Asking Mister Saint Anthony To Help Me Find Myself

Forget-Me-Not

Saint Anthony by Raphael, circa 1502

After a trip to Mexico, my sister became enamored of Saint Anthony. This came as a surprise growing up in a family that made a point not to discuss religion at all. Outside of our immediate family though, everyone else I was related to was religious. They were either Church of England, Episcopalian (basically C of E), or Jewish converts to Christian Science, or, like my father, Agnostic. "Leaving the door open" he would on the rare occasion say with a wry smile. I had one English aunt who belonged to both the Catholic Church and the Episcopalian Church, something that came as a surprise to both her priests when she passed away and we organized a duo church funeral for her this last July. As far as I know she was the only Catholic in my family. Due to my unusual, Anglo American, deliberately non-religious upbringing, I therefore had no idea who Saint Anthony was. 

It turns out, for those of you who might not know, this Saint is the patron Saint of lost and stolen articles, a very practical Saint to become friends with (for someone like me who lose things with ever alarming frequency). If you get to know Saint Anthony, and I highly recommend you do, you will soon consider yourself extremely fortunate. 

The first time I lost something and I now forget what, my sister instructed me to ask Saint Anthony to help me find it. I wondered if she had lost her mind. She insisted, I raised my eyebrows and bit my lower lip, thought what the heck, and gave it a try. Little did I ever imagine he would become one of my dearest friends.

A few weeks ago I lost a set of every day Very Important Keys, containing my house key, my most important car key that also opens the boot of the car, the post office box key, the key to my 95-year-old auntie’s house, and that of my daughter’s flat, the sole key to my storage unit as I have recently moved, and there were a few other keys besides that I actually forget what they open but are significantly important for me to carry at all times. I only discovered this fact when I got home and was locked out of my house. By this time all the shops where I had previously been were closed.  How one loses a set of keys as important as these is irrelevant.

And then I began to cry. Not because of the lost keys, but because I felt and have been feeling so lost myself. I have been experiencing an unsettled-ness and ill at ease-ness, uncertain about where I am supposed to be and what I am meant to be doing - other than making tea cozies and pocket scarves and trying, in my own small way, to make a difference to the ever increasing harsher side of the world we live in. I donate art and help as much as I can with the Creative Collective For Refugee Relief but know it is one grain of sand in a very sad sea where a great many people are lost in ways I really cannot imagine. "Get a grip!" I said to myself, putting some perspective on my privileged feelings.

Lest I forget-me-not

I have spoken about memory before at Bluebell and the Fox, and what a trickster she can be! In my head I was sure those keys were one place when in fact they were elsewhere.

The next day I traced my steps and within the hour I had found my keys. I hugged them and thanked Saint Anthony with all my heart. I had taken for granted how important keys are. Without them you are shut out from places that even belong to yourself.

And then... later that night I thought perhaps I needed to ask Saint Anthony where had I gone? That I had lost myself in all the sadness I have been feeling, in all the out of place-ness I have been experiencing, a hovering grief engulfing me as though it were life, all of life that I am grieving for. One huge sense of loss is how I have felt and with it loneliness, in a funny almost comforting sort of way, a bit like how I feel when I have flu, if that makes any sense. I don’t often feel lonely, but right now I feel very much so and most of all it is because I have temporarily lost my self. I then knew I had to ask lost self how to find my other self. Immediate action was required to take care of this, and no one better than to put my faith in, much less my own disappearance, than into the lap of my beloved Saint A. And when I find myself perhaps I will be in an even better place to help others whose needs far exceed my own. That "giving back" and giving anyway is vital to my own sense of well-being-ness. So I wrote Anthony a letter in the quiet of the night, with the breeze gently caressing the wind chimes, the scent of pine whispering I am less alone than I think.

Dear Mister Saint Anthony,

I am asking you to help me find my self and help me to put me on my own right path. (I hear his voice immediately, telling me "You are on the path already you silly goose. Be patient!") Where did I go, Mister Saint Anthony? Why does the world feel so different? Did I fall out of my own pocket? Whatever foolish thing I did that has caused this occurrence, I am asking you to help me put me back inside of whatever it is I think of as my being. Is there a different Saint I need to turn to for the sadness in my heart? I suspect it is an accumulation of grief that is more than losing people I love as I seem to profoundly feel the suffering of others and it all feels like quite a lot for one person to bear. I know my Angels are there, as my friend, Simon has helped me become aware of, or my Spirit Guides, as my friend Katie describes them yet they are awfully quiet right now. I can't forget Lyn, another very special healer psychic friend you must know, who loves the world of Saints and who looked for a book about you for me. And I even have a friend named David, in Portsmouth, England, who reminds me a lot of you! There must be a reason that I am meant to feel and experience this suffering, do I need to know why? Or should I just let it be, perhaps? To sit with the uncomfortableness of it all for a while is truly uncomfortable but I can handle that, knowing it will pass, like the clouds pass in the sky, someone dear to me reminds me (and that is one small comfort).

"Meditation will lead you to yourself. The answers are all there inside you, where they have always been" Saint Anthony reminded me while I was writing to him. I have experienced that Saints, Angels and Spirit Guides can act instantly.

And if there is anything I can do for you Mr. Saint Anthony, please do not hesitate to ask, for your wish is my command. Thank you again for helping me find the lost keys. I feel quite confident, given your amazing track record that you will help me. 

And then he said to me a few days later, out of the blue, "Look at it this way. You had to let go of something very big even though right now you have not been aware of this fact. There are also many changes occurring all at once... There is always a void when something vanishes, even something you don't need to carry any longer. Voids need to be filled but I must caution you not to be too hasty in filling it. Take your time, all the time you need, and one day soon you will realize there no longer is a void at all. Continue to be true to yourself, that is all I ask and all I can tell you right now."

I've got to love the guy! He comes to my rescue like no one else.

I remind myself of the Bigger Picture: I am and will always be the center of my Universe

fin

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saint |sānt|

noun

1 a person acknowledged as holy or virtuous and typically regarded as being in heaven after death.

• (in the Catholic and Orthodox Churches) a person formally recognized or canonized by the Church after death, who may be the object of veneration and prayers for intercession.

• a person who is admired or venerated because of their virtue: he was considered a living saint by recipients of his generosity.

• (in or alluding to biblical use) a Christian believer.

• (Saint)a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints; a Mormon.

2 (Saint)(abbr.: St. or S.)used in titles of religious saints: the epistles of Saint Paul | St. John's Church.

• used in place names or other dedications: St. Louis | St. Lawrence River.

verb [ with obj. ]

formally recognize as a saint; canonize.

~Computer dictionary

The Anomaly of Memory

A book I love

Memory is so seductive, elusive, uncanny, frustrating, useful, amazing, deceptive, unreliable (and yet essential. We can't live without it). And then it haunts us when we sleep, so it is cautionary, foreboding, forthcoming and forecasting, suspicious, unavoidable, insistent, maddening, manipulative, imaginative, frightening and soothing, provocative, satisfying and so much more.

As a P
      T
       S
        D sufferer, (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), I can safely say I have a love hate relationship with my own memory. When PTSD kicks in its hard to tame not only the trigger memory but everything else of a challenging nature, a kind of tail spin mind racing at 100 mph. The flip side is that I am mostly extremely sensitive to others, a kind of hyper awareness that is generally helpful (and not always).

In a more general day to day existence, I've come to the conclusion that open-mindedness to my own error factor is useful. I think I have remembered something correctly but I haven't. Like... Here's a hypothetical example of something I am perfectly capable of: I left my keys on the table. They are no where to be found. I might have blamed someone I love for moving them (sorry Melissa). In the end, I discover I left them under a pile of laundry on an armchair. Some people have a very hard time accepting that memory has tricked them and they are wrong about facts they thought were correct. I used to be one of those people. But I've learned my lessons. I'm often wrong (and that's OK), though more often than wrong I am right (I think). I am toying with the idea of joining the tattoo circuit. Really its a fantasy. I want a wristwatch tattooed on my left wrist, so that I always know exactly what time it is.

My clock is always right

For a really comprehensive, fascinating exploration into the study of memory, The Art of Memory (photo at the top of this entry), is the book to read. It's nothing less than extraordinary. Frances Yates (1899-1981), spent her life researching esoteric history, teaching at the Warburg Institute in London. I discovered her through researching the life of the Renaissance philosopher, astrologer, mathematician and Dominican friar, Giordano Bruno and his incredible memory boxes. This is a fantastic book that will lead you on a never ending journey of discovery. Her equally brilliant sister was responsible for The Globe Theatre's eventual reconstruction.

Fin

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a•nom•a•ly |əˈnäməlē|

noun ( pl. -lies)

1 something that deviates from what is standard, normal, or expected : there are a number of anomalies in the present system | a legal anomaly | [with clause ] the apparent anomaly that those who produced the wealth were the poorest | the position abounds in anomaly.

2 Astronomy the angular distance of a planet or satellite from its last perihelion or perigee.

ORIGIN late 16th cent.: via Latin from Greek anōmalia, from anōmalos (see anomalous ).

mem•or•y |ˈmem(ə)rē|

noun ( pl. -ries)

1 a person's power to remember things : I've a great memory for faces | my grandmother is losing her memory.

• the power of the mind to remember things : the brain regions responsible for memory.

• the mind regarded as a store of things remembered : he searched his memory frantically for an answer.

• the capacity of a substance to return to a previous state or condition after having been altered or deformed. See also shape memory .

2 something remembered from the past; a recollection : one of my earliest memories is of sitting on his knee | the mind can bury all memory of traumatic abuse.

• the remembering or recollection of a dead person, esp. one who was popular or respected : clubs devoted to the memory of Sherlock Holmes.

• the length of time over which people continue to remember a person or event : the worst slump in recent memory.

3 the part of a computer in which data or program instructions can be stored for retrieval.

• capacity for storing information in this way : the module provides 16Mb of memory.

PHRASES

from memory without reading or referring to notes : each child was required to recite a verse from memory.

in memory of intended to remind people of, esp. to honor a dead person.

take a trip (or walk) down memory lane deliberately recall pleasant or sentimental memories.

ORIGIN Middle English : from Old French memorie, from Latin memoria, from memor ‘mindful, remembering.’