The Miracle of the Pot: A Mystic’s Journal October 30-1, 05

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The Miracle of the Pot: A Mystic’s Journal Entries October 30-31, 2005

Sunday, October 30
9:30 p.m.

Still sick. Cancelled meditation class last week.

Spoke to R. on the telephone. She had a double mastectomy last Thursday. She had contacted me before the operation and I told her that she would be fine. I was asking that the cancer be gone, gone, gone and never return. She thanked me in such a relieved and sweet voice that I was very touched. Then I inwardly asked that she have a miraculous recovery; no pain, no problems healing from the operation itself. When I spoke to her on the phone tonight - she said that following her operation she had not taken any painkillers; she said she hadn’t needed them. M. said: “How is that possible?”

I was with my friend Lauren the other night - she is the manager of the television studio where I sometimes produce television shows. We were at a restaurant, and after the meal I told her about the angels that saved our house from burning down. I can’t remember if I have already told this story in my Journal ... But it is a good tale, so I will risk repeating it.

A few years ago, I was boiling some water and vinegar on the stove and then I forgot about it. A small pot maybe three inches high and six inches across. When I last looked inside, there was perhaps an inch and a half of water and vinegar boiling away in the pot. I walked into town, did errands, walked home - I was gone a few hours. As I re-entered the kitchen I remembered the boiling water on the stove. I looked in the pot. There was about an inch of water and vinegar still bubbling away happily.

Lauren said: “That’s not possible”. I said: “I know. It was a miracle”. She repeated: “But that’s not possible.” I repeated: “I know. It was a miracle”. And it was.

Now I am so used to angels and miracles - I am not even very surprised when they turn up. Just very thankful.

Monday, October 31

An e-mail from Diana. Have I worked on the books. No, and I must. I have been sick on and off for weeks now. I think JF and I are passing the illness back and forth. One thing I have decided: I will finish writing the introduction and epilogue to Meetings with Angels and Other Divine Beings first.

A new stack of letters to answer, interesting envelopes franked with colorful foreign stamps ... Our new representative for the Living Rosary in Uganda wrote to say that he would meet with two of our Congolese members early next week, at the house of St. Francis of Assisi. He wrote: “We will meet on Monday at 11 a.m., at the border between Rwanda and Congo. This is what I am called to do without ease. Will leave Cyangugu with the early morning bus! It is the furthest part of Rwanda from Kigali.” A flurry of e-mails from all three parties; finally the plans all in place. Emmanuel wants to give these members many things, but first he must check to see if they are honest men, not just selling what we give them. A long, tiring journey for all three of them, on bad and dangerous roads filled with dust ... All converging on St. Francis on the frontier.

A monk from Togo writes to say he is studying for his exams, would we please pray for him. Our representative in Cameroun e-mailed to say that he would visit our member in prison at the end of next month; another hot, dust-filled and dangerous journey. Neither of our representatives speaks fluent French, so I must help with communications. Letters from priests and monks in Kinshasa, Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo) - they need everything and have many orphans. A member in Reunion asks for our prayers - their volcano is still acting up. Then a woman in Benin, asking for medals and prayer leaflets, scapulars - she is worried about her family. She also asks for her decade and mystery to say every day, she wants to join the Living Rosary. I have not received a letter from that poor woman living in Brooklyn since she moved back to Africa. I inwardly send her and her family and country prayers. Her last letter was pitiful: the ice and snow of New York ... and then someone broke into her car and stole almost everything she owned; she had just returned from a trip, visiting her relatives in Atlanta ... She let me into her heart and prayers, and yet I would not recognize her on the street, she never sent a photo. Have not heard back from the poor woman in England - they wanted to send her back to Africa, even though she could lose her life if she returned there. I think she was from the Congo. I send her prayers and angels as well. Our prisoner sent a photo, he looks well fed and is smiling; it must have been before he was incarcerated. When I spoke to Amnesty International about him, they advised me to do nothing, not to interfere - or things could become worse for him. He was working with the Pygmies in Cameroun. Another precious stack of lives and hearts, folded paper bringing new stories and lives into my own life and heart.