and he had an immediate verdict: My levels of Vigor Vivus were piss poor, with normal, large red Vigor Vivus being replaced over time by shrunken yellow piss poor Vigor Vivus. Almost so shrunken and yellow, he said, as to not even be Vigor Vivus, but its opposite, Rigor Mortis! I wanted to deny the science, but how could I? Dr. Pink's the expert.

Right away, I'm like, "You mean to tell me---?" Already he's nodding, a concerned look on his face heightened by the raising of hands pressed together, with the twin index fingers lightly touching the tip of his nose. He furrowed his brow and I knew I was in trouble. "With Vigor Vivus shrinkage like this," he said, "I'd be paranoid, too!" -- commiserating enough to tell me that I would've had a friend in misery had he shared the same deficiency.

He was silent a moment, leading me to tentatively venture a question, "So, this means---?" But before I could finish, he was already answering, "I'm putting you on bed rest and a strenuous exercise routine." I nodded, at that point willing to do anything to raise my levels. How often I've written* of Vigor Vivus! How could I not have thought of this! All this time it's been the grip of Rigor Mortis on me! Of course!

He wrote out a memo for the pharmacy, to give me this, that, and the other thing. Then I was to be out in the fresh air, the bright sunshine, walking, meditating, writing anti-paranoia manifestos, sending anonymous letters to the editor about making Vigor Vivus Day a national holiday, etc., stuff I used to do all the time.

I had let my better angels slip! I shared, then, with the doctor, that I was a little torn between Faith and Science. He nodded, and held up a finger, as though he would speak. Then he was silent, as though he was searching for just the right word. He caressed his lips with the thumb and index finger of his right hand. He reached his pinky into his ear to scratch. He also scratched the side of his head. Obviously itching to say something.

I primed his pump, "So I was wrong---" He interrupted to tell me, "Not so! Don't say such a thing! It's completely natural, with everything you hear in the news and popular culture, to be torn. Because they're nothing but idiots, serving only to pollute the air, so to speak, to muddy the discourse with their unceasing idiocy. The truth is, there is not the slightest split between Faith and Science."

I tilted my head, looking curious. He continued, "I am one of the preeminent men of science of my time, agreed? Of course. Frankly, there's no bigger bad ass than me when it comes to the laboratory and a quick diagnosis. I often forgo the lab, as I simply know the truth.

"How? you ask. Because I have crossed every divide, and now live in perfect harmony with all things, the so-called natural and the so-called divine. I share the omniscience of the yogis and oneness with the Divine, able to materialize palaces and laboratories -- you name it -- in thin air. Mere diagnoses are nothing!

"Now, the truth of this whole matter is, I knew about your paranoia before it happened. But I allowed it because I knew you needed to get yourself back on the right track with life and the things that concern you, as well as with Vigor Vivus and your spiritual life. You were once a fearless advocate against Rigor Mortis, but you've fallen.

"It was I who sent those peerless guides of the soul to be with you and help, Desi the Donkey and Sister St. Rita of Cascia. You knew of Desi's relation to the Redeemer, bearing Him, and the depths of St. Rita's sufferings, and the heights of her grace. Both she and Desi share the oneness of all things -- in every aspect of their being, which is eternal. They kept you from the very real dangers you faced. Ultimately, though, it was I who led you through this most perilous challenge."

I was of course dumbfounded, but Dr. Pink was every bit the serious scientist I've always known him to be. I ventured a word, "And so---" He interrupted to say, "Exactly! It was all for your good. Just like bed rest and a renewed focus on your personal Vigor Vivus will be good for you, just as I, the doctor, ordered!"

We hugged, both of us sobbing. I looked in his eyes and he in mine. In mine, he surely saw doubt and disbelief. In his, I saw the wheels turning; omniscience, while nice, is a relentless taskmaster. Of course I don't believe a word he said about arranging this. That's just megalomania, but I'll leave it there for now; I don't know enough on the subject yet, firsthand, to have a "Megalomania Week." But he was right about Vigor Vivus...

In conclusion, we made plans to get together, very soon, at the Roadhouse for beers and pool. Because he moved heaven and earth to get me in this mess, then moved them again to get me out of it, I'll be buying.

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*Click for a Vigor Vivus post with links to others

Paranoia -- One Slip, I'm a Goner

At the moment I'm alone. Looking over a barren land, I see the sky a weird reddish color, kind of like you get with Hipstamatic's Bettie XL lens. Of course I'm displeased with that, preferring the exuberance of Lucifer VI with the more realistic tones of Ina's 1969.

It's a day for reflection and a little relaxation, I hope, although the dangers are still very real. A few of you have asked about my bout with Paranoia. So I shall answer. First, I shall climb a nearby promontory -- inching toward the top, up I go, slipping occasionally -- and, OK, an hour later, here I am, looking over an alien vista. Now I shall proclaim!

In the last 24 hours I've been beset with enemies, dimensions of Paranoia that were very weird and very frightening. I found myself in something like the Baskervilles' moors. I'll just tell you one thing, and I'm putting this out there free: Avoid moors, glens, dales, valleys, depressions, bogs, and fens ... If you can't find a high place, go up medium height, definitely not low.

At it happens, water is generally low. Which is part of the problem. Because every variety of pest, vermin, and wildlife -- including the dangerous stuff -- goes there. Now ask yourself, what's the one thing something wants if it has water to drink? Yes, something to eat. As it is in the everyday world, so it is in the psychic realm of Paranoia. The low places are dangerous, and you'd make a great meal.

Well, I opened myself up to all this danger! The entire thing was a disaster, fire ants, fire snakes, the fire variation of every cursed creature ever cursed with horrid life. I made a vow, No mercy for the evil and ugly! To the extent, then, that I could fulfill it -- locally here -- I brought down a serious cudgel on the heads of many creatures. While sustaining bites to my left leg, my right leg, and both arms. If I'm a little grumpy, that's why. One slip and I'm a goner!

Now on higher ground, I look out over the vast wasteland and proclaim: My mind is in high gear. I see the synapses of my brain very much alive, running over both theory and practicum, concerning the things of Paranoia. What a rush! Not just to feel Paranoia's strong drive in real time, but to behold (in 3D) a simultaneous understanding! Soon I shall crash and sleep, but not in a valley!

Here's three things about Paranoia to think about:

1) Paranoia is a response accrued from the realities of life that thwart our desires. We've gone from magical enemies (demons) to the more realistic, 'Everything's out to get me.' Our thinking may be distorted but at least there's evidence you can point to.

2) At the root of Paranoia is the fear of death. 'What I'm afraid of will eventually kill me.' The unrealistic side of it is, You're not dead yet, so you must be doing something right. Bring in that aspect of things to calm the paranoid side.

3) You wouldn't have Paranoia if you dwelt in your natural being. This goes with the fear of death. Our huge concern for our fate represents a duality split, our natural focus being off. Two minds going two ways, as "para" and "noia" mean two minds side by side, like parallel. With a greater drive toward mental unity, Paranoia would have to work harder to drive me. Obviously I'm not saying be happy and die. I'm still going to look both ways before crossing the street. With understanding, though, and getting back our unity, we have the wherewithal to live more peacefully.

All that said, Get me the hell out of this terrible place! I realize fire snakes have to eat, too, and aren't particularly picky. The key for me not to get eaten is to avoid them. OK, easy enough, no more valleys. If I see a valley coming, I'll stay up here on the hill till they're asleep.

As I contemplated this wisdom, I witnessed a sudden flash vision, in Hipstamatic tones alternating between the subdued haziness of Adler 9009 and the golden tones of James M. Before me, I beheld Sister St. Rita of Cascia with Desi the Donkey. Desi came up and nudged me in the side, as if to tell me I had his full support. The beloved Saint was more circumspect, adding to my understanding of Paranoia. She reasoned with me how little, to this point, I had thought of my intelligence, allowing myself to become the prey and the slave of Paranoia. With her mild upbraiding, I felt embarrassed and actually ashamed, but looked ahead to being fully calm and recollected. The vision melted away.

I'm looking ahead to a lot more. If I finally get home to stay, I'll never go roaming anywhere ever again. And I'll let Paranoia work for me, not against me. Heh heh, how about I combine my two minds, then with stereo thinking -- a little this side, a little that -- I'll be on top of every difficulty. Worth a try!

OK, I'm going to descend for a while, and try to fill my canteen. I think the fire snakes are asleep. Their evolution must have been such, indicated by the fire for light, that they sleep during the day and crawl nocturnally. Unless they want to sleep nocturnally and the fire's for warmth.

I'm hoping the biggest problem I have is filtering the water. Looking brownish/yellow as it does, it's kind of what you'd get if you photoed water and used Buckhorst H1 with Cano Cafenol and pictured the muck of Float on the edges! Whoa! When it comes to drinking water, give me something closer to Jane/Sugar every time!

Paranoia -- What Maniac Arranged All This?

This whole week is totally cheesing me off. Thanks to my old enemy, Paranoia, I can't seem to do anything with a clear conscience, or to put it another way, without forever looking over my shoulder, wondering who's looking back.

This is obviously true in the terrible psychic forays I've made into deep pits, forsaken landscapes, and hellish darkness. But it's also true for normal everyday stuff, like going to the grocery store. I'm sure I saw the powerful denizens of those horrid places at the store, too, keeping me in their sights and thwarting me. As an example, ever notice how the store never runs out of Lender's bagels? Somehow, yesterday, suspiciously, the bagels were out. Then there's bacon, all of a sudden about $6 a pound. My face dropped and I could hear maniacal laughter.

Then, driving there and back, the town took on a different cast. These devils -- the maniacs in charge of tormenting me -- were messing with my head, doing trivial stuff like changing the stop lights to red as soon as I got there. What could I do? I'd be a dead man if I ran the light out of spite. Some old granny, one of these guys in disguise, would "miraculously" appear in the middle of the road and get run over. Then what am I to do? Go to the police department and explain what happened, and be taken away as crazy? No, I had the presence of mind simply to stop. Yes, I shook my fist: "I'll wait you out, you bastards!"

I definitely got the message, though. Which is this: Someone's arranging everything, not leaving a single thing to chance. A puppet-master. (Ha! That's something I know about! I used to work the puppets at church. We did modern rock 'n' roll hits with religious lyrics substituted. Here's what I know about it: You have to practice like a dog to put on a good puppet show. I watch puppets on TV to this day and picture the work they're doing to make it happen. Making the machinations of this puppet-master all the more amazing.) As far as I know, the way I see it, no one's practiced my movements around town. So it's amazing how they know everything I'm going to do.

But why? I know the world has forces, but I always thought they concentrated more on the upper crust and powerful. Like moving the minds of great leaders, swinging the action on the battlefield, and guiding industrialists in how to run their companies. In addition, though, they like to toy with little guys like me, probably for kicks. What kind of kicks would that be? If you have that much power, couldn't you get a lot better kicks doing more high-powered stuff? Like burning down prisons and watching the rest of us run for our lives?

I'm thinking, I'm a very humble man. I've never hurt anyone. Sometimes I even pick up bugs with a paper towel and take them outside. I've done more than my share of good deeds in the past. I just mentioned puppets. We used to take them to nursing homes and entertain the residents. I can still picture the looks of great joy on their faces. We had this one routine where one puppet kept taking the other puppet's lines. He's an eager beaver. But the puppet whose lines he's stealing is looking more and more disgusted. And angry. You show disgust with a puppet by crunching the mouth as much as you can and tilting the head. The residents loved it!

I'm humble, so why bother me? On the other hand, why not me? I've also had some very high-minded thoughts. I haven't always felt humble. I'll confess, sometimes I think, There's no one like me! I'm the smartest, the shrewdest, the baddest (best) dude in town, maybe the world! I'm very proud to be an American, to be who I am, to have my terrific abilities, my looks, my demeanor, my personality, right on down the line. Pride. I'm very proud. And now, apparently, the powers-that-be think I'm in for a time of humbling. The old "humbling" cliche...

The more I think of it, though, the more I think it's undeserved. Realistically, there's lots of people smarter, shrewder, badder (better), and prouder than me. There's plenty of people with better abilities, looks, demeanors, and personalities, and, hence, with a lot more pride. And I don't see them suffering. I think I may be living in a Chinese finger trap; the more I struggle, the worse it gets.

Hey! Where did that thought come from? That's genius! I'm a genius! Or some genius put that thought in my head. Someone who's somehow found a way of thinking and way of living that flies under the radar of the guy pulling the strings. Which -- Wow! what a moment of clarity! -- would be someone who's tapped into what's truly important in life, someone who's faced suffering and dealt with it victoriously. Someone very very humble. I always seem to forget until it's almost too late, then I remember the truth, by some awesome grace.

The ones I'm thinking of now are two: For humility of spirit and outlook, there's the lowly creature who bears the Redeemer, Desi the Donkey. OK? I love him. Then there's one with all that and more, a dear one with a running sore on her forehead given to her from on high by her own request, one who for a time was despised by the world and belittled even by those who should've been her closest friends, one ridden hard and put away wet, spiritually speaking. She's one of my favorite saints in the whole wide world, St. Rita of Cascia. Good news!

There may be some stinking maniac in charge over all -- over this world -- seeking out people like me to trample into the dirt. But he's going down! Because there's also a good side, represented by many other good beings and saints, those like Desi and Rita. I shall be victorious! I shall prevail! There's no one badder (better) than me!

Paranoia -- This Dark is Huge

Hello, everyone, just a quick message from the heart of darkness, thanks to the 'Journey to the Center of Paranoia' I'm on. I have to tell you, even though I sound normal enough right now, in part thanks to being able to communicate with you, things have been crazy. I've been running, running very fast; it's all downhill here. The trip back will be much tougher, but, looking on the bright side, my bad knees could use the exercise. I just hope I can make it.

Getting out is frankly one of my biggest worries, since there's very few signposts in this land of shadows; it's so dark in fact you wish for shadows; that'd be a step up. Another worry is the sense that I'm not alone. But how they manage it down here, and find it completely habitable, that's another mystery. It's like they say on science shows, no matter the extremity, life finds a way. Like some of my earliest relatives growing up in Missouri. Tough times back then, stopping every 15 miles to patch the tire.

The beings I've seen here, you have to understand, I haven't actually seen. I've caught glimpses of movement, indistinct, nothing to focus on. Which is scary, depending on how close they get, what their breathing's like, etc. It's hard to judge, although I've always been of the opinion that furtive movements in the dark are ominous, bad. Were I to live here forever, I'm sure I'd fit right in, becoming acclimated to their ways. God forbid, though! I can imagine a terrible devolution, losing my eyes all together!

You can only imagine... I'm only imagining so far. I've never descended this far before, but the more I think of it, the queasier I get. I'm bringing to mind things I've read about the unconscious, the contents of the collective unconsciousness. Ever heard of that? It's nothing to mess with, but I'll confess I have messed with it ... many times. You think it won't hurt, but unless you go through certain compensatory motions, actions, and thoughts, you can be quickly bogged down in weird delusions. That's true teaching, by the way. There's a psychic price for everything, and unless you want to go crazy you need to pay it off quickly and directly.

Crap, that's what's happening to me right now! I can't perform even the thinking compensatory stuff while I'm here; that's irrational. Not while I'm in it! What this actually means -- terrible realizations are coming to me in real time now -- is I'm likely to be consumed at any moment. It happens just that fast. That's the true reason why the denizens here don't have to leap out. They have you simply by your presence! When I'm in my terrestrial room, at least I have the light consciousness environment, but here I'm surrounded, I'm in the belly of the beast. And that's not figurative.

The air is stifling and breathes thin. But my eyes are getting used to the darkness, which 10 minutes ago I would've thought was good news. Now I realize -- all these terrible truths are hitting me -- that darkness must remain darkness. Once darkness transmogrifies for you into light, that's the totality of your sight. I don't know what's left for me to do. There's no escape, none I can see, for all I see is the hugeness of the darkness. How about that? Where the path out is, to me now that's darkness. I'm ensnared! This is like being 10,000 miles from home, with nothing, not a friend and not a cent to your name.

I guess I should do something. Like sleep? If I found a place in a dark ditch and just slept -- what would I wake to? Would I wake? If I had one request to whatever forces of good, whatever forces of light might exist in this bastard realm, it'd have to be an abject, plaintive plea, "Get me the hell out of here!" But my cry echoes off the walls and cliffs of destruction, and, instead, I sink further. The horizon's giving way. The foundations all around are crumbling. What I wouldn't give for a good old garden variety paranoia, the simple irritating sense of dismay I've always known, with a twist of manageable forces watching me. The burden here is much too immense ... yet, again, I'm feeling more and more at home in it. Bad news.

Someone's coming from the opposite direction! I must hide, maybe jump out and make a meal of them. Looks like a lowly donkey and a nun, no big deal ... I've never liked donkey meat and I'm not hungry enough for a nun. A donkey and a nun? Could it actually be Desi the Donkey and St. Rita of Cascia?!