Dearest of Friends, I dedicate this story to you

(Fissure of Faith: Journey in A Broken World)

Title: Dearest of Friends, I dedicate this story to you

Article by Marc Aupiais

I do not care much if any other reads this, dear friend of mine. For the longest time I have been writing for you, and one other perhaps. You asked me to write you a story and thus I shall.

I thought of the caves i created, or of the pristine valley you so loved.

I thought of you lying with my words as your pillow, all printed out. Thinking of me as you sleep, of my words, which adore you, dear friend of mine, my words, which you adore. Which make you cry of sorrow, and of joyous love.

As i write, as is usual in my country, it is raining, I hear a thunder storm, as classical music from the Vatican itself does play, and I think of the water you bought me all that time ago, in a place of honour in my soul and mind.

I can tell so many stories, and I shall but a few.

You see, dear friend of mine. This world we see, isn't really real. No, indeed, it is not.

What we see as insurmountable is indeed not at all.

I shall tell you of a dream I had dear friend, dearest of all mine, and you can say if it compares, with the laboured out works, which usually I pen.

I have always believed I shall die violently, perhaps of a shark attack. It is why I never swim, this superstition of mine. I fear, shall I enter the ocean, I shall be carried up and away. I shall die, this fear of mine, mine heart and soul.

A witch, I call her, in this daylight dream. I stand at the strangest place I know, my University, that of the Witwatersrand, dear friend of mine.

Not by the law building, with men carrying crucifixes, but who are not Christ, and men in hell, or something the like, standing, beckoning us to where law students belong.

Nor by the libraries, stories high, with not a book I have bothered to consult, not to care for. Or for the English classes where I nearly got a first, and would have, perhaps, if I'd bothered to read the labourous works.

No, this occurs, at a favourite spot of mine, near where last I saw a friend who soon would die. It happens by a tall building housing a shop, by stairs in front. In front of the shop- the "Lighthouse" we universally call it. Mysterious not.

None the less, this is where I imagine it happening. five students, innocent, and with a sixth. The sixth is our hero, you see.

And a strange woman, everyone calls a witch. She stands there in the background, invisible, unseen, and she transfers the sixth and then all the others, with him. To another world, this beautiful siren she is.

They stand together on a deserted Island, only sand and one tall coconut tree.

And around them are fins, larger than buildings, of sharp razor teeth, we need not mention.

And while the others argue, as the tide rises, sure to soon cover their Island. The sixth hears the siren in his mind, and swims straight towards a giant shark, which fortunately is distracted, and doesn't bother to attempt top eat him just yet.

Here is where I hault in this story I've held for years.

Does he swim below the shark, avoiding attack and find some system of underwater caves, with air within? Does he meet locals, or get saves in a boat, rickety, or a jet ski. What happens to this man, in the see, 27 miles from the mainland beyond. A black rock coast, deadly to those who approach.

If he is the man I believe him, and the siren who she is, either way, with everything against him. It is sure he must fight for his life as he swims and gets nowhere.

Perhaps he holds the shark's fin, and it doesn't kill him by dunking down, or maybe it takes him further out to see or chomps him right up.

I am not sure how it writes.

It the water beyond him is blood, and fish in a frenzy. Perhaps in the middle is the Siren, whom he must save.

In another story dear friend of mine.

A man is climbing a mountain, tireless, and on instinct. He does not desire glory, or the arcane joy of the achievement. No, he knows there is a timepiece of gold, that he must grab unto. It is the soul of a woman, trapped in time, in the world, which is delusion. He climbs up the black rocks, and leans over the edge, knowing he'll sink forever into the snow, if he isn't careful to balance, and not to lean upon. He grabs and grabs at the timepiece, but cannot reach it. He holds unto a rock ledge, much like a tree, and upon a limb, he holds upon his hand, and leans, his legs holding up. He grabs at the timepiece in an avalanche, and finds he grabs a woman's hand. He pulls her up as she reaches for him. Upon the black rock, looking below at the avalanche, he knows he's found his wife.

He was to save her, as she was only but his own and not never for another to touch or to love. For none but him could be so constant or indeed love as much.

Saint Agnus, January 21: an early martyr, virgin

links to liturgy of today January 21: [according to the American calendar]:

Saint Agnus: according to catholic News Agency
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/catholicnewsagency/saintoftheday/~3/OxrK_34-d5k/saint.php

First Reading - 1 Sam 18:6-9; 19:1-7
http://www.catholicnewsagency.com/reading.php?n=6380&utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+catholicnewsagency/dailygospel+(CNA+-+Daily+Readings)

Psalm - Ps 56:2-3, 9-10a, 10b-11, 12-13
http://www.catholicnewsagency.com/reading.php?n=6381&utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+catholicnewsagency/dailygospel+(CNA+-+Daily+Readings)

Gospel - Mk 3:7-12
http://www.catholicnewsagency.com/reading.php?n=6382&utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed:+catholicnewsagency/dailygospel+(CNA+-+Daily+Readings)


(Journey in a Broken World)

---- Saint Agnus ----

Article by Marc Aupiais

None around, could explain her blessing, her name meaning lamb, her name meaning chastity, a blessing- Agnus, was beautiful , and the aspiration of all true Italian men.

But none love her more than her husband, her heavenly spouse. She served him on earth, her invisible love. The men proposed, and did what they could to outdo. And seeing their every charm disabled, one finally accused her in court.

The judge, not of justice petitioned the saint, the young beauty, so heavenly in stature and name. She was threatened with fire, and torture and death, yet would not deny her spouse, to whom she had wed.

Her chastity important, the judge had an idea. She was sent to the brothel, by order of court. The men of Rome, could do as they pleased. But Agnus was hardly impressed, “My jealous spouse in heaven, will keep me a virgin”, one may paraphrase how she insisted.

At the brothel, a crowd of men gathered, beset by vile lust, they aimed to upset.

Though seeing this saint, many did desist, many not all- one was not shamed. He was determined to take her sanctity away. And driven by the lust of eyes, by lightning God took his sight.

And by prayer, the virgin healed him, by God’s work was God’s curse undone.

Still the judge pleaded, or so it would seem, but the spouse of Christ knew this- what god has made one, man must not divide. She had looked with joy at the instruments of torture, and hope at her reunification with Christ. She would not marry him who took her to court. She was thus beheaded, as those watching were moved to tears. Saint Agnus, of Chastity, Saint Agnus the lamb. Lead to the slaughter, yet also to the feast.

She served God by living, she did not take her own life. The martyr and the suicide are opposites. One destroys all, by taking his life. The other is so loyal to life, that she or he sacrifices it, that it may live as she is made to die.


Saint Agnus, on this day: ora pro nobis.

Factual Information based indirectly on the account rendered in Butler’s Lives of Saints, Edited by Rev. Bernard Kelly, published by Virtue. Saint Agnus is the saint listed by this ancient work, for today!

My bible is dynamic truth- unchanging, in a dynamic- moving universe of space and time!

(Also appeared at : Journey in a Broken World 31 / 08 | August / 2009)

Article by Marc Aupiais

The true art of poetic work- is not giving many meanings to a work- but giving infinite meaning- limited by truth.

One word, must cancel another's meaning- one stream, an idea- destroy the tangent of another.

The perfect poem speaks deeply and shallowly at once- on deep matters infinite, and practical matters also. The dynamic poet can speak to smart and dumb alike- or protect the foolish while enlightening the wise.

Such a text is hard to create- the larger it is, the more dynamic it must be. With a dynamic text- context matters more- what comes before or later- matters all the more.

The bible is such a work, it speaks solidly and more. It leaves us wanting and quenched of want all at once. It is designed ad infinitum, and speaks of all there is. The problem with a dynamic text- is how much it enforces a mirror effect. A person can easily misread it- or only understand one level of it.

A dynamic text only speaks to us what we are able to hear. Like an ocean shell- lifted to the ear, so are the deeper mysteries- only heard if we seek them wisely and lift them up in faith.

A dynamic text, when translated- loses meaning, loses truth, in the inadequacy of the translator. The influences of the world- its prisms limit the reader, and sometimes combat the perfection of the text.

The bible says- "[... The] Church, which is [the / a] pillar and foundation of truth..." (I Timothy chapter 3, verse 15)

In the language written, there was no definite article used, so I have been told. And we know that the Greek past and present tenses were different than our own. Much of the work, captured was in a different language system. It is perhaps why Jesus so relied on parables. Word for word, the bible loses some meaning- although the meaning is assertainable with honest intent at inner learning of the whole truth. If the Church is a pillar of truth, or the pillar of truth- the words pillar and foundation, still mean the same. A building cannot stand if even one foundation is missing. The text remains valid.

And on other levels- we also forget- our metaphors today- our ways of describing, the concepts many believe, had yet to exist when Jesus spoke.

And yet- while dynamic, the bible is rich. When read with the right lense (really corrective against our localised area)- we are infinitely quenched of thirst and infinitely desire so much more.

Many Catholics have turned to protestant versions of the bible- with the books of the early Canon of the bible, books which Catholics and the rest of mainstream Christianity accept: added in. I think this a mistake. Often protestants have given a more literal interpretation, even as often they have tainted the text- yet the greatest advantage of a bible, is for it to give you the context of the words, to compare them with other texts of the genre and time- to explain how the Christians, and society interpreted the words. I would not advise a Catholic to risk their soul- by reading a bible which is not Catholic.

When I read the bible, my catechism is ready- my mind alert. I attempt to spiritually consume the word- to accept Jesus into me through the words- as though he were a sea creature jumping out of a pond (the page)- and into my being.

I test the words within me, and ponder them. I compare them to what I know- I digest them. I research them as I struggle, and lean on the other two pillars- the tradition and the magisterium of the People of Christ.

I do not determine to act on the words, but to have them clean my soul- I do not intend to rush off in terror into the world, all aghast... I intend to nurture my soul, by pushing God's words through it as though cleansing my system with water.

And so- I meditate on the truth. I ignore the immediate voice, and entangles in the deeper, softer, weaker sound which hovers above the page- and emerges as I continually read.

I used to read oft the bible- but now I read it less. I find that many of the deepest lessons are around us in the constructing of our world. Perhaps if we understood its ways more... We'd better comprehend God.

Much of the bible is practical advise- we must greet people we know- not only friends; we must treat workers justly, and guard what is ours. We must not... We must ... We shall not take care of him who abuses our charity by refusing to work when able... Yet while that which is practical should enter our lives softly- most of all a desire for truth, yet the rest must be pondered. The eternal pond of God, its power must be pondered in the depths. His eternal mysteries- always revealing more ad infinitum, until we burst past the depths and breadth of all things.

It is not unwise to stop, think... Ponder the pond of our world. We have all the time we need! Knowing our real wants- taking our evil desires, and step by step tracing these mis-manifestations of true, just wants- back to our real desires- is how we conquer sin. It is not our deep, actual wants which are evil- the human being was made in proportion- but what we render them as- in our practical pursuit of these, or our thoughts of pursuit, which may be. The righteous- true man- takes his any evil desire back to the proper point, and renders it right. A slight diversion can change the whole path of a stream- can destroy mountains... And lives.

It is always good to look gradually into the depths of our souls. Pushing slowly back- never missing a slight moment until we reach right back deep within- and push into our soul to God ad infinitum. The Soul is the design of a man, the truth God made of Him- which is his life and connector with Man's Original Creator.