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O King of all Nations
And Keystone of the Church:
Come and Save Us
Whom you Formed from the Dust.

The sixth O Antiphon, December 22, 2021, implores the Christ as the King of all peoples and law-giver to recreate, anew, what was begun in the Genesis story of creation, 2:7.
Despite the rent of the first sin with its attendant sufferings and pain, Creator God took compassion upon the work of his hands and sent helpers: the patriarchs, the prophets, even kings to assuage the demands of His Chosen People who wanted to be like their grandiose neighbors. Still sin held sway over hearts, and within its moral darkness, followed periodic destruction and mayhem and exile by the Egyptians, Babylonians, and Assyrians.
Even His son, Jesus of Nazareth was sent. Still to no avail: eyes remain blind, ears, stopped. Most of the heart of mankind remains locked in stone.
Yet, a remnant of the faithful, the anawim, the little people with humble hearts have always remained through the tattered world. Among them, the Christ mysteries are vibrantly alive in prayer and gladdens their hearts of flesh.
With them, we still cry out,”Come!”

At 6:35 A.M., I awoke with this disconcerting dream:

After a long absence, I discover that my doctor has moved his office to a high-tech clinic in the city. As I follow a nurse to an examining room, I see a former friend sitting on the floor of another examining room, looking disgruntled, her shapely legs stretched before her upon the hardwood floor. My heart sank. I hoped she had not seen me.

This glimpse into my psyche reveals more of my shadow. My need to see my doctor suggests regaining control of my health rather than allow the continuing diminishment of my body under hospice supervision. I’m determined to fix myself—And only the best will do: a high-tech clinic in the city.

The former friend mirrors my stinginess of heart, resentments, whining and demanding and sulking behaviors, deeply entrenched in my psyche, still rooted within the recesses of my shadow, despite decades of Twelve Step work.

And my former way of handling conflict— I hoped she had not seen me. —was to flee the scene or ignore what had occurred. Such pretense had thwarted development.

The dream reminds me of the critical practice of emotional honesty, with God, myself, and others. I still have a terminal illness.

At 7:10 A. M., I awoke with this shocking dream:

I’m alone, watching a horrifying scene: a bald nude unconscious man, with pasty skin, lays on the ground surrounded by enemies, their steel-toed boots kicking him. One of them covered his privates with a rag when a cameraman came by and began taping. 

This dream from the collective unconscious still shivers my innards—more visceral than accounts of Nazi and Soviet torture that I’ve studied over the years. Even the morning spent at Germany’s Dachau concentration camp was tamed by the sense of it being a tourist attraction, with informative signage.

Stunned, I still shudder. Long ago, I learned that the Dreamer tells the truth: hatred, anger, and penchant to retaliate—even with violence—behaviors I would never own in the conscious world, hide within the shadow of my psyche.

But such behaviors come with being human. Following the collapse of inner restraints, instinctual madness zings through dripping caves like bats: their mayhem terrifies. We all have breaking points, and I have mine, whether expressed or not.

The concentrated negative/evil energies, all masculine, also suggest the collapse of my own, in the face of my mortality, given the minuscule increase in my symptoms, from month to month. No longer is it appropriate to remain passive, unconscious like the victim. I am still breathing and the Twelve Steps of CPA are still to be practiced.

The antidote to this insanity is found in Step One: humble acceptance of my powerlessness and the acceptance of the unacceptable; then on to the cleansing and forgiving Steps, with Higher Power’s release of noxious energies and restoration to wholeness, until the next time.

It takes daily practice…

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