Through the Veil

Sadness is usually uncomfortable. We like comfort. I have been avoiding grief and filling myself with distraction. But there comes a time when it will not be ignored. 

Sometimes it overflows.

Sometimes, I welcome it.

 Do you ever want to just sit in sadness? To embrace it, keep it close to you? Because it holds a truth, a truth you cannot always find in the empty smiles that adorn your façade.

Do you ever want to reach out and touch it? To do so would mean you stretched through the thinness of the veil.

In class at the Catechetical Institute we have been discussing something called anamnesis. In the context of the Mass, anamnesis is The High Point of Mass. It is after the Consecration, when the priest says, in persona Christi, “Do this in remembrance of me.” But the remembrance is more than just a recollection. An anamnesis is when the action of remembering any event
makes present that past event. It is how the Mass is one and the same sacrifice as Calvary.

I feel like I have anamnesis moments. Maybe not sacred ones, but ordinary moments. Certain smells and songs tear through the veil. Those small, inconsequential moments are the ones that make up a life. The ones that tell
the story of the human experience.

My brother would have loved the idea of anamnesis. I wish I could have talked with him about it.

I wish I would have talked with him about a lot of things.

I wish I could still talk to him.

The human experience is made up of so many small moments. Ones that you miss when you are living them. Ones that are incomprehensibly beautiful. And maybe you miss them at the time, like I have. But I keep having these moments, these anamnesis
moments, which makes those moments present to me again. But through a veil. I can feel them, but no matter how reach out, I cannot touch them. But, they leave pieces of themselves behind.

Like stardust.

Or, a scent that lingers delicately in the air. And then raises up toward heaven.


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