My 77th birthday has happened! I made it! Now it will be revealed what I do with this new year. We shall see!
Let me tell you something about my world and the world of others I notice around me. My story is different, I do believe.
In 1959, I promised before an altar of Almighty God, at Holy Cross Monastery in West Park, New York, to keep a vow of holy poverty. I also promised obedience and chastity. Too many times I have been unfaithful to the last two. Mea maxima culpa! I regret each violation, and I have sought to avoid occasions of sin mightily over the years. God has been most merciful in his forebearance of my profligacy.
However, regarding the first vow - of maintaining holy poverty - God has not been so lenient. I have been held to poverty - including the branch called "holy." I am dirt poor - and I have been so impoverished since that special day back in 1959 when I took the vow - only for two years. Apparently, God does not hear well. Perhaps He heard "too" years - rather than "two" years.
Whatever! And over the years I have had occasion to ponder the state of my financial reality.
Let me share some of my recollections on the topic.
At the time of my vow of holy poverty, I was truly poor. I had nothing. I also did not have a college education. I had left the university without earning a full degree.
In the course of the ensuing years, I married. Lovely Rosemary! A strong young woman. She knew how to go to the grocery store with a $20 bill - and she always came back with almost the same amount of money - and with sacks and sacks of food and other items. She had a knack for saving money - which, I might add, she earned as much as I ever did, as a very competent registered nurse.
At any rate, I managed to finish my university degree, and then I was allowed to go for a master's degree - with Rosemary working as a nurse and I as a graduate assistant. Those were tight years financially. But we managed.
And then I became a college teacher - down in a tiny town - Alvin, Texas in the fall of 1971. Subsequently, I was appointed the chairman of the college faculty's committee on ethics. I should have known better to accept the post. Within a couple years, a new president arrived. Dr. Thomas Jenkins of notorious fame. He promised the faculty huge salary increases IF we went along with his grandiose plans for "liberalizing" the school's programs, etc. Many of the faculty balked. I took the hit. I was ranted out during a Star Chamber proceeding in Doctor Jenkins' office. I found myself out of a job. That was back before anyone knew how to stand up for one's rights.
The vow of poverty was tightened. I also recalled how to pray the Holy Rosary in dire earnest. And the Blessed Mother had God Almighty give me a bit of slack. I found a job running a rundown newspaper over in League City, the armpit of Texas towns. (I could be vulgar, but I won't.) I was promised a small salary and a percentage of the gross income - which I was prepared to increase by building the paper's reputation and advertising revenue.
Little did I realize the newspaper's owner, a Mr. Staley McBrayer, who was highly regarded among publishers around the land, had other plans. Whenever I asked for a salary increase for promising young writers from Mr. McBrayer at the home office up in Fort Worth, Texas, I was told: "Work 'em till they quit; there are many more you can hire as replacements!" And then I discovered a fact: Mr. McBrayer wanted me to improve the appearance of the newspaper - on the rack and in the office - while he was offering the whole shebang on the market. One day, an appraiser appeared in my office. I asked him what he wanted. He let slip he was checking out everything. "Don't you know?" he asked. "This place is for sale!"
I have a mean streak. I quit on the spot. I became unemployed again. Poverty was grooming me!
But I found religion to be my closest companion. I clutched the beads! "Blessed Mother," I said in earnest. "Never was it known that . . . . !"
Higher education is always the port into which smart unemployed persons seek refuge. Either that or becoming a consultant. I went back to school. I commuted to the University of Texas at Austin from the family's home in Alvin. I would set out for Austin with less than a full tank of gasoline in an old beat up Buick I had traded for my smart-looking new Buick coupe I had bought before the run-in with the college president.
I would seek a Doctor of Philosophy degree - while I ate cabbage sandwiches in the little windowless office I was issued as a graduate assistant at the School of Communications at UT.
As solace from the Lord, I used to watch the gasoline gauge on my old Buick do miracles. I once saw the gauge go from empty to full as I watched in awe. THERE IS A GOD! I would proclaim as I could smell the fumes. I will swear (err - affirm) this on a stack of Bibles.
Whatever! Faith was not a matter of belief, for me. I KNEW God does miracles.
Little did I know I was being "set up." The college faculty had used me. The publisher of the League City newspaper had used me. But I had no idea God was getting ready to use me.
In early 1976, I organized "The Catholic Institute for Social Communications." A very high sounding name. I actually had induced Dr. DeWitt Carter Reddick, the revered professor of scholastic journalism, to serve on the board of directors of the thing. It was a plan to grant a certificate of competency in public relations from the University of Texas while at the same time granting a certificate of theological education from a consortium including the Episcopal Theological Seminary of the Southwest and the Presbyterian seminary in Austin as well as Oblate School of Theology over in San Antonio. No longer would old hacks from newspapers be hired to edit Catholic media. They would be "trained."
I was riding high - on profound faith. I even eventually attended the Catholic Communications Foundation seminar over in New Orleans in the summer of 1978 to meet the brightest and the best in Catholic communications circles. I didn't have a penny in my pocket, but that didn't matter. I was the delegate of the Catholic bishop of the Diocese of Austin, Most Rev. Vincent Harris, D.D., an ace in moral theology. I had status.
Somewhere along in the course of events, I got wind that "my" institute was being considered for an impressive grant. I got calls from various "authorities" asking for descriptions of the institute's plans. I even printed up outlines, etc.
Faith knew no bounds. I conceived of the idea of moving my family from Alvin up to Austin. I went looking for a house one Saturday before driving south for the weekend on another tank of holy ether.
One road led to another, and before I knew it, I was facing Ranch Road 12. The road I was traveling became a deadend. I had to turn either left or right. I prayed. "Which way, Lord?" So help me God! The steering wheel turned to the left. And in several miles I was entering Wimberley, Texas. I spotted a real estate office. I entered. No one was inside. All sorts of brochures, but not a soul. I picked up one, and, being behind schedule, I drove on south to Alvin and my family.
On that Sunday, I shared the leaflet on available properties in Wimberley with Rosemary. There were at least five real estate salespersons listed. I asked her to pray and then pick the person I should call. She selected one, a woman named Marsha Fowler. I called.
An appointment was set up for the following Saturday with Mrs. Fowler. When I met the lady, I was shocked. She was a part-time Pentecostal preacher as well as selling real estate. "Praise the Lord!" she said. I repeated, "Praise the Lord!"
Well, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I had bought a property. I had asked the Lord to guide my hand as I poised a pencil above an outline map of the Wimberley area. Marsha Fowler took me to the location of the property I had penpointed. On it was a newly built lodge on the highest hill overlooking Wimberley. It was available. All that was needed was $10,000 cash for a down payment.
Faith knew no bounds. We were told we would receive exactly $10,000 cash from the sale of our home in Alvin.
I prayed. Rosemary prayed. We sold our home, and took the cash and gave it to the owner of the lodge on the hill. We signed a note for $100,000 for the place. Faith would see us through. Again, I didn't realize I was being "set up."
We named it "Zion." It was to be the headquarters of the Catholic Institute for Social Communications which was progressing in Austin - halfway between the seminaries in Austin and Oblate School of Professional Theology in San Antonio. It was a natural.
And, one day, I received a phone call from Marsha Fowler. She told me a lady would like to meet me. The lady was named Susannah Brinsmade, the wife of Lyon Brinsmade, one of the most successful lawyers in Houston. They owned the Santa Cruz Ranch also in Wimberley. Susannah was a "believer." A charismatic! The Brinsmades also gave the property for Saint Stephen's Episcopal Church in Wimberley. She wanted to hear about the Catholic Institute for Social Communications. An appointment was made. Another lady, another charismatic, who received visions and "automatic" handwritings from "the Lord" would come along. Her name was Martha McRae Hummel, a true saint if I ever met one. She is now with the Lord! I don't know about Susannah. I have lost track of her.
To try to make this long story shorter, I will summarize. I was given advice from Susannah on how to handle the $100,000 note. Take ten people, and ask each one for $10,000. She would help.
In the meanwhile, I was awaiting word from the National Catholic Communications Foundatiion about a grant they had been considering for the institute I was running in Austin.
So help me God, on the day before Christmas, 1976, I received a long distance phone call from a priest. I was at Zion in a little office I had organized in the lodge. "Mr. Hearn," the priest said, "I'm with the Communications Foundation. About the grant, we have decided to give it to the Jesuits at Loyola University in New Orleans. Sorry about that! Have a lovely Christmas!"
I was stunned! Poof! Gone was the money I had anticipated for funding the Catholic Institute for Social Communications at the University of Texas at Austin. Gone was the money I had anticipated for putting bread on the table at Zion. Gone was the money I needed to buy a new pair of shoes for my son. His shoes were falling apart. Gone was my profound faith - almost!
Poverty was an old friend. I prayed. Rosemary prayed. Zion would survive. Several charismatic friends prayed. But the unpaid note stayed. I had signed a shorter sixty-day note for $40,000 with the balance a year later. I prayed, and I began to sweat.
Meanwhile Susannah Brinsmade was having trouble with an adopted daughter who was going astray. I scoured the turf for funds.
During this time, Rosemary's rich aunt, Rose Nacarata. from Glasco, New York, visited us. She was actually dying. She was a good Catholic. But she didn't really like me. I know.
Aunt Rose and her late husband, Salvatore, who happened to have been the bootlegger to Franklin Delano Roosevelt (that's how he made most of his money), had decided to give the bulk of their estate to the Franciscans of New York - almost a million dollars. She could have bought Zion with one check. But she didn't. (Old Tony's hare-brained idea of an institute was going no where!)
Several more months of sweating over money occurred. Bishop Harris had no suggestions. No one had suggestions. Susannah Brinsmade took her daughter to Acapulco for a change of scenery and stayed and stayed. My children were listed on the "free lunch" program at the Wimberley school. No miracles happened again in my old Buick's fuel tank. We began to eat what friends brought up to Zion. Finally, I called a meeting. I laid out the problem. I had less than three hundred dollars.
Someone may suggest I collapsed. I should have "worked out" some better plan. The historical fact: I didn't!
Rosemary and I drove down to the title office in San Marcos, and we signed over the property back to the owner so as to avoid foreclosure. It is a fact that real estate salesperson Marsha Fowler had a ready buyer for the problem property. She had not disclosed that information to me. Ethics, she said, would not allow her to do so. That buyer got the property at a fire-sale price.
And what happened to the Hearns - Tony, Rosemary, Christopher, Lisa Katherine, and little Ann-Monique moved out of the five bedroom lodge with the two-storeyed ceiling living room into a one-car garage adjoining Martha McRae Hummel's home in Woodcreek, Wimberley, New York. It was quite a come-down from Zion.
But I had a job. I was the voluntary title of "communications consultant" to the Most Reverend Vincent Harris, bishop of Austin, and I was the former head of the defunct Catholic Institute for Social Communications. I had quite an impressive resumé.
Well, things rocked along. Faith held on . . . by a thread. Martha Hummel was long suffering. Rosemary was long suffering. And the children took it. They had no choice. And Tony tried to do anything he could. He helped Bishop Harris set up the first Diocesan Council to include laity as well as priests. It was a huge success.
Our life in the garage was so-so! We prayed a lot. Things would get better, I thought!
On the day before Thanksgiving, 1977, as I was driving home from the headquarters of the Diocese of Austin, it was almost 6 p.m. I looked down as the gasoline gauge on Rosemary's newer Buick I had consficated to replace my old Buick that had died and been discarded. I was driving along the highway from Kyle to Wimberley. I cringed. The gauge was below empty.
"You are going to run out of gas!" I heard that familiar Voice of The Spirit. "Pull off the road to safety!" I was told.
I said, "Please, dear Lord! You have filled my tank before! Do it again, right now! Pleeeeeeaaaaseeeeeee!"
"NOOOOOooooooo!" came back an emphatic answer.
The brakes of that Buick were electric and as the engine died from lack of fuel so did the generator. I began to coast down a slight hill. I looked ahead and I spied the parking lot of Saint Stephen's Episcopal Church, the one built by my friend, Susannah Brinsmade and her husband, on the left.
The Buick rolled across the road and into the parking lot. It came to rest beside the temporary outhouse that was being used by workmen as they constructed the church's parish house. The outhouse was an enclosed new toilet on the parish house's foundation.
What I remember as light faded from the sky, I saw the start of misting rain. I was stuck - out of sight - off the road in a deserted church's parking lot - next to a privy. I didn't even have a flashlight. I did, however, have a book of matches in the car's glove box.
"Go inside the outhouse," I was told by the Voice. "You'll be safe in there!"
This was back before cell phones. I had no way of calling out to anyone.
"Don't go out onto the highway. You'll only be killed by fast-moving traffic!" I was told. "You'll be rescued early next morning!" I was told by the Voice. I did what I was told.
Inside the outhouse was a candle on a little table. I lit it - and I sat down upon the functional toilet - no other convenience was available. I pondered my circumstance.
Plainly, I needed divine assistance. I called out again for help! Nothing answered. I decided to follow a charismatic idea based on the traditional Pentecostal custom. I had my pocket-sized Bible with me. I was going to turn to it: to play Bible Roulette.
In the light of the flickering candle flame, I turned the Bible upside down and backward and then this way and that - so I would not know where I was going to open the Scriptures. I didn't want to cheat. I wanted God to speak to me through the Bible!
As God is my witness, with my eyes closed, I opened the book and placed my index finger on a page. I then opened my eyes, and adjusting for the dim light, I read, beginning at the first verse of the Second Chapter of the Wisdom of Sirach - (for Protestants, this is a book from the Catholic Bible):
"My son, when you come to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for trials. Be sincere of heart and steadfast, undisturbed in time of adversity. Cling to him, forsake him not, thus will your future be great. Accept whatever befalls you, in crushing misfortune be patient, for in fire gold is tested, and worthy men in the crucible of humiliation. Trust God and he will help you; make straight your ways and hope in him."
I closed the Bible, and I sat on that toilet, and I cried. And for that whole night and well into the early morning hours, I slept - sitting up - and I wept. The Voice told me I would be rescued after the break of day.
Surely enough, sometime around eight o'clock on Thanksgiving Day, a car turned into the parking lot of Saint Stephen's Church. It was Martha Hummel in her car, with Rosemary. They had been out looking for me, and Martha had heard that well-known Voice:
"Tony is at Saint Stephen's - in the outhouse. Go get him!"
- to be continued -
Sunday, December 25:
Tony does go out to lunch - on Christmas Day. Things do get bleary when a waitress takes a photo into the light.
But I'm showing the photo, anyway, to prove I do have family. I'm the fuzzy image second from the left. At the extreme left is Ruth Bowman who is as close as it gets to being a daughter of my sister, Lisa Russell, who is on my right. Ruthie is the constant companion - and former wife - of my sister's stepson, John (Johnny) Russell, on the far right. (They are technically divorced but live together as a devoted couple. When you're as lovely as Ruthie, it doesn't really matter, anyway.) Between my sister and Johnny is my nephew, Frederic Hilton Fuller (Freddy), the best professional gunsmith in all of Texas and beyond. We were at the round table just inside Earl Abels on Christmas noon.
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"This day a child is born!" And since that day the world has been different because that child was different. The child, Jesus, said "Yes" to goodness and "No" to selfishness.
This is what makes today special. This is what we celebrate today and why we call today
CHRISTMAS
.
Let every person in the world today celebrate goodness and kindness and mercy and, even, long suffering, if need be. Let us put aside every hurtful thing that may cause pain and harm to others, and let us honor and cherish others, at least for a day, or, maybe, for two days, or, even, for a whole octave.
Let us just cancel out our doctrines and our dogmas and our various dos and don'ts to celebrate a special life - perhaps even ignoring, just for today, some dubious historical facts.
Let us affirm, in theory, at least, it may have been possible for at least one man to rise above himself to live for the sake of others on this planet - which is always dark when it is not light on one side or the other.
Let us hope for the light to dawn where we are. While it is today, let us celebrate together - before we have to endure another night. Let us try to remember during the next time of darkness how to behave as Children of Light.
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 24:
This Christmas, I'm going to celebrate something different. I'm going to try to experience "the labor" of the Blesséd Mother.
I'm going to try to experience, as a man, the process of giving birth of a child.
Hmmmmm!
How do I begin?
(Many hours expire!)
I give up! I can't imagine giving birth. It's too complex for me. Or, maybe, it's too simple.
And I can imagine no other man can experience child birth either. It's an experience unique to womankind.
Motherhood is different from manhood. And it deserves a lot of credit - much more than men allow.
But if I cannot imagine giving birth, neither am I able to experience fully the process of being a mother.
Let's start with being pregnant. Hmmmmm! Morning sickness! How bad! Ever had that?
Imagine doing everything with a basketball tucked under your belt? How awkward, and it gets worse UNTIL . . .
And then there is the process of labor - of delivering a fetus that cries. Again, how awkward!
And then you have to deal with another life, totally dependent upon you! Again, and again, how awkward. A child sucking on your chest!
Mothers MUST have special in-born skills.
And, then, there's the long drawn-out process of nurturing young life - of tying on - and then untying apron strings.
And, then, there's the burden of dealing with the father of this new life. His dirty socks, his expectation that he is still the most important person in the house!
Hmmmmmmm! Motherhood!
IT COMMANDS MUCH MORE RESPECT!
But mothers are not supposed to make commands or, even, demands. They are supposed to obey silently.
God knew only women can handle motherhood!
It's much too hard for men!
This Christmas I've decided to honor MOTHERS!
And I especially honor the Blessed Mother whose going into labor is the reason for Christmas.
Mother Mary, all hail to thee! All generations shall rightly call you blesséd!
Friday, December 23:
I'm only four days away from my 77th birthday. Will I make it? Who knows?
Whatever!
In the meanwhile, I wish you a very merry Christmas!
I will spend my time pondering the Mystery of the Incarnation - of God, the Spirit, choosing to enter the realm of the material which the Spirit had bothered to create.
Hmmmmmm! And the Spirit did not dominate the material - the Spirit chose to rise above the ways of the flesh!
Wednesday, December 21:
It's time for a change in our thinking. One word: change "father" to "mother," and let's see what a difference it will make to the world.
"Our Mother, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy Name . . . . . "
Jesus chose to use "Father" when speaking of God. He said, however, that God is Spirit.
We know Spirit is beyond gender. Gender has to do with life in the material realm. In the world of spirit, gender is "immaterial."
Let us say that Jesus knew who was fixing his food. It was his mother. And in the excruciating pain of his crucifixion, at the very moment of TRUTH, he told his mother, Mary, to take care of his beloved disciple, John. "Woman," he said, "Behold thy son!" He said to John, " Behold thy mother!"
Men tend always to put themselves first. They blamed EVE for the first sin. They blame the woman for God's punishment of having to work by the sweat of their brows. And they have always taught that GOD is a male.
So . . . . Let us change the gender of God, and let us see how things improve.
It's easy to make the switch: Let's just adjust the thrones up in heaven: Make the Mother of God actually the Mother God!
Anyone ever hear of "Father Nature?" No! It's always been "Mother Nature."
Let the atheists file suit against "Mother Nature!" Maybe they will have better luck filing suit against baseball and apple pie!
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Nurture! In fact, the name "United Nations" should be interpreted to mean "United Nurturers!"
Of one thing I am most certain: Mother Love.
The debate concerning religion can rage on. Who will debate the certainty of motherhood and the natural instinct of maternal nurture? Not I! I will affirm "All generations will call 'motherhood' - maternal nurture - blessed!"
I will also go so far as to proclaim "Pure motherhood IS THE 'salvation' of Life on Earth!"
Pure Motherhood - holy maternity - is the true CHRIST - that which is the 'anointed' one. I will even go so far as to submit that the man Jesus - who is regarded by many as the CHRIST - derives his recognition as 'the Christ' from His relationship to the blessedness of His mother who had pure maternal love for him.
Now this is what I regard as Christianity having the "cart before the horse."
Jesus is the product of His mother's perfect, pure maternal love for Him - and His mother's love for Him derived from the maternal instinct "embedded" within her human nature by the Mother Creator of Creation.
Now I will let those who are 'theologically inclined' tear to pieces what I have written.
Meanwhile, I consider it to be a distinct honor that it has been revealed to me that Motherhood should be the "NEW GODDESS" for all humanity.
Let all humankind - including all MANHOOD - profoundly and humbly kneel before "MOTHERHOOD" - and I suggest it is highly appropriate for all to reverence the mother MARY as THE representative of purest motherhood.
All Hail to Thee, Blesséd Mother, Holy Queen! Mother of Humanity.
Holy Mother Mary: You are not only the Mother of God. You ARE THE Mother God!
Tuesday, December 20:
An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.
"A fight is going on
inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight and it is between
two wolves. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed,
arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride,
superiority, and ego."
He continued, "The other is good - he is joy, peace,
love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity,
truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you - and
inside every other person, too."
The grandson thought about it for a minute
and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"
The old Cherokee
simply replied, "The one you feed."
(From
http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html)
The preceding story was sent to me by an email friend, Mazin Qumsiyeh, who is a Palestinian (at mazin@qumsiyeh.org.) He sends me items from the Human Rights Newsletter.
Monday, December 19:
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod (Dutch Lullaby)
by Eugene Field (1850-1895)
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe---
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea---
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish---
Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam---
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 't was a dream they 'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea---
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Sunday, December 18:
In Florida, an atheist created a case against Easter and Passover holy days. He hired an attorney to bring a discrimination case against Christians and Jews and observances of their holy days.
The argument was that it was unfair that atheists had no such recognized days.
The case was brought before a judge. After listening to the passionate presentation by the lawyer, the judge banged his gavel and declared, "Case dismissed!"
The lawyer immediately stood and objecting to the ruling said, "Your honor, How can you possibly dismiss this case? The Christians have Christmas, Easter and others. The Jews have Passover, Yom Kippur and Hanukkah, yet my client and all other atheists have no such holidays."
The judge leaned forward in his chair and said, "But you do. Your client, counselor, is woefully ignorant."
The lawyer said, "Your Honor, we are unaware of any special observance or holiday for atheists."
The judge said, "The calendar says April 1st is April Fool’s Day.
"Psalm 14:1 states, 'The fool says in his heart, there is no God.'
"Thus, it is the opinion of this court, that, if your client says there is no God, then he is a fool.
"Therefore, April 1st is his day.
"Court is adjourned."
Saturday, December 17:
Hey! Wait just ANOTHER Minute!
Por favor!
PLEASE! PLEASE PUT THE STUPID GUN DOWN!
Why am I belaboring this point?
I may have (I most probably have) offended someone!
I apologize! Really! I'm so, so, so, so VERRRRY SORRY!
Who knows, you may have a handgun tucked inside your pocket!
No point in provoking you to ruin YOUR day, or even my day, by killing me!
Just think of all the bother, of the police becoming involved, probably a day (or even a night) in jail, lawyers, etc.
Forgive me for causing you all that trouble.
In this day and time, violence has become the norm, or, at least, the average. I keep forgetting!
Read on about what occurred to a poor young man trying to make a name for himself - in the world of music, even.
Shot in the chest over a stupid argument!
Let's back up the tape, please. Permit me to say, "I'm SORRY!" How does one say that in RAP?
And to think I called Rap "crap!" It's another genre of music! Honest! A thousand pardons! Really! Truly! I'm sorry!
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Rapper Slim Dunkin Slain in Atlanta Music Studio
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
Published: December 16, 2011
Updated: December 17, 2011 at 4:13 AM ET
ATLANTA (AP) — Atlanta police say the rapper Slim Dunkin was gunned down Friday evening in a city music studio as he was preparing to record a video.
Police Maj. Keith Meadows said the rapper, whose real name is Mario Hamilton, was fatally shot in the chest after getting into an argument with another individual.
He was transported to Grady Memorial Hospital where he was pronounced dead.
Meadows told The Associated Press late Friday that police have not been able to identify the shooter. He said investigators have been interviewing those who were inside the studio. He said as many as 20 people were inside the small office-type building at the time of the shooting, which took place around 5:30 p.m., but they were in different places.
Police have not recovered the handgun that was used. Investigators remained at the scene late Friday evening.
"Right now we're just trying to....identify who may have seen what, really just trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together," Meadows said. "It seems everybody witnessed something very different. We're just trying to go back and make sense of everything."
Slim Dunkin had appeared on a number of songs with the rapper Waka Flocka Flame. The website Mtv.com reported that the Brick Squad Monopoly rapper was on a solo track and had recently released a 20-track mix tape that featured Gucci Mane, Roscoe Dash and Pastor Troy.
"It appears the victim was scheduled to do a photo shoot," Meadows said of Friday's events. "Before the video shoot took place, it appears the victim and suspect got involved in a verbal altercation. We don't know what that altercation was about."
"The suspect produced a weapon, discharged that handgun one time, striking the victim in the chest," Meadows said.
Meadows said the victim was in his early 20s and resided in the Atlanta area.
Many fans were posting messages late Friday night on a Facebook page for the rapper.
The website AllHipHop.com last February described Slim Dunkin, a Detroit native, as an up-and-coming talent with "a unique lyrical ability and style all his own."
In an interview with the website, he described himself as someone "trying to provide for his family by making something out of nothing just trying to beat the odds."
"I don't have amazing lyrical ability I just know how to speak on what I been through and where I came from," he said.
Asked what to expect from him in 2011, he responded: "Music, music, music!"
Famous last words!
(Taken from http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/2011/12/16/us/AP-US-Rapper-Shot-Music-Studio.html?_r=1&ref=news)
Friday, December 16:
Wait a minute!
Haven't you ever heard: "An anonymous donor . . . . . " ?
I believe Public Radio is doing a wonderful job!
If I had a million dollars, I would give most of it to Public Radio . . . . . . . ANONYMOUSLY!
I recently wrote "Support for . . . . . " is being heard TO EXCESS on Public Radio. I would love to hear, instead, "Public Radio Is Supported by Anonymous Donors."
Maybe I've lived too long. Nowadays, donors want their names on every piece of real estate they give or before or after ever second of time they "sponsor" on the airways.
As I wrote earlier, no one who has his or her name, or a corporate or foundation entity, mentioned is really GIVING. The "name dropping" has value, and that's what the "donor" is receiving.
Every donor to Public Radio is solicited by someone at its own non-profit corporate headquarters: "Your name, private or corporate, will be mentioned repeatedly to listeners who comprise a major part of our economy. It's a "good buy" by you, or your organization, in today's communications media!" Or some such proposition.
Does Public Radio EVER tell a potential "Support for" donor: "Support Public Radio ONLY for the reason Public Radio is Good for the People of America!" ?
I'm totally in favor of Public Radio! I just wish people with real money would support Public Radio anonymously RATHER than "getting their name" broadcast to their own "significant" market.
Let's bring back the notion of "giving so the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing." Let's bring back "Brought to you by AN ANONYMOUS DONOR."
Anonymous donors CAN SUSTAIN and PRESERVE the concept of PUBLIC radio. Think about it!
Otherwise OUR public radio is being bought and sold - just like "time" on the alternative: commercial (ized) radio.
Support Public Radio - not yourself. It's the way to better radio . . . and for yourself to a higher consciousness!
Thursday, December 15:
The way of all flesh . . . . .
Non profit, or not-for-profit, organizations are going the way so-called "public" educational organization have gone: hustling after big money!
Anyone remember back when a student could earn his or her way through college waiting on tables?
That was back when colleges were run by honest-to-god educators - not by educational administrators - those who couldn't make it in big bucks business institutions - like on Wall Street - and they crowded into our nation's colleges and universities and corrupted them.
Ever hear of a college president making ten times the salary of a college professor and especially a poorly paid teacher? Watch it - you'll date yourself.
Nowadays, so-called administrators of our not-for-profit educational institutions and our other non-profit organizations - our so-called "charitable organization" - are being invaded by people with money on their minds. They have bought into the "corporate" mindset - and, beware. This is why attending college can't be attempted by a student who is NOT on a rich daddy's money - or - who doesn't want to run up a student loan debt in excess of $100,000.
A student NOW has to pay the salary of a college president making $500,000 a year, and several college deans making $300.000. (I know, one of my cousins with a Ph.D. was ripping off the University of Texas system as an assistant chancellor of academic affairs for $300,000 a year plus fringe benefits.) That and other crimes!
So, managers with money on their minds are taking over every nook and cranny in the so-called non-profit sector. And they are not being timid about it. Check out all the seminars on how to manage non profits. They are teaching how to get rich working for "charity."
I remember when a nun I knew quit her order. She had a Ph.D. paid for by her order. She had become president of a Catholic college. The college was weaned away from the religious community to become independent. The college then hired her to be president again - at $100.000 a year. Several of the other nuns followed her out the door of their convent - each becoming a dean of the college - at hefty salaries.
Who paid the salaries? The students!
This world is going bananas over money!
The world is too much with us - even in the not-for-profit sector!
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"Support for . . . . . . . . . "
These two words . . . . and what follow them . . . . . are used, I believe, TO EXCESS on public radio.
Whatever happened to disinterested giving?
Whatever happened to giving without asking for something in return?
Whatever happened to the right hand not knowing what the left hand is handing out?
Anyone want to challenge my conclusion public radio is just a big name-dropping grab bag. There is technology to measure the use of the words "Support for" on public radio programming. I challenge anyone to demonstrate the use of "Support for" is being used as much or even more than commercial radio's "commercials."
Do a content analysis yourself.
Whatever happened to support for public radio WITHOUT getting your own name pushed into the ears of radio listeners? So-called "supporters" are not supporting anything. They are getting name recognition as well as advertisement of what they do for the price of what they are supposedly "giving" public radio.
"Support for . . . . . comes from XYZ foundation," or "This program is SUPPORTED by the following members of XYZ organization." Bla bla bla!
These supporters are NOT giving anyone anything. They are USING public radio and its listeners, and they are getting, most probably, a big tax-deductible contribution while doing it - in my and other listeners' ears.
Furthermore, I'm also wondering about the salaries of those who are now running public radio stations. How much is the CEO, or top-ranked executive, of the public radio station gaining near you? How much more than an announcer who airs "Support for . . . . "?
While I LOVE public radio, I detest hearing almost every other word being about "Support." Enough is enough! Let's see the books! Who is getting what for what - all along the airwaves.
If you SUPPORT this message, join in raising the call for an examination of public radio and its SUPPORT system!
Wednesday, December 14:
Happy Birthday, Lisa Katherine! I have not forgotten! It's just that I'm slowing down.
Tuesday, December 13:
Dear Neighbor,
Thank you for your notes!
I do not have more Rosary beads at this time.
However, let me tell you something I have discovered.
The Blessed Mother likes for you and me to pray with our hearts and minds MORE than with our fingers. She also tells me that she prefers us, her children, to go slowly with our prayers - stopping often to dwell on what we are praying. She particularly likes for us to pray her son's prayer - the so-called "Lord's Prayer." In this she delights.
Mary wants us ALL to acknowledge that God is Spirit, and that we should truly ask the HOLY SPIRIT to take charge of every thought, word, and deed of our lives.
We ARE, you know, as Jesus said, gods! We ARE gods. We ARE created, each of us, in HIS image. We can do mighty things, and we also can do awful, hurtful things.
So let us truly ask, as Jesus asked on the Cross, "Into Thy Hands, I commend my Spirit" - every moment of our lives!
You ARE a god. Be ONE with HIM, allowing His Holy Spirit to take full charge of your life.
Mary will be overjoyed, as you continually go through the prayers of Her Most Holy Rosary with your heart and mind.
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What has happened to music appreciation in San Antonio?
Instead of enjoying the sounds of counterpoint, nowadays listeners with an ear for credible music are forced to use earplugs when venturing out in public to avoid hearing loss from blaring discordant noise from enormous electronic sound amplifiers everywhere.
And our municipal "authorities" seem to be totally in favor of sponsoring louder and louder NOISE! Our parks and plazas have become toxic zones of asinine atonality!
Check out the sound at this coming Saturday's H•E•B event at the Henry B. Gonzalez Convention Center. Noise, noise, noise - and the noise makers have the gall to call what they are blaring out - music? Crazy!
Where are the lovers of decent music in San Antonio? In hiding?
What has happened to music educators in our public and private centers of education? Have they gone bonkers, too?
Why don't those who sponsor public events ask the San Antonio Symphony Orchesta to play REAL music every once in a while? What's wrong with giving the public a little high culture - of the music of the 3 Bs - Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms? Or even a little of John Philip Sousa? Anything besides this crap called rap!
Let's have some real music - with occasional crescendos - rather than the constant bombardment of NOISE.
Or are our "program planners for public pageants" totally tone deaf? Maybe they have irreversible hearing loss? Maybe they've blown their eardrums listening to too much fake stuff at excessive decibel levels! Maybe they've grooved to too much sound while high on weed or spaced out on something else? Maybe they are musically dumb, knowing only raw noise? Whatever . . . . !
I call for a boycott of NOISE at our San Antonio so-called "civic" events! Bring back the sound of authentic music!
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Here is a lovely picture of my friend, Aurora, receiving the "Employee of the Year" award from those who are in charge at the Texas Association for the Blind, the Lighthouse for the Blind, in Austin.
The plaque may read "Clara Benavides" or "Aurora Benavides." It is hard to make out the actual name. Either way, Clara, or "Aurora," as she likes to be called, has "labored" at a machine making products "from the blind" for more than a decade. She LOVES her work! She is a beautiful worker! You can see it in her "eyes!"
Monday, December 12:
Today is the celebration of the Virgen de Guadalupe, the patroness of the Americas. Hail Blesséd Mother! Let us all take time today to honor the Mother of the Savior - all generations shall call her blesséd!
Sunday, December 11:
Peace, at last! I know what's been bothering me. I'm almost certain I am suffering from Meniere's Disease!
The disease is NOT fatal, but neither is it curable. I'll just call it my "staggering stigmata."
I had been much in prayer. As you will note from my constant harping on my ailment. By God's providence, a neighbor lady told me a name, Meniere, to check out on the Internet. I did, and NOW I am at peace. The symptoms fit my malady. And so, I am at peace. I'll just live with my "Meniere's. Happy now as a lark!
What is more: there's no need to seek out a specialist. A specialist won't know what to do, anyway!
I'll just stay in bed - most of the time - or sit upright. No more staggering around, wondering what's wrong. Finally, I have all the time I could ask for - for contemplative prayer. No more pondering the mystery of my imbalance - my alcohol-free intoxication. Now I know! I'm free to ponder the real mysteries!
Saturday, December 10:
Some readers have been incorrect in thinking I had been considering self-destruction. NEVER!
Yesterday, I had only reached a tentative conclusion - that my time was concluding - that my time on Earth was reaching an earlier END than I had planned! Naturally, of course!
Suicide is NEVER an option! My Lord! Life is sacred! NEVER to be touched by violence - including by oneself - by human hands!
I had written in the subject line of an email "In Case I'm correct . . . " and then I went on to suggest I was feeling my demise was close at hand. I was wrong, at least for today. I'm still alive, and I just fixed myself a potato and egg breakfast taco, with picante sauce muy caliente, for strength for the ensuing hours.
I had also used the word "correct" rather than "right." I am being very careful these days about the use of the word in opposition to "wrong." I choose NOT to be ever thought of by anyone as a member of the "right."
I was once wrong about being on the right. I voted for Richard Milhous Nixon in 1968. Shame on me! I learned my lesson about being right. I was wrong! About being right! Yet, then again, I avoid being wrong - by being right about the errors of being a Leftist.
Now, let me see, how do I translate this into Español - to explain all this correctly to my blind friend, Aurora.
Hmmmmmmm! Derecho esto muy mal, obstinado, . . . I give up! But NOT on Life! I don't have Aurora's permission! That's for certain! Right? ¿Derecho? Wrong?
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What'd you know! I have been given THE reason to stare down death and to shake off the dizziness. I have been told I HAVE TO KEEP ON LIVING!
And, of course, I have to comply.
My blind friend, over in Austin, told me, over the phone, she will NOT give me permission to die.
My friend, Aurora, who has no vision, who I told you earlier, in a long, long story of her life, has blind determination. There is NO OTHER WAY! Aurora has told me, in her faltering English, I MUST GO ON! Through the fog! She has told me I must shake off whatever is wrong! I don't have permission to die!
"I need your prayers!" Aurora told me. "I can't make it without your prayers. And Capullo NEEDS me! You cannot die!"
Soooooooo . . . dear friends, I MUST LIVE. I am NOT correct! I cannot die! Not this month, not in 2012! Not until my friend, Aurora, gives me permission to stop this journal, this blog . . . ultimately because of her dog.
And while I am praying for Aurora and her dog, I may as well continue to pray for the rest of the world . . . and for you, and you, and you, and even for myself!
Thank you, God, for restoring my lack of vision, and for letting me be led by my beautiful believing blind amiga.
Friday, December 09:
I don't think I will make it to the end of December or even to my 77th birthday on the 27th. I have the feeling that my END is close at hand. Maybe I'm wrong! But I don't think so! I feel like death is near.
The last thirteen lines of the poem "Thanatopsis" keep recycling through my mind: "and wrap the draperies of my couch about me, and lie down to pleasant dreams" or something like that. And it was written by a young man of 21 years.
My feet stay cold even though I am wearing two pair of socks. My heart feels strong. No problem there. It's my head. I'm constantly dizzy. I walk like a common drunk, weaving, and swaying like a tower in hurricane-force wind.
The doctor tells me I have no symptoms of anything serious, but . . . . . . . I know something else. I've even lost interest in food, especially my favorite - potato and egg breakfast tacos. I can't look one in the face. Even with wonderfully HOT picante sauce. I KNOW something is wrong!
I am mustering the energy to write this - just to let you know no surprise is creeping up on me. And to say "good-bye." I had hoped to make it to the end of 2012 - to see what the Mayans had in store for the planet when it ran out of TIME. Oh, well! Perhaps I will see the mystery from the Other Side!
Now! Please! Don't call me, or the "fu-----" (Oooops - that terribly crude word, again! But don't wash out my mouth with soapy water! I had to get it out one last time!) ambulance - the price now exceeds $600.00 even for a short five-block trip! President Obama and the federal government can't afford such extravagance! So, please, don't call anyone! Allow me to die, if I do perish, quietly. Don't even call my sister. She's tied up caring for her cats.
So . . . . . . . let me ease myself away from this laptop . . . . . . and slip over to my couch . . . . . and clasp my Rosary beads . . . . . and tug a drapery up to my chin . . . . . . and prepare to dream! Amen!
Thursday, December 08:
Maybe it's just me, but I think the art of speaking is in decline. I'm talking enunciation, as in How now brown cow grazing in the green, green grass!
I gave up on TV a couple years ago. Too much yelling at each other and talking over one another on the TV talk shows! Now I only listen to public radio, especially National Public Radio and the BBC. But I'm in despair. I miss too many key words.
There's this one guy who seems to be trying to sound hip or whatever. Whatever happened to the "Radio Peer Voice?"
Miss Ruth Denny, my high school speech teacher, would be on him and a number of other "voices" on radio these days. "Enunciate what you're trying to say distinctly!" Miss Denny would say. "Spit out the mush in your mouth and use your tongue, teeth, and lips to form sonorous sounds," she would urge.
So I fear for culture. Everything seems to be going down the drain! Music has half-lifed down into NOISE, played at top volume! Speech is becoming monotonous RAP!
Careful enunciation, please!
Otherwise, please, allow silence to set in!
In the declining economy, quiet might enrich us all! Silence is golden!
Wednesday, December 07:
"Today will live in infamy!" (or some such words) said by my favorite U.S. president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, of the 1941 surprise bombing of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. It WAS a terrible day, almost as evil as the September 11, 2001, surprise attack on the World Trade Center in New York. More were killed there than at Pearl Harbor. Both were awful!
Evil does exist in the world. Every day of the year of every decade of every century of every millennia! Tragic! And the United States participates in the wrong doing right up there with the perpetrators of other deeds of real malice. But I won't go into that in greater detail. Another time!
Today I will "feature" my companions here in my "digs" in the Granada. They tend to the sounding of the (their) gong. "GONNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!"
Leading the pack is Leo. He is totally tame. Notice the bite-sized tiny monkey by the perky little perro within Leo's mighty paws!
A little levity on a somber day! Would that we humans on the globe got along as well as Leo and his pack upon my couch!
Tuesday, December 06:
Quiet time to call down celestial peace upon the Middle East and upon other troubled spots on planet Earth!
Peace be within me and all others - let us tame our hearts and minds and hands - to behave ourselves - to seek and to ensue goodness for its own sake! Peace be to Jerusalem! Amen!
Monday, December 05:
Henceforth, I will follow the advice once given to another person who had gotten too worked up about an issue: "Let it suffer your benign neglect!" Or something like that!
So, I will NOW forget about San Antonio's Main Plaza. I will "neglect" to mention it beyond this one parting comment: Main Plaza will become an increasingly costly eyesore - the fountains will NEVER function as planned - as well as an increasingly irritating physical obstacle for pedestrains - mainly attorneys - to have to walk across - the paving stones were NEVER meant to be trod upon - they were for veneer - not for pavement - and they are deteriorating daily - ultimately needing to be replaced or paved over with asphalt.
I don't need ever again to visit Main Plaza. And there is a place for the Contemplative Community of the Blessed Mother elsewhere than the former bookstore and convent of the Pauline Sisters on the plaza's periphery.
I release any claim to that tragic property. Frankly, Main Plaza is too noisy at night, especially when those gigantic electronic amplifiers blast out noise instead of music at beer busts.
¡Adios, Main Plaza!
Sunday, December 04:
Out my urban window
Let the world keep spinning!
I'll stay safe and snug within!
Let others tramp upon non-flowing fountains
At a contentious central spot.
While I, much higher up,
Watch the San Antonio River waters
As my spirit does the dancing!
Friday, December 02:
I have sinned! Oh, my gosh! Brother Tony has sinned, and in public, too! I even had the San Antonio Park Police called on me.
There I was making my pious morning meditation in Main Plaza. Holy! Holy! Holy!
And all of a sudden, I noticed the maintenance man of the Main Plaza Conservancy bodily hauling barracades ACROSS the sacrosanct, dysfunctional "dancing" fountains. (There are plainly visible signs asking all souls to kindly respect the "dysfunctional" fountains by refraining from walking upon them.)
All of a sudden my sense of righteous indignation welled up within me and over-powered control of my tongue!
Again, I say I have sinned! I addressed the workman as he came walking back across the said "NOT able to dance" fountains:
"Kindly respect the signs," I said. "And refrain from walking across the FUCKING fountains!"
I could have bitten my tongue off! I used the f word, so common in today's parlance, like former Vice President of the United States Richard Cheney used on the floor of the U.S. Senate. I did WRONG!
The maintenance man, a very sensitive chap, called the park police and reported me for "harassing him" and for using profane language!
And so I told the San Antonio Park Police as they took down my testimony. I was written up! Shame, shame on Brother Tony! I will, henceforth, be more respectful of the sensitive ignorant workman at Main Plaza. I certainly am sorry I fractured his self-confidence as he continues to walk upon the dysfunctional fountains.
Mia culpa! Mia culpa! Mia maxima culpa!
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The trouble with contemplation is it leads you, most often, where you do not want to go - into more TRUTH than you are ready to handle.
"Wait! Wait! O Spirit of TRUTH!"
My new friend from down on the U.S. bordertown of Brownsville caused me early this week to return to thinking prayerfully about Mifflin Kenedy who sired the short line which ended when his granddaughter, the late Sarita Kenedy East, who had created the John G. and Marie Stella Kenedy Memorial Foundation, named for her parents, upped and died abruptly from cancer in 1961 BEFORE she could fire those she had initially appointed as foundation trustees (a pack of attorneys and bankers headed by the Roman Catholic bishop of Corpus Christi) to be replaced, with a codicil to her will, AND to put her fortune, the Kenedy wealth, into the hands of Trappist lay brother, Leo Gregory, her spiritual mentor, and a very wealthy New York Catholic, Peter Grace, the son of W.R. Grace, another super rich person.
Hmmmmmm! The preceding sentence exceeded 100 words, with some abbreviations.
Let the reader beware! What follows becomes even more complicated, compounded, and complex. Maybe I should forget the topic?
But, as I initially proposed, this has to do with the WAY of CONTEMPLATION.
Let me state, frankly, where I think this is all going to end up: with a golden nugget - that all men (and women) are thieves needing DIVINE redemption, the sole purpose of the Incarnation of Jesus Christ and His brutal and bloody Sacrifice upon the Cross of Calvary 2000 years in the past.
Soooooo . . . . . I will proceed.
Let me remind you of my post on the final day of November: "WE ALL NEED TO GET BEYOND OURSELVES. The problem is within our own hearts and minds. Let us pray for enlightenment from the Holy Spirit. Let us seek the Spirit while He may be found. Let us renounce our own wills and seek the Will of Christ."
We all NEED the higher counsciousness of Christ - the perfect model of self-giving, of living (and dying) for the OTHER person!
In a word, we all NEED to stop being thieves! O YES! That's what I said: "thieves!"
Oh! So you don't think you are a thief! Apply yourself to contemplation, my friend. I'll let you figure out your own criminal methodology!
But back to my new correspondent from Brownsville. He was complaining that Mifflin Kenedy "stole" the land he amassed into the Kenedy fortune from his forebear. How crude of Mifflin!
But "contemplation" caused me to ask myself: Where did my friend's forebear GET the land to begin with. I was told the King of Spain had given it to him in a Land Grant.
But where did the King of Spain obtain the land? You guessed it! He stole the land, with help from the Conquistadores, from the "pagan" natives who roamed the territory before Europeans had crossed the sea to "discover" the so-called New World, led by that Sephardic Jew, Christopher Columbus. (Yes! The New World was "discovered" by a Jew - the theft of the Western Hemisphere was so ignominiously begun!)
And it all has gone downhill from 1492!
My friend down in Brownsville has gone to a lot of trouble searching the records to trace how Mifflin Kenedy ripped off the land from his ancestor. Nothing totally conclusive, mind you, because Mifflin was skilled in concealing his crimes. He had a shrewd attorney, too! (If you can, check out the article by Elmer Sierra in the current issue of the Journal of South Texas History.)
And my Hispanic friend pointed out to me that Anglos have been notorious for persecuting Latinos since Sam Houston whipped Santa Anna on what has become the Houston ship channel. (I won't point out that retired U.S. Army General Marc Anthony Cisneros, a Hispanic from Premont, outside of Alice, who claims to be a fifth generation Texan, has not done so poorly - collecting hundreds of thousands of dollars in salary as the executive director of the John G. and Marie Stella Kenedy Memorial Foundation.)
But back to Mifflin Kenedy. From starting up the Brownsville-to-Corpus Christi stage coach line which linked his boat on the Rio Grande, "Captain" Kenedy began acquiring land upon which to raise horses and range cattle. Mexicans were given the choice: "Sell me your land cheap OR I will buy it from your widow!" Within a matter of a few years, Mifflin was the largest owner of land north of the Rio Grande and south of the King Ranch. It is a fact that the name Kenedy (with only a single "n") is also the name of the county.
Whatever!
Well, a reader is already weary of this tale. I'll try to briefly sum up. Kenedy married a Hispanic woman. So Sarita had part-Mexican blood in her veins. The complaint about Anglos stealing property goes only so far.
Cheating is a tradition in South Texas, as it is elsewhere. Hence, contemplation finds its fruit NOT in learning about things, blissfully celestial, or horridly temporal, BUT in intercessory prayer: "O my Jesus, forgive us our sins. Save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls to heaven, especially those most in need of Your mercy! Amen!"
This is where I want to come in to the story of the crimes, past and present, of the Kenedy family and the John G. and Marie Stella Kenedy Memorial Foundation, the slush fund of the Roman Catholic dioceses of Texas.
I, with anyone who wants to join up with the Contemplative Community of the Blessed Mother, intend to pray for forgiveness for all of us! And, maybe, we all will repent and live new lives, serving one another rather than ourselves - with higher consciousness.
More later!
Thursday, December 01:
Welcome to December! This is my birthday month. I will be 77 years old on the 27th day of December. My! My!
I'm going to reveal, ahead of time, before I blow out the candles on my birthday cake, my birthday wish!
Ready? My wish is for the Contemplative Community of the Blessed Mother to gain members, besides myself.
"Lord, only two or three need gather in Your Name to give birth to the community to honor your mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Blesséd Mother. Let it happen! Amen!"
The Contemplative Community of the Blesséd Mother, in addition to intercessory prayer, also has as its intention and 'calling' to maintain the 'Ralph Ransom Reading Room, for the development of higher consciousness.'
I know this is quite a wish! But it is backed up by the double SEVEN. SEVEN is a special, holy number.
"So, Lord: Seventy times seven on the twenty-seventh! I ask this special wish! Amen!"
Anyone can read at the link below about the concept of
The Contemplative Community
of the Blesséd Mother
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Brother Tony Hearn CBM
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(Link To Comments from November 2011)
Return to Tony's Journal
Email To Brother Tony Hearn CBM
© 2011 by Brother Tony Hearn CBM
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