Thursday, August 25, 2011

7. What's In A Name?


What a wonderful invention is the Internet.  In addition to this blog, I’m trying to create a web page for the monastery so we can ask for donations.  Just the like the Big Boy Pastors who fill the airwaves and the worldwide webspace begging for money.  Do we take charity?  Of course!  We’re mendicant monks.  That’s how we’re supposed to live, on the charity of others.  For all I know, the monks invented Purgatory so you could avoid it by sending us money!  I’m kidding. I think.

As a cloistered monk, I should NOT be on the computer, but I surf the World Wide Web and find such a massive amount of information that I am truly amazed it can all be contained in man-made systems.  My PC here in the cellar is like a crystal ball where I can see anything that Google allows me to find.  I began the blog with trepidation.  Not just because my abbot would be displeased, but while confession is good for the soul, talking about oneself can bring feelings of conceit and self centeredness.  A monk is supposed to have neither of these traits.  But I’m a 67 year old man and I’m convinced that my faults are here to stay.  I hope for them to be forgiven, because it’s too late to believe they will be removed.  I no longer pray for them to evaporate in some great cloud of holiness.  I pray instead that my shortcomings won’t hurt others.  It’s the best I can do.

Our monastery is not much of a holy temple.  It’s quite run down and in need of maintenance that we can’t afford.  Our home’s official name is Our Lady’s Monastery at West Saugerties.  We call it The Craphole.  Eleven guys living in the cramped space up on the second floor behind the old trophy room …. well, you can just imagine what it looks like.  I don’t need to be descriptive;  you can guess the condition of  a mountain retreat that is subject to the rigors of northern winters and never receives regular maintenance or repairs.  Except for the toilets, of course.  We know what’s important.  

Where was I?  My name is Brother Saint Jessica, but I’m most often called Jesse.  We are part of The Order of the Brothers of the Holy Varlet, based in Fermoy, County Cork, Ireland.   Our tradition is to take the name of a female saint.  I suppose our founders hoped women’s names would lower our testosterone … no comment.  We never use our birth names or any other male name.  But, away from the Abbot's hearing, we often call each other by a masculine-ized nicknames.   Brother Saint Helen is called Raiser (for hell raiser) and Brother Saint Catherine is simply Cat.  Brother Saint Theresa is Bear, because he’s a huge guy, but most often he’s called Terd, from his habit of shouting “Bastard!” when he hits his thumb with a hammer.   In fact each of us probably has two or three  names that have arisen over the many years we’ve lived together.  My other nickname is Ace, because once when a few of us were in a restaurant years ago, a pretty waitress told me she'd like to go out with me.  We were in our robes!  But nothing stops a determined woman, I guess.

By the way, I’ll bet you don’t know who St. Jessica was, do you?  Look it up.  I really should get off this damned computer.  Besides, the wi-fi signal I’m using is getting weaker.  It’s from a neighbor down the road who was too lazy to put a security code on his router.

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