31. A Host of Angels

My guilt is mounting. How can I have possibly told all about my Brothers, their little faults, their big faults, my guarded dislike of Agnes, my abbot, and all on the World Wide Web! From the simple analytical service provided by the Blog computers, I mistakenly thought I had only a dozen regular readers from 3 or 4 states in the U.S. and an occasional reader from (of all places) The Kingdom of Tonga in the Pacific. I now realize I was not reading this report correctly. But in any event, I feel terrible sharing the information and my feelings with the great number of individuals reading the blog. On the other hand, I’ve come to realize that the Internet is really quite anonymous, even if you list your name and address as I did. And that’s because I didn’t think anyone believed me or was convinced they were reading a real person’s diary about a life in a real place!

Lord, I am an awful sinner.  First I consider leaving my vocation, then I entertain inappropriate thoughts about women,  then I start a Tell-All blog on the Internet, blabbing the business of my brothers to the universe.

I’ve learned to read the statistics for this blog and there are quite a few of you reading it.   It is so important to me that someone is listening when I write of the  fears I cannot always share with my brothers.  I can speak to them about some matters that plumb the very depths of my soul, but not my worries for our future, nor about the cross currents of anger and resentment I am beginning to see. To speak of these would be sewing seeds of  distrust, as well as propagating my fears.  That would be grossly unfair to my Brothers.

And yet I must share my worries and thoughts with other human beings who are listening.  As I was dropping off to sleep last night it occurred to me that I never worry about what I tell the Heavenly Host in my prayers.  In the first place He knows everything.  Second, he won’t ever  tell anyone.  My next thought was …. neither will you, my Internet Host of  Human Angels!   Why would you tell?  And what if you did?  Who would care?  Only my brothers.  And they will never meet you, nor know that you know.   And you will never tell them.  And I am free to write of those things that keep me in agony without heaping my worries upon my brothers. Does that rationale sound too convenient?

Beautiful Song - Beautiful Woman.  
Crystal Gale - Talking In Your Sleep