RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,372
(where am I going, where have I been, part 2)
Integrating myself into this newer world
eventually became easy. As I said, my best
way in was found to be through the 'drama
and plays' department, which the seminary
politely called 'Dramatics,' and which was
the most informal, and mostly self-ruled,
of the departments. In One of those years
we got a priest/brother in, from NYC. He
was as gay as a blade, and it was obvious,
but he had the collar and the robe and all
those items that attested to his rank, and
nothing was thought of it. He was of the
more worldly ilk, and also had 'modern'
Greenwich Village ideas, kind of a 'West
Side Story' in religious garb. He wanted
to stage a Passion Play (a yearly Easter
season offering, very popular) wherein
the Christ character gets crucified on a
chain-link fence, in an alley or outdoor
basketball sort of court, and the violence
and 'Christian' rivalries were between
gangs instead of sects of Jews and
Romans. It made about as much sense
as balancing a train on an egg, but I
suppose it could have worked, if
written right and with a budget that
made it worth doing...No matter,
because nothing ever came of that
idea, though there were plenty
of others. Can't recall, though I think
his name was Alexander Korff, brother
or father as title. You kind of had to be
there to get the gist of what all this was
about. This entire 'Drama' thing had
nothing to do, rightfully, with the seminary
seminary teachings, or school doctrine. It
was all out on its own and the problem was
that we all over-enthused on it and kept
coming up with more and more distant
plays and projects to work on, as if we
were a combined Eugene Ionesco. Just
more of the 'artificial' stuff again. It was
something to do, something by which,
at least, to forge a newer self-identity
that made some sense for each of us. I
always did guess that was what this
'adolescence' thing was meant to be
about anyway, though this seemed
about the worse place for it.
-
By the way, since the time of Alexander
Korff, I've seen that type of persona a
hundred times. There's a Christopher
Street quality that came through strongly.
I was not aware of it at the time, but later
saw his character replicated a lot, way before
the days of any Stonewall or Gay Rights
forums. But it opened my eyes to a curly,
other, side of Manhood patterns. Still, alas,
no girls - but hasn't that always been the
Catholic Church's one brittle problem?
-
The whole religion thing anyway was where
I got tripped up - this entire Catholic Church
mantle of doctrine, beliefs, enforcement, rules,
strictures and procedure meant so little to me,
but I was stuck in the center of it. Very hard to
take. Chapel and mass, three times a day. All
those obligation days and special church services
for this or that feast or celebration. Feast of
Saint Umbert, patron saint of the pointed
pencil; you get the idea. Lenten times were
the worst - trying to eat a meal, in silence,
while one of 'us' read aloud, from a dais, to
everyone, from 'The Lives Of the Saints.' This
was a sanctioned Catholic book ('Imprimatur'),
and it was patently ridiculous. We had to sit
there and try to eat while listening to the
tale of St, Wormhole the Incredible, who was
able to levitate wine goblets, after praying
solidly for 3 hours, by thinking of the crucified
Christ's wounds. And not only that, he once
stayed awake for 9 weeks while praying,
unaware of his place or surroundings. The
female saints were the worst : they were
presented as passive and absolute women
who were as primitive as they were pious.
There was at least one of these stories per day.
That, combined with the penny-ante miracles
ascribed to each saint (Hey, Wormhole, can
you make that eagle fly backwards?), was
part of the basis of the supposed faith we'd
be pushing, in supposed suburban churches
with nice Bingo Halls. I, myself, just couldn't
wait.
-
The religious aspect of all this, the doctrinal
part, was dismal. The supposed 'Old Testament'
was never touched upon, nor read from. All
we were ever given to revere, besides the
church body itself - all that harried Roman
Curia stuff, omitting of course, the amassed
gold and riches and holdings that the 'Vatican'
kept to itself - was this shining, miracle
character through whom our personal souls
and salvations were saved or lost? It was a
crying shame. Catholics the world over were
being taught to ignore the common and the
everyday, the mundane aspects of living,
and they were led instead to a reverence for
the facetious, incredible, based-on-fantasy,
retelling of Gospel miracle stories ; people
cured by touch, rising from the dead, water
turned into wine, 5 fishes, feeding thousands.
People thought nothing of it, life itself, as
presented to them, was a boring interim
treadmill between life and death, and the
only reverence given was to the fantastic.
That, my friends, is a 'normal psychosis.'
-
It dawned on me, at about age 14, that
this was all - this miracle stuff - a situation
where it was shown that with the correct
posturing and admonitions, people can be
made - through psychological means - to
believe most anything. A crowded field of hungry
people and 5 fish, or whatever it was, can be
frenzied up and manipulated into being
convinced that the tiniest scrap of food or
fish satisfied their hunger. That the crap you
were made to drink 'sure do taste like wine!'
Without a cork, it's all a crock.
[PART 3, next chapter]
No comments:
Post a Comment