MY DAILY SHARE
SHARE-- that now ubiquitous word, is really such an all-embracing word. It denotes giving and taking, opening up to other human beings as well as taking in what they may offer and sharing it with others. We take part in the game of life and we demand that we get a fair share of what we put in terms of money, time, effort, or whatever resources we contribute to whatever communal endeavor we have chosen to participate in. A piece of a whole, a fragment, an allotment dispensed to all participants in a shared undertaking. In the whole spectrum of life, one asks for his/her share within the context of freedom, fairness and justice. One may share, in a spirit of generosity and unselfishness, one's plate of food, one's talent, one's resources. The capitalist shares the profits of the day with his workers: that's only fair and just. And in an imitation of Christ who shares the kingdom of God with the whole of the human race, the prophets and the faithful work to spread the Word that is meant to be shared by all.
What we may want to share can be an infinity of stuff, from the material to the abstract, from the emotional to the spiritual. from the traditions to our lasting values, from the rational to the, alas, the irrational. For we can have the good and the bad in our human nature, and in casting out our demons, we share consciously or unconsciously, our despair, our bitterness, failings, our pains--all that darkness of the soul. A.y-y, there's the rub. Who wants to even listen to all that, much less share? How many times has one heard the listener say "I don't want to hear about that," when trying to unburden himself to another, ? Or, "I have enough problems of my own"? Was it Anton Chekhov or Leo Tolstoy who wrote in his stories about the apathy of some people in the face of tragedy? I can't remember now the title, but there is this story of a cab driver telling his passenger about his son who just died and the passenger impatiently just tells him to hurry in his driving. How sad! We watch or read Shakespearean tragedies, the Greek plays and other plays or novels of tragedies. Who among us does not experience catharsis?
Isn't it more tragic than the tragedy being viewed when the viewer cannot feel a cathartic purging of emotions, of spirit? The truth is that it is in our sharing the pains of others that we develop our sense of compassion. It is in our ability to commiserate that we ennoble our own sense of humanness. How empty is the soul without anything good to share. How utterly impoverished is one unwilling to give of himself to others or unwilling to give up something for others. We, after all, are kins to one another. We are humanity: peoples chained together in a cadena de amor, as it should be.
What we may want to share can be an infinity of stuff, from the material to the abstract, from the emotional to the spiritual. from the traditions to our lasting values, from the rational to the, alas, the irrational. For we can have the good and the bad in our human nature, and in casting out our demons, we share consciously or unconsciously, our despair, our bitterness, failings, our pains--all that darkness of the soul. A.y-y, there's the rub. Who wants to even listen to all that, much less share? How many times has one heard the listener say "I don't want to hear about that," when trying to unburden himself to another, ? Or, "I have enough problems of my own"? Was it Anton Chekhov or Leo Tolstoy who wrote in his stories about the apathy of some people in the face of tragedy? I can't remember now the title, but there is this story of a cab driver telling his passenger about his son who just died and the passenger impatiently just tells him to hurry in his driving. How sad! We watch or read Shakespearean tragedies, the Greek plays and other plays or novels of tragedies. Who among us does not experience catharsis?
Isn't it more tragic than the tragedy being viewed when the viewer cannot feel a cathartic purging of emotions, of spirit? The truth is that it is in our sharing the pains of others that we develop our sense of compassion. It is in our ability to commiserate that we ennoble our own sense of humanness. How empty is the soul without anything good to share. How utterly impoverished is one unwilling to give of himself to others or unwilling to give up something for others. We, after all, are kins to one another. We are humanity: peoples chained together in a cadena de amor, as it should be.
It is in the spirit of sharing that this blog will be. For in putting into words my thoughts and feelings, perhaps, some readers will find kinship that can be nurtured into something positive, and some of it pursued for an enrichment of life and on to more productive ends of lasting values. My thoughts may not be welcomed by some, they may clash with other readers' opinions, beliefs, values, even faith. That's how we all are: different from one another; each with differing personality, each a product of a different culture, family, influence, education: each is indeed unique... But share we will, nevertheless, through stories, poetry, narration, be it of the profound, the tragic, the mundane or the comic side of life.
Each has a life story to tell, opinions, knowledge, information, feelings, thoughts, ideas... Share your story, we are urged; share your values, your beliefs, your faith. This last, especially, is not one meant to be just for oneself. You don't light a candle and keep it under a bushel.You let it shine for others, too. So, let us begin while the mind is teeming with ideas still and the soul burning with love. Let us dust old publications from the cobwebs of antiquity. For life is brief and the candle might snuff out anytime. #
- - Blanca Datuin (c) 2010
St. Louis Of France
Louis was born on April 25, 1214. His father was King Louis VIII of France and his mother was Queen Blanche. The story is told that when Prince Louis was small, his mother hugged him tightly. She said, "I love you, my dear son, as much as a mother can love her child. But I would rather see you dead at my feet than ever to have you commit a mortal sin." Louis never forgot those words. He grew to cherish his Catholic faith and his upbringing. When he was twelve, his father died and he became the king. Queen Blanche ruled until her son was twenty-one. Louis became a remarkable king. He married Margaret, the daughter of a count with whom he had eleven children. A good husband and father he proved himself to be as well as a loving son to his mother, Queen Blanche, lived, to whom he showed full respect. Busy as he was, the king found time for daily Mass and the recitation of the Divine Office. He was a Third Order Franciscan and lived a simple lifestyle. Generous and fair, he ruled his people with wisdom, charity and true Christian principles. There was no separation between what he believed as a Catholic and how he lived. He knew how to settle arguments and disputes. He listened to the poor and the underprivileged. He had time for everybody, not just the rich and influential. He supported Catholic education and built monasteries. The historian, Joinville, wrote a biography of St. Louis. He recalls that he was twenty-two years in the king's service. He was daily in the king's company. And he could say that he never heard King Louis swear or use any kind of profanity in all those years. Nor did the king permit bad language in his castle. St. Louis felt an urgent obligation to help the suffering Christians in the Holy Land. He wanted to be part of the Crusades. Twice he led an army against the Turks. The first time, he was taken prisoner. But even in jail, he behaved as a true Christian knight. He was unafraid and noble in all his ways. He was freed and returned to take care of his kingdom in France. Yet as soon as he could, he started back to fight the enemies of the faith again. On the way, however, this greatly loved king contracted typhoid fever. A few hours before he died, he prayed, "Lord, I will enter into your house, worship in your holy temple, and give glory to your name." St. Louis died on August 25, 1270. He was fifty-six years old. He was proclaimed a saint by Pope Boniface VIII in 1297. "Be kindhearted to the poor, the unfortunate and the afflicted. Give them as much help and consolation as you can."-St. Louis
What's in a Name?
We begin with a story that seems incredible in these times of skepticism and unbeliefs: the life story of a remarkable saint whose mother I was named after, except that when it was found to be too Frenchy, it was changed to Blanca. I used to have some acquaintance who used to call me Blanche which I did not respond well to for the same reason my parents balked at the idea of calling me that though they found it in their religious calendar at the time of my birth without really knowing St. Blanche life.
I first read about the story of Queen Blanche when I was a child of ten. How providential that on the eve of my birthday this year, the life of her son, St. Louis IX, would appear on the sidebar of my email, reminding me of this extraordinary mother who produced two saints: Blessed Isabelle and St. Louis of France. Her words, however, reverberates: what a tall order for her own self! But how remarkable her son turned out to be. Could such a mother wishing her son rather dead than seeing him commit mortal sin really have existed? And could such good governance and religion, as Louis IX had shown mix, really happen in today's times? It's a dream devoutly to be wished!
- Aug. 26, 2010
St. Louis Of France
Louis was born on April 25, 1214. His father was King Louis VIII of France and his mother was Queen Blanche. The story is told that when Prince Louis was small, his mother hugged him tightly. She said, "I love you, my dear son, as much as a mother can love her child. But I would rather see you dead at my feet than ever to have you commit a mortal sin." Louis never forgot those words. He grew to cherish his Catholic faith and his upbringing. When he was twelve, his father died and he became the king. Queen Blanche ruled until her son was twenty-one. Louis became a remarkable king. He married Margaret, the daughter of a count with whom he had eleven children. A good husband and father he proved himself to be as well as a loving son to his mother, Queen Blanche, lived, to whom he showed full respect. Busy as he was, the king found time for daily Mass and the recitation of the Divine Office. He was a Third Order Franciscan and lived a simple lifestyle. Generous and fair, he ruled his people with wisdom, charity and true Christian principles. There was no separation between what he believed as a Catholic and how he lived. He knew how to settle arguments and disputes. He listened to the poor and the underprivileged. He had time for everybody, not just the rich and influential. He supported Catholic education and built monasteries. The historian, Joinville, wrote a biography of St. Louis. He recalls that he was twenty-two years in the king's service. He was daily in the king's company. And he could say that he never heard King Louis swear or use any kind of profanity in all those years. Nor did the king permit bad language in his castle. St. Louis felt an urgent obligation to help the suffering Christians in the Holy Land. He wanted to be part of the Crusades. Twice he led an army against the Turks. The first time, he was taken prisoner. But even in jail, he behaved as a true Christian knight. He was unafraid and noble in all his ways. He was freed and returned to take care of his kingdom in France. Yet as soon as he could, he started back to fight the enemies of the faith again. On the way, however, this greatly loved king contracted typhoid fever. A few hours before he died, he prayed, "Lord, I will enter into your house, worship in your holy temple, and give glory to your name." St. Louis died on August 25, 1270. He was fifty-six years old. He was proclaimed a saint by Pope Boniface VIII in 1297. "Be kindhearted to the poor, the unfortunate and the afflicted. Give them as much help and consolation as you can."-St. Louis
