Falling asleep that first night in a dormitory, that I would later christen, "Pink Purgatory", was not easy. Dawn came early. It opened onto the day that I would be officially accepted into the order as a postulant.
Being a postulant was the first step, a holding tank of sorts, preparing the entrance, the postulant, for the religious life that lie ahead.
With little sleep, I rose early to join the community in praying The Angelus, The Divine Office/Morning Prayers and to celebrate the Eucharist, a morning trifecta of prayer. It all felt surreal. I half expected the colorful stain glass windows to drip off the walls and puddle on the floor in a thousand bits of light. My head felt heavy, full of the changes and the new rules brought within the last 24 hours. Anxiety wrapped around me like an evil second skin. Tears pooled just behind my eyes, desperately wanting to escape in a Niagara of regret.
I had knowingly and with full intent, walked right into the center of my greatest fears. Once in the center, I was overwhelmed. Surely, I must be crazy. This doubting of my sanity was to have no end. It's a doubt that grew until it swallowed me whole. Sanity, a distant island that I could never reach. Sanity lost became only a vague and broken memory.
My official acceptance into the order was marked by a simple ceremony in the Formation wing's Recreation Room. A simple, sterile room that attempted to resemble a real home but always fell tragically short of ever reaching its goal. The couches were uncomfortable. The TV used only for the news and then only 1/2 hour a day. The floor was too clean, too shiny to show that real people lived there. The bookcase was filled with older books crafted for spiritual reading and direction. We had to get permission before reading anything. A voracious and adventurous reader, I'd dived into Richard Brautigan, Tom Robbins and Kurt Vonnegut. Now, I had to ask to read old books by Bishop Sheen (before he became a Cardinal, and I'm not talking ball team.) This need to get permission to read had yet to be discovered on this morning but the pall cast on my life the previous day hinted at trouble ahead. The walls seemed to sigh, betraying a deep and troubling sadness.
A terrified postulant knelt below a plump Mother General. (Mother General was the highest rank in our little army of nuns.) At first glance, I thought she resembled the Grand Poobah from "The Flintstones." My opinion never changed. Behind her back, I often called her Grand Poobah and Queen Bee. Mother or Sister F. bustled in slightly behind schedule and a bit breathless. She oozed a sickening, fake sweetness like old asphalt oozes road tar on a hot summer day. Our mutual dislike was almost instantaneous. Her eyes betrayed her as she searched mine. We were both fakes and we were on to each other. Our pretense must remain hidden from the world. Immediately, we were a danger to each other.
After a brief prayer or two, I knelt at Sister F.'s feet and received a simple silver crucifix. I would wear this symbol of religious life from that day forward, for better and for worse. At the conclusion of this ritual, hugs were dispensed. Still kneeling, I awkwardly hugged Sister F's knees and immediately felt I had committed an unforgiven faux pas. The die was cast. From that moment on, Sister F and I were locked in an odd conflict, neither of us fully understood. I could only pretend to respect her and she could only pretend to vaguely tolerate me. On that day, I'm also sure she made up her mind to drive me out. (Lest, you think I'm paranoid, dear reader, just wait.)
An imperfect world lay behind me, one from which I longed to escape. Now, I ran into a world that held up a standard of perfection. Underneath this standard lurked political intrigue, power alliances, sexual alliances, blackmail, and more. Nothing had prepared me for what would soon reveal itself. On this day, a shadow covered the sun. I shudder when remembering the feeling that something had walked over my grave. Part of me would die within convent walls. This death was not a joyous mystical melting into the expanse called God. It was a painful, slow and agonizing death that saw the end of innocence and of hope.
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