Yes, Hans. It is.
Cathartic =
adj.
Inducing catharsis; purgative.
n.
An agent for purging the bowels, especially a laxative.
Late Latin catharticus, from Greek kathartikos, from kathairein, to purge. See catharsis
4/17
Saturday morning I picked up Daniel Justin, a novice from the Wisconsin province. I got lost in downtown Houston, but at least I didn’t run into the Metro, like everyone else in the city (and apparently the New Orleanders that live around upper Canal Street). Daniel is on his pilgrimage: five weeks kicked out of the novitiate with $35 and a one-way bus ticket. His ticket was to Houston. He’d heard a lot about the Houston Catholic Worker House and it turned out to be a nice place to stay on his way to the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe outside of Mexico City.
At night, we three novices joined the Strake community for an auction fundraiser exactly like those of SLUH called Cashbah. The meal cost $160 a head and they raise approx. $300k. The nicest hotel room I’d ever seen was rented out for the President, Fr. Daniel Leihart, S.J. I liked seeing the kids and their families that loved them and Strake so much. It filled me with Hope. Jimmi took the MCAT and Sean came home drunk.
4/18
Sunday: Spanish Mass at crowded St. Esteban. Played 6.5 hours of volleyball. Drove a black fundamentalist to an hour of power. Did 2 hours of email, mainly just deleting, should have prioritized my time better since I had to pray late at night.
4/19
Monday: Mass at the seminary at 11:30. Fr. Rafael recognized me and invited me to lunch. I found more peace in ten minutes in the spacious yard than I find in a week here at the Casa. I then went to pick up Daniel from Strake.
Earlier that day I had tutored Mark and Louise’s grandson John for an hour and a half. I learned a lot about myself and ADHD. I really feel called to work with youth, and with psychology, too.
4/20
Tuesday: Slept through food distribution. I finally prayed directly about leaving the society to be with Dad. I realize that I’d been scared to pray on it earlier. Afraid that I wouldn’t get God’s answer, but that of my excitement’s. I recounted to Arthur later that I think I had just procrastinated, and caused extra, unneccessary suffering, especially since I got the same answer. Of course, we can’t play historical what if? Later, drove to Strake to return Daniel. I called Fr. Thibideaux, interrupting his class. He was more generous than imaginable and he gave me the password to get to the internet, something that 1) would not seem worth my time in front of a class and 2) certainly I would never say outloud in front of a group of teenagers. I wrote down that I should send him a thank you note. I have not done that yet.
I called Fr. Mike Dooley S.J. and emailed Fr. Master Billy Huete S.J. Aren’t I the good novice? I brought up Dad’s road trip at the end of May.
Arthur and I went to a Mass celebrating the end of the retreat season at Strake. In addition to Kairos, some students were selected to do the 9th annotation. I was impressed by this fact, their maturity of response and Fr. Thibideaux’s sermon. Arthur and I then went to see “Big Fish.” I highly recommend the movie to all readers of this journal. It was extremely similar to my own story, yet didn’t move beyond just a few tears.
4/21
Wednesday: set up for Mass on time. At basketball I ended the night by dribbling through Catherine’s legs and making a lay-up, thus declaring my retirement. Talked with Abel, said he was willing to go to rehab!!!
4/22
Thursday: Went to the greatest Cardinal’s baseball game ever! Completely forgot that Billy and Mike were coming into town. Ran into girl from Loyola Soccer.
4/23
Friday: Random lunch at the women’s house with faculty and few students from U. Houston. The Guatemalan consolate was there. One loud fellow played the Marimba, “as which the world should be, beautiful, universal, soothing, happy.” They claim 22 mayan languages in Guatemala.
4/24
Saturday: slept until 4pm. How embarrassing! got up called Dad, Arthur and Mac.
Desayuna=breakfast
Started journal on 4/13. Title: One perspective of a history of an idea.
This is, without a doubt, the closest I’ve ever been to leaving the society. I can’t believe I’m still here actually. It all started when I went to visit a Tea House to use the Internet. At the teahouse, I was impressed with the business model: non-alcoholic, modernly stylish, technologically exciting, good service, etc. I started bullshitting with the kids behind the counter. The idea that I would try to use the computers way longer than the suggested 10 min and the fact that I needed some extra time to hunt down the cheapest thing on the menu both added to the motivation behind the stall tactic. This guy behind the counter did not own the place, but talked about it extensively. I was surprised he knew the economics as well as he did. He gave me his email on a pamphlet advertising “business concept licensing.” He’s selling something, I just can’t figure out what. I was intrigued that much more. I think he probably makes his money somewhere in the startup costs, perhaps commission on the machines or powdered drink mix.
I let the idea ferment in my head a little. I’d heard some of the BS^2 talk about wanting to open a business, as well as knowing that Steve and Cherri may need a business boost to keep up with Rosenburg’s rent increase. Of course, there’s always the lunch table group from SLUH always talking, too.
Talking with Dad, however, is what spring boarded the notion of leaving the Society into the frontal lobe. He has progressed into the next step of cancer and towards death. His cancer-o-meter has entered its final climb at a parabolic rate. Basically it’s doubling and doing so quickly. He’s finally decided to retire, which, when he had decided earlier, it was a difficult step for me. Now, this second phase of the retirement idea is another.
Since he’s serious this time about retiring, he’s taking vacations and road-trips. He’s going tomorrow through Nashville, Tennessee to Savanna, Georgia. He’s marching in a funeral for our fallen compatriots from a Confederate submarine that is just now being raised. How exciting is that! They are playing history, too. They have to wear EXACT chronologically correct clothes, etc. There will be so much there to learn and to see. What an experience! The next trip he’ll make will be a float trip with Monsignor Telethorst and Jim Faughn. I went on a similar trip with Jim and Dad. One of the best times of my life. To add the wisdom of Msgn. Telthorst on said trip would be spectacular.
As I type this my eyes well up, thinking that it’ll be one of his last. Am I really going to miss that? Will I regret this my whole life?
Speaking of that trip reminds me of a previous summer with Dad. At my graduation from Loyola, May 2001, my Dad told me about his cancer. Jenn McGlothlin, whose name haunts me as a unique and highly desirable opportunity past and lost, was there for me to cry with. Our second summer together was to follow, and unlike the summer before, she had procured the means to be in New Orleans, with me. I chose to go to St. Louis to be with my Dad. I had a sense that my relationship with him was more valuable, that my time with him would be more worthwhile. As usual, I didn’t know what to do. How do you choose something like that? I could have predicted how the summer would go, I would have chosen differently. Dad had not matured like I’d hoped and I hadn’t the patience myself. Jenn and I set the course to break up before Thanksgiving.
So I begin a difficult week with this thought lingering like a bad fart: should I split to go spend time with Dad? I have never felt like I walked in the shoes of Jesus like I did as I prayed on Holy Thursday for Yahweh to let this cup pass. The first half of that prayer is oddly easier to mutter than the second, “But thy Will be done, not mine.” Friday, Saturday, and Easter were difficult.
Besides being bombarded with dissonance of expectation, and too many sing-songy liturgies, I chose to fast. This may work against a Jesuit vocation in that I felt bad. It may work towards said vocation as it helped me maintain an appropriate distance from whatever my protein-starved brain produced, which was mostly a bunch of fuss. It could be said that this patience, tolerance, or distance of my thoughts is what keeps me here.
Sunday night, I went to Strake, learned that Michael Kellaher had done worker hall five days a week. Circumstance somehow seems a more important factor in a vocational calling than before. Seeing Chris Hernandez and Mark Thibideaux’s question about whether I was looking forward to Grand Coteau helped me have some hope. Mark’s comments about his cushiness reminded me of Passionate Uncertainty’s sound byte criticism that the Society is little more than a professional association if anything, another recurring thought that decreases the faith, love, and hope.
That night I drank too much to have any patience with Abel (dude in wheelchair with broken arms from sleeping in dumpster). He came in drunk, faught with an ayudante, and broke the television, thus proving that God can and does work through our faults, our sins and dumkoffs: Moses, Peter, and now Abel. The next day the drama would entertain the house with better quality and similar style than a telenovela, a spanish soap opera. End result of the first three episodes: Abel is AWOL. His wheelchair has found its way back to us, though.
I dreamt the best in recent memory. Basically, it was a lucid dream and included an amazing sense of and maybe even conversation with God. I worked the food bank fatigued. I went to take a nap and started praying over leaving and started feeling less attracted to the idea. All the weekend, I spoke with Dad several times. I was failing to grasp the meaning behind his silence, the only feedback about the particular question of leaving. I did, nonetheless, get the sense that somehow this trip would be a typical road-trip more than a pilgrimage. I fell asleep before advancing the discernment too much. Upon awaking however, my location (perhaps my entire vocation) was put to the test.
Bobby showed up and The signs started flowing… 1) Bobby showed up. 2) I’d had my fill of this place. 3) there was room in Bobby’s car. 4) Dad was leaving soon for the road trip. 5) When I went to go to Mass, Amanda needed to use the restroom, so I rode with Bobby instead of in the car with the others. 6) Bobby does not know Houston, it would have been easier to just get on I-10 east. 7) In the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the killing compound is called the Huete Ranch (same name as our Novice Master). 
We started seeing Miatas on the road. 9) St. Anne’s is right by the teahouse, 10)which I had discussed with Brad Weber recently.
So Bobby dropped me off and said I could call to turn him around. Perhaps God would enlighten me at Mass. Then, 11) the priest didn’t show up to Mass. On the way back to CJD, I saw several more Miatas. I pondered the whole way home if there was a message from God.
Shane called me later that night and I dumped the above story out on him. I still was feeling it, too. I told him it wouldn’t be too much a surprise if I discerned that leaving were what God wanted me to do. Shane listened like a pro. His responses tapped our idyllic charism and consoled.
At the Mass I finally made it to, “sliding doors” a movie I’ve never seen popped into my head. It follows the protagonist through two possible consequences of an occurrence. That night (tues, 4/13) I stayed up late discussing the situation with Jon and Sean. That night was very soothing, I don’t know how introverts do it.
Wednesday, I slept through the ONE chore I’m responsible for, setting up for mass. I’m too familiar with feeling incapable. Arthur didn’t show up, and after the Mass, I saw the note that he’d called to cancel. I had planned to go see “Big Fish” with him. Our fathers, with their medical problems, are common topics for our best conversations.
Thursday was annoying as usual. I had worker hall. I scheduled moving work for Serena at 11am. At 9:30, The truck came by and picked me up to go to food bank for Casa Maria. We transported 10,000 pounds of food, finishing around 1pm. I took Jorge, Juan, and Jose to help move Serena’s things. I was proud of myself for remembering her child’s name, Charles. (St. Charles Borromeo is the patron saint of Seminarians.) Backing out of the alley in that huge truck was worth remembering here: “The secret is to go slow,” my dad always said. I went to Mass at 7pm at St. Esteban’s, therefore I was late to the ayudante meeting. It seemed like they were just discussing whatever issues were on the mind, such as the rumor of La Migra picking guys up. I would have loved to have asked a million questions about worker hall, but felt that I had missed too much of the meeting to show up late carrying a topic so big with me. After it all, Mark asked me briefly if I was okay. I knew it was a lead-in to some correction, since he’s never asked such a question. I apologized for missing morning prayer, because I tend to forget when I’m at worker hall. I didn’t go on to explain that I may tend to forget that I could leave worker hall. Such a fact would contradict the logic of having to go to worker hall, which is so uncomfortable that any logic pointing in the direction away from us having to go to worker hall, is easily embraced as truth. The other thought I had was that I was going to get fussed at for coming late to the meeting. I prepped a Mass defense. Actually, I was fussed at for missing our noon discussion. I hadn’t thought to apologize for that considering the following. a) My presence at said meeting does not convey to me the feeling of accomplishment in any regard. b) I had checked with the veteran volunteers, who said that they’d only made 20 min of the discussion and that, as usual, nothing important was discussed. I am sad that I missed whatever Jonathan said. He was offended by being accused of saying that all religions are equal. I realized that I should have asked Serena for more time. I didn’t since I was already 3 hours late.
That night might be our last night of basketball considering Tristan declared his retirement. He charged in and bloodied Sean’s nose. The blood flowed intensely. It was an emotionally moving sight.
Friday. I set out to feel productive and I did. I got gas for the weed-wackers, dragged Mullet out of bed to the hospital, and discovered a park in Houston with a garden, the zoo, and the science museum. Jonathan invited me to lunch, the best meal I’ve had since I can remember: Shrimp po-boy with bread as fresh as the restaurant’s atmosphere.
Saturday Mass at St. Anne’s. Dan Justin from Wisconsin Province arrived. I got lost in Houston, twice. Met with Louise and Mark for a meeting: Talked about Dad and then Metaphysical philosophy. Tristan went to talk with them for the meeting, which, until two minutes before, we thouth was for BOTH of us. So, I went afterwards. We went to St. Teresa’s to pray, but there was a wedding. Always a bridemaid and never a bride, sigh. We went to St. Anne’s instead. Good prayer session: felt God’s presence and loving support. I bought a 3 dollar sport coat for the fundraiser which was super fun. I enjoyed it, mainly because it gave me some hope.
Random Notes:
Upcoming Activities for Kurt
May 7th return to Grand Coteau,
mentally process for one week,
8day retreat,
two weeks vacation at Perdido Key.
Also at Grand Coteau:
study spanish,
intense sexuality/celebacy discussions,
apostolic work and regular ordo.
Thought to remember:
Today I saw in a bulletin about Sin that there two angles to view it. One was the typical and obvious legalistic view “what did I do?” The other was “who am I, how does this decision influence who I am or who I want to be?”
What I should have spent my prayer time on:
I intend to actually venture into the CG5SMMMD, Coach Gerwitz 5-step moral decision making process. I promise, I really do. No, For real. Quick making that face.
4/9/04 My half-birthday. Good Friday.
My soul is cast down. My father’s cancer torments my mind. The ayuna helps keep the mood down. Jesus suffered and die. How dare I compare my suffering to his? I just want to know him better, to love him better. Today, writing in my journal (yeah, I keep a written journal, too) my mind was captivated by an entrepreneurial idea. I could leave the Society and spend time with my dad. He said he’s got two months until the pain starts. My next plans to see him are in August. I’m already wrestling in my mind about how to see both Mom in Florida and Dad in St. Louis. I read in “Emotional Intelligence” that when in a down mood, one’s thoughts are co-relatedly negative: a perpetually re-inforcing slippery slope where the cause and the effect are inseparable: there’s got to be a better word for that. Either way, I’d say it’s a fact.
I woke up late, was incapable of doing a simple chore, had a great prayer session, and spent way too long trying to write a few letters. I hope that my brain is not working due to the ayuna, but I’m afraid I know better. Each sentence I have to drag out of me. Maybe it’s something that gets easier with practice, like typing without looking at the keyboard, which I can’t do either.
4/11/04 Easter.
Saturday was much better. I slept beaucoup again. It rained hard. I wrote a few letters and would have felt more relaxed if I understood much of what goes on around here. We had a vigil Mass at 7pm and sang until I became sick of singing. We met Fr. Italito, a Somascan priest from Northern Italy. The Somascans take care of orphans and there’s a few here in Houston. They were founded by St. Jerome Emiliani and we celebrate on Feb. 8th. He asked us about how to improve being vocations director. We recommended retreats, on holidays since only the serious would turn down family time for a retreat. We recommended hanging out with Fr. Kitten, who is the greatest vocation director ever. We reinforced how important an incentive is food. Jon provided us with the right mindset, being nineteen himself. He also indicated the possiblity of becoming Catholic and that Christianity has not given him all he is looking for. I noted that in our life here, there is much service and liturgy, but not the peace for quality prayer experiences. Interesting that Dorothy herself was transformed or renewed in her adult discovery of retreat.
I found prayer very difficult this particular Saturday and talked with a secular Iranian about his American life and faith.
I went to bed early and woke up late, again. I dreamt the most entertaining dreams. The one where I was Bugs bunny, being chased by greyhounds, only to be rescued by a horny flight attendant was not near as entertaining as the WWII dream about dog fighting and heroing in Japan. The ladder could easily be turned into a blockbuster.
Easter has brought with it a peculiar joy. Jesus has risen. I have broken the fast. The fire and the water are blessed anew.
04/01/04
I just typed on this computer for two hours only to have my work erased. I’m full of anger and frustration. I’ve clenched my fists and fussed, but I only feel worse and embarrassed. I can feel Denial, and Anger. Shame I don’t know the next step. I’ve decided to list the topics I may have covered.
going to bed early
worker hall
lunch
cardboard run
While I covered most of these topics in great detail in my first, lost draft, I’ll be brief this time. I talked to Dad and Bobby on the phone. Made me happy. Dad and Hans went to the farm and saw a mountain lion. I went to bed before night prayer. I was asleep by 10pm and dreamt of going to grad school with Jenn, an ex-gfriend. The main emotion of said dream was doubt about my future or the craving for intimacy. I woke up at 5am and babysat the worker hall until 10am. There were 47 on the list, which was chronically wrong. A group of about 8 quickly left to go with the chinos, which means they can’t stay here at the Casa anymore. It’s a charitable, yet precarious setup. We have a building with bathroom, water fountain, soda machine, TV and couches. We require that all guests who don’t already have regular work stay there until 10am. We guarantee $7/hr and have an agreement with a staffing company called Memco. The workers are called off the list. I wrote in this journal when I got back. Lunched on some rice and beans. The cardboard run was an adventure as usual. about once a week, or more, we take cardboard to the recycling. We earned $15 at $1 for every 100 lbs. this time and the cute lady had to open again. I was so frustrated at having lost my two hours and Jeff was annoying the heck out of me. I was sarcastic with him and when he left the next day, I apologized. He said he hadn’t noticed. Poor guy.
I ate dinner of rice and beans, hoping Bobby would arrive quick enough to see. He called lost and I held is hand over the phone as he circled back toward the Casa. Amanda, Bobby, and Martha Anne were a sight to behold for me. Perfectly beautiful people, complaining and miserable at the hands of their perfect lives. I was happy to be out of the house, but even more happy that I escaped the life that I saw them living. We went to Amanda’s friend’s place, which was worse than the car ride. Underage, gun-toting, alcoholic college party animals. Can you believe I didn’t enjoy it? They talked about their friend who was arrested by the FBI at the airport for giving away concealed weapon licenses without the proper beaurocratic procedures. They talked about the 500 ways they could mess with the neighbors of the Phi Psi house on Miladaun. I suspect Milladaun was named after a dubious historical figure.
Bobby and I finally moved on and went to get lost in Houston. We ended up at Cabo’s downtown. The Blues game was on and after it ended I called Bobby out on getting engaged too young. We talked about it for hours. He had lots to say, but so did I. We came back to the Casa and tried to help two kids who arrived to pick up their uncle. Poor things drove five hours from Dallas only to encounter me telling them that this man didn’t exist. I went to look for him about five different times. I even knocked on the room that he had been listed as staying at, even though said list indicated that he had left.
I woke the next morning (4/02) really tired and felt like a zombie. Morning Prayer and furniture pick-up where I got lost, stopped at a Seminary and saw a street called Kuhlman. We helped moved Serena, a nice lady. I broke her antique furniture. She thanked me for confessing. She paid the guys $150 ($30 each). We forgot to return the blankets. Later, she called to say they were donated. I napped after a lunch of rice and beans. Dinner at the Zwicks is always a welcome escape. Then Tristan came up with the idea to see a dollar movie. We saw Miracle, which was the same as every other sports movie, GREAT!
4/03/04 slept past noon. I blame the benadryl and the hives that broke out.
4/8/04 Tomorrow is my half-birthday, which I fully intended to celebrate. But considering it is Good Friday, I’ll probably fast instead. Bread and water only. Friday, Saturday. My seder meal will be in a few moments, then. I think I’ll have rice and beans.
On Sunday, I saw the movie “Last Samuraii with Tom Cruise.” Now I remember why I don’t go to the movies.
Monday I fell asleep in the truck on the way to the food bank, and again while waiting there. In related news, I’ve started reading “surviving in a consumer society” by our own John Kavanaugh (sp). Something went wrong at the Food bank. We grabbed as many produce items as we could, but didn’t get any of our staple foods. Jonathan and I were sent out later to buy the food. I couldn’t believe that Mark and Louise just paid for all that food. The market that we go to reminds me way too much of a shady used car dealership.
Tuesday when we gave out food, I gave out carrots. By the grace of God, I had chosen to wear my nasty jeans. I never consciously thought how sloppy it could be, but it was gross. We discussed starting a compost heap, maybe we’ll do that mañana. After 5:30 Mass with Sean at St. Ann’s, we dined on rice and beans, then went to a tea café to bum some internet time. I had a fascinating and tempting discussion with a worker there about starting such a café in St. Louis. I thought of my SLUH buds. When I got home that night I talked with Shane and Julie on the phone. Rodrigo had called too. Shane and I talked about our experiments and Bobby’s visit. Shane had emailed me about writing a personal mission statement, which I was able to partially elaborate on, having re-read “7 habits” this summer.
Wednesday, in the evening, Arthur passed by to pick me up for dinner at his house, which was delightful. I enjoyed meeting his parents and we had some good talk about our fathers. I struggle with the balance between my wishes for my father and his. I remembered how much Phi Psi has done for me, since I read the “envisions” magazine about Jerry Nelson: “everyone is a potential billionaire, only inhibited by themselves.” He was quoted saying that there are more single parent households than ever before in history and remembering what an alumni did for him was motivating him to pay it forward. We talked about Donald Trump. I had heard that he was not a happy person. In contrast to the stereo-typed rich person, I had found J. Nelson to be quite pleasant.
Speaking of motivational speakers, I noticed “7 habits of effective peeps” on the counter. We called Paul Richter, hope to get to see him here in H-town. I heard of possible bad Karma around Gerlich. I’m worried for him and his, but don’t know if I could do anything to help, or wether I should butt-in or not. I’ll take Arthur’s advice on something else and apply it here and let God decide. We talked about Bobby and Dietrich too.
Arthur and I drove by the YWCA basketball park to see if the other volunteers were playing ball. We slowed down, and saw them walking in the dark across the field to the volleyball courts. When we got honked at, we laughed and thanked the fusser for trying to help get my friends attention. As the fusser honked again while passing us we discussed how significant perspective is. I’m still toying with the question about how much control over ourselves do humans have.
Thursday morning I woke up late after a vigorous night of night volleyball (no lights). I hurried to San Jose Obrero worker hall. Instead of catching up on the reading for our Thursday lunchtime discussions, I listened to a Honduran 40-year old with worse ADHD than I’d ever seen. Amazing stories accompanied his intense Faith. I still have lots of growth to do. I wish I didn’t struggle with the Spanish as much as I do. I cleaned up after junkfest when I got back, feeling terrible about throwing all those clothes away. I grabbed some for Jim Gunter and his. I was too tired or exhausted to take a nap in the 20 minutes I had before lunch. We lunched at the girls house. I was surprised to not be impressed by the food this time. It figures that the first time I finally get my act together and remember to not grab rice and beans from the men’s house, that the food would disappoint. We discussed the 2nd half of the encyclical from the synod of the Americas. I’m impressed that my fiance is so smart. She’s darn wordy, too. I hope many are listening to her. Mark and Louise continued to baffle me regarding the plans for the holy week ceremonies. I checked out the herb spiral, which despite my negative expectations is growing. There’s a great metaphor between that herb spiral and the catholic worker house. Both are anarchist, thus disorganized, unplanned, and non-symmetrical; personalist, thus effective, loved, and dependant. They are both Environmental; thus inefficient, messy, and inspiring.
Well, It’s been a while since I’ve updated. I’m struggling to enter myself into the technological advance. Can’t seem to get a simple disk to work around here. The current plan for uploading some thoughts to this site is pretty simple: type at computer, save on disk until I can get to a computer that has internet, copy and paste. Sorry for venting here. Since it doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to open these Word documents with this program I’m trying to use called “Word,” I’ll just jot down the highlights.
I’m currently at Casa Juan Diego in Houston, Texas. I’m here for two months on ‘experiment.’ Today is Easter and more than half of my time here has passed, as I am scheduled to return to Grand Coteau on May 7.
Casa Juan Diego (CJD) is a Catholic Worker House. The history and philosophy of which is fascinating. Pascifism, personalism, anarchy and distributism were previously unheard of by me. Now, they occupy much of my daily thought.
Speaking of my daily thought, my Dad still needs beaucoup prayers. He’s started Chemo-therapy and has retired. Every step, like the Way of the Cross, is heart-wretching.
The better phone number for me is 713-861-9681. Call anytime. The PO Box address is where to send mail.
Well, two of my journals have opened. I’ll try to post them already.