I am still doing it tough. I guess its a road I have to walk alone but I am finding it enormously difficult. I am miles from town without a car. Well, I have a car but am not fit to drive it yet. I am home alone in this house we shared – almost all day every day and every night.
Me and the ghosts are suffering. The death was bad enough. Then the illness and now the prolonged isolation and lack of personal power, The weather has turned cool and ugly again. A person could go mad like this.
My head is not making the decisions that need making and I am often overwhelmed. I need to do something to change this but I don’t seem to be able to do so.
I don’t think the pain and sickness are helping any, either. All I have to do is survive this period and not pick up. One day – no matter how pointless it seems. Then the next. Impress noone. Achieve nothing. It don’t matter.
I surely just cannot cheer up. Nor can I work out what to do next. Don’t try to help anyone or anything. Just don’t pick up. Keep breathing. Do things you like doing. No apologies. Be angry if you need to be. You know you can’t lean on any person, place or thing. It doesn’t work. And it doesn’t matter. No human can save me now.
Oh, Iz. This is BAD. All my bloods and things are coming in pretty bad. And I am stuck here.
Abba Peter, the disciple of Abba Lot, said, One day when I was in Abba Agathon’s cell a brother came in and said to him, “I want to live with the brethren; tell me how to dwell with them.” The old man answered him, “All the days of your life keep the frame of mind of the stranger which you have on the first day you join them, so as not to become too familiar with them.” The Abba Macarius asked, “And what does this familiarity produce?” the old man replied, “It is like a strong, burning wind, each time it arises everything flies swept before it, and it destroys the fruit of the trees.” So Abba Macarius said, “Is speaking too freely really as bad as all that?” Abba Agathon said, “No passion is as worse than an uncontrolled tongue, because it is the mother of all the passions.” Accordingly the good workman should not use it, even as he is living as a solitary in the cell. I know a brother who spent a long time in his cell using a small bed who said, “I should have left my cell without making use of that small bed if no one had told me it was there.” It is the hard-working Monk who is a warrior.
The brethren also asked Abba Agathon “Amongst all good works, which is the virtue which requires the greatest effort?” He answered “Forgive me, but I think there is no labour greater than that of prayer to God. For every time a man wants to pray, his enemies, the demons, want to prevent him. For they know that it is only by turning him from prayer that they can hinder his journey. What ever good work a man undertakes, if he perseveres in it, he will attain rest. But prayer is warfare to the last breath.