my yogurt blues

August 18

When does an act of mercy become an act of discord.  You want to do what is right but you do wrong.  The grievances aren’t major and that’s where the tension leaves me always wondering what would Jesus do, what would the Buddha do.  What does John do.  Sometime I think it is better to simply stay on the third floor and not descend to the kitchen and witness the chaos.  The Catholic house has rules, though they are rules for the anarchist, mind you, a benevolent one.  Give it all away, God will always provide.  So everyone gets a key to the walk-in refrigerators?  I have seen in the six weeks here how the poor and the volunteers hoard, they’ll take whatever they can get their hands on.  A caseworker says when someone has nothing to lose he or she is going to take greater risks.  I feel like I ought to police the ‘infractions’ and Lord knows I am praying to confront in the spirit of mercy and compassion but the poor and the homeless, sometimes they don’t respond and one must be more forceful which of course, leaves me looking like the bad cop, which I am most certainly not. 

The entire contents of the house belong to no one but to everyone.  It tries my spirit to see the absence of respect for each other and for what is here so how do I go about it?

This morning I attended mass at Blessed Sacrament and paying close attention, closer than I ever have since reading Joseph Campbell’s take on the ritual, to the consubstantial body and blood, I desired nothing more than to transcend above the paradox, the constant muddied fight between right and wrong, to be with God, to be in harmony with Om, and for a few minutes I was at peace, though I was challenged on three sides; to my left a woman wanted the kneeler down and there was no place to put my feet comfortably in the narrow pew, then the woman sitting in front of me bounced and when I was on my knees I had to dodge her large body from crashing into me, and then it was the beloved priest whose jokes deflated my desire to maintain an attitude above my own present consciousness. 

If it weren’t for the stain glass windows and the big organ.  Two babies were also baptized and one in particular, Sophia, almost one, calmed down just enough when the godmother tipped her head back and sitting close enough I saw the child’s eyes get big as she was laid horitzonally for the water that ran down her little head.  I was moved. 

So now I go to sleep and may I rest.  Jobs.  I almost applied to three posts yesterday but stopped short in each of them. I only ask for some sign, some dream, perhaps, a dream, they are so elusive, that would encourage me to pursue.  Stayiing here feels more daunting.  Working in the chaos never ends.   

August 19

I had a terrible night of sleep, tossing and turning, I felt as if little bugs were biting me, which there weren't, but worst, all I could think of was yogurt and how was I going to have some and not go to the first floor kitchen and be seen by anyone on my day off, which is Monday.  So I got up and went down at 4:45.  In the reach in fridge there are, now there is one, two containers of Cabot's yogurt.  In the walk-in there are, or were, about eight cases of single serving Greek yogurts and unsure what I'd do while I descended the stairs I went to the walk in and took a case.  On the way up I saw Bobby and instantly I felt like a thief.  What was he doing up at this time? And of all people, the Franciscan, looking at me like a fox, and I shuffled past him with the case under my arm and put it in the communal third floor fridge.

I was told when I arrived here that all the food in the house was available to eat.  The third floor fridge is used by anyone who wishes to eat from it so it wasn't as if I had it in my room.  And by now, ten hours later, the individual containers are being eaten and not just by me.

Nevertheless, when I read about discord, I see what I did was selfish.  Of course if I had asked Bobby would have said fine, but the fact that our coincidental meeting in the middle of the morning left me with a sour taste in my stomach I knew what I did was wrong.  So, should I return it?  No.  Just don't do it again.  Of course if I hear later that that yogurt was earmarked for lunch I'll feel really bad and I will confess my 'crime' and not take yogurt again.

And on my day off I submitted my work history to the five corners of the globe.  And I didn't go to RIT, because simply I need a haircut.  An opportunity perhaps missed there, bud.  Was it meant to be?  Is being here meant to be?  Only in hindsight you say we learn true knowledge?  Joseph Campbell is teaching me a thing or two.  Smackingly refreshing.