Everyone Loves Bob

Saturday, September 23, 2007

I don't have time to write a lengthy post because the dinner bell is going to ring soon, then after dinner, it's daily Vespers, which is like Mass on a diet for the Orthodox community.

Bob and I have been living it up at St. Isaac of Syria's monastery, here in Boscobel, located in a vale of nearly pristine land, untouched by civilization or the Ice Age. We've been here since Wednesday evening. What we thought would be a quaint one day visitation to a group of aesetics living an antiquated lifestyle, has turned out to be nothing such.

We've spent the rest of the time talking to people. Amazing stories. I won't share all of them because they are too numerous and because, like I said, dinner is in a short while. But they have been amazing. Extreme. Extreme is the word. The guy who started St. Isaac's-Fr. Simeon- was an extreme guy. He came to find Jesus while in Haight Ashbury in San Francisco, back in 1964. This is after being a practicing Hindu. This is after growing up Jewish in Chicago. Since founding St. Isaac's in 1986, this place has attracted the sort of extreme people Fr. Simeon was. Nearly everyone is a convert. Nearly everyone has a new name (Fr. Simeon's birth name is Alan), nearly everyone came from a place of despair or alienation. Many used alternative forms of self-medication. Furthermore, Bob and I came three months after two monks left, after nearly 11 years of commitment, for very personal reasons. One arrived, courageously and unexpectedly for the Consecration. At the same time, two young men have arrived, for wildly different reasons. Like I said, the stories have been good. Some day, hopefully soon, we'll tell them.

By the way, everyone loves Bob. Here's a representative scene: (Outside the chapel door is a toad, in the dirt. Bob and Andrew, a man three times Bob's age, look at the toad)

Bob: "Hey! Look what I found! Come here little guy,"

Andrew "Oh, a toad!"

Bob: "I love toads. I love nature."

Me, (in my head): Put that fucking reptile down.

Andrew: "It's great to hear young people still have an appreciation for nature."

Bob: "Well, I've always said, if you can't appreciate nature, you probably can't appreciate much."

Andrew: "You are wise, Bob."

Me (in my head): I hate toads. and nature. I like Led Zeppelin. And the Packers. I hate myself. Bob must die.

At times this week, I've gone so far as to compare my complicated feelings to those of Richard Dreyfuss from "What about Bob." I accused Bob, in an aggresive manner, of trying to make himself "look good" by being non-judgmental towards others. While at a monastery. While Bob sat in front of an Icon of Jesus Christ. I cried myself to sleep. I've concluded the only way to make this better is to contrive a method of saving Bob's life so he will forgive me for my wrongdoings. Please provide suggestions.

Tomorrow we leave St. Isaac's. Tears and hugs will abound. We're taking a day off to watch the Packer game. By we, I mean me. Bob doesn't like sports. He likes Buddhism and tree bark. After that, we head south. Or maybe North. We're either going to the Mississippi river or visiting a commune of anarchists called the Dreamtime Village, near La Crosse.

Until then, signing off.

P.S. Bob just came to tell me food is ready. He left his warm meal in the food trailer, to come find me. I don't care if he didn't bring a tent or cuts green beans more impressively in front of the kitchen staff than me. He's good people.

P.P.S. This turned out to be a long post after all. So sue me.