4 December

Becoming Who I Am. Shedding The False Life.

by Jon Katz

It still seems strange that Thomas Merton, a devout Catholic author and Trappist Monk, could have so strongly influenced my life. On the surface, we had nothing in common. It felt like Merton was giving me a language for my life, as if we were restless brothers.

When Henri Nouwen writes about the false life, he describes it as being “clothed” in the bandages of the false self, like the Invisible Man being wrapped, mummy-like, in long, winding strips of clothes.” That’s what it felt like.

This idea struck the most profound chord in me, as I felt I was suffocating inside of those coffins of lies. I wanted to discover my true self; I never wanted to be someone else.

I took all his books, retreated to a cabin on a mountaintop, and wrote about him. My year on the mountain made me think in solitude and silence about who I am.

The book I wrote about that year was called Running To The Mountain, and the stars were Thomas Merton and two Yellow Labs, Julius and Stanley. The book was not a best seller, and my publisher didn’t like it very much and didn’t support it.

The three of us were alone for half a year; it was almost a monastic life, and no better guide exists than Merton. I read his books and journals every day.

After the year of isolation,  I sold the cabin and bought a farm. My life changed, piece by piece, until I had left the familiar behind. I am beginning to recognize myself.

Merton’s book “No Man Is An Island” also made a deep impression on me, along with his other writing, and I still think of this passage, the one that changed my life the most:

Why do we have to spend our lives striving to be something we would never want to be if we only knew what we wanted? Why do we waste our time doing things opposite of what we were made for if we only stop to think about them?”

I had no answers, just questions. I knew I was leading a false life and needed to find the real one, for better or worse. That process is still underway and will almost certainly last for the rest of my life.

In his book “New Seeds Of Contemplation,” Merton wrote:

Thus, I use my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, power, honor, knowledge, and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real. And I wind experiences around myself and cover myself with pleasures and glory, like bandages, to make myself perceptible to myself and the world as if I were an invisible body that could only become visible when something visible covered its surface.”

Like Merton, I feel that I was clothed in the false. I was a best-selling author with a dying heart.

I needed to discover who I was and become my true self, not the false one I was paid handsomely to be.

The life I had been living was not the one I ever imagined, sought, or examined. That person was nothing more than a mask that I wore. My curse was that I was so good at it.

And I saw that and knew it right away. Since then, for almost 20 years, I have been working to be the person I am, not the person I had somehow allowed myself to be. It is hard, fruitful, and exhilarating work. It is the most rewarding work I’ve ever done.

I’m not quite there yet and may never fully arrive at that truth. But I’m getting closer and getting better. My spiritual work has helped me see and face the reality.

When I consider myself now, I feel different. I think I am gradually moving towards becoming my authentic true self and away from the false one. I feel lighter, stronger, happier, and much more honest.

Before becoming my true self, I had to confront the false one that many of us spend a lifetime constructing, nourishing, and hiding from.

Merton got me started. Maria helped me along. So did my farm and the animals in my life. But only one can cast aside a false self and live in pride with the real one.

14 August

My Hero Friend Ron Jumped Out Of A Plane This Weekend And Then Prayed With The Wives And Husbands Of Fallen Soldiers And Police Officers

by Jon Katz

My friend Ron Dotson is a hero to me. He found in Vietnam, saw most of his unit killed, became a postal carrier and a pastor, and spent a week with me here last month. He works with older people in Ohio, and we visited the Mansion Memory Care Unit together. After Vietnam, he dedicated his life to doing good. He is 79 years old.

Ron is a decorated hero himself. He served as a medic. He was shot and gravely wounded, and all of his medical team was slaughtered. Ron has never complained about a second of his time there. We became friends after he read one of my books, Running To The Mountain, about my first year in the country spent with two dogs and the journals of Thomas Merton.

He visits me once a year on his vacations to Vermont. We talk all the time now, one way or the other.

This weekend, Ron was invited to attend a Gold Start weekend retreat for the children and families of soldiers and police officers killed in the line of duty.

Ron told me it was the thrill of a lifetime to pray with these families and kids. The retreat was held at Camp Chautauqua near Carlisle, Ohio.

Ron was asked if he wanted to jump out of a plane and parachute down, and he didn’t hesitate. He is a devout Christian who trusts God to care for him.

He sent me this video of him jumping from an airplane with a parachute and a guide on his back. Afterward, he said his favorite weekend moment was praying with one of the Gold Star Families, a young mother with three children.

The husband was a police officer killed in the line of duty in 2019. “Made me sad but grateful for the privilege to minister to them. I’m worn out.”

I bet. Ron is one of those people I most admire. He turned trauma and tragedy into good and channeled his faith precisely as Jesus Christ urged his followers to do. Ron listened. I am very grateful to have him as a friend—video and portrait below.

 

Ron jumped out of a plane. He had a blast.

Ron Dotson is a marine forever and a hero who takes care of the heroes’ families.

21 July

My Friend Ron Visited Me This Week From Ohio: What He Taught Me About Friendship Before He Goes. “Men Are Not Supposed To Say This, But I Love You…”

by Jon Katz

My friend Ron Dotson is a challenging and proud marine. As he said goodbye to me today, out in my driveway, he hugged me and said, “Men are not supposed to say this, but I love you.”

I smiled and answered him, blushing: “I love you too.” Ron was awarded a Bronze Medical for his courage in Vietnam. He is the best man I know and is fast becoming my closest male friend. I love him very much. I’m going to work hard to keep this friendship going.

I enjoyed every minute of my week with Ron; I am sorry to see him go. We promised to stay in closer touch with one another, and I intend to keep my part of that. I believe Ron is too shy to initiate a lot of conversation; I will take that lead. He made it clear to me that he would appreciate that.

Ron is a fearless Marine but a quiet and humble person.

He said his strength and courage come from his belief that God will take care of him, one way or the other. He has never had PTS syndrome or trauma symptoms despite awful traumas; he sleeps well and long every night. I can’t say I know anyone like him, but I am increasingly grateful for his presence.

Ron is a gentleman who has seen more horror than anyone should see but turns it to sound. He does not ever complain or feel sorry for himself.

We met after he read my Thomas Merton life-changing book Running To The Mountain, a book published in 2020m that sparked my leaving my everyday life behind, losing my family, and moving to the country. The book moved Ron, and they came to meet me and see where I lived. We got along right away, but I rarely saw him. We never talked on the phone or e-mailed. He visited the area once a year with his wife to spend time in Vermont and have lunch with me.

He is a shy and thoughtful man; he never once made me uncomfortable or uneasy, like many people I met during those years. Ron and I share a passion for spiritual life, even if we approach religion differently. We are both deeply committed to working with the elderly, especially dementia patients. When he came to the Mansion today, I could see how easy and comfortable he was there, and the residents sensed it too.

He gave me a book called “Making Sense Of God, and I read passages to the residents today; we will be reading it together every week when I come to teach my meditation class. I like the book already. Ron knows me; he knows what I would like. My issue is that I have enjoyed every word Jesus Christ has ever been quoted as saying, and I relate to his beliefs. I do not worship him as Ron does. This is not a problem for us; Ron respects other people and their ideas.  He does not have an angry or judgemental bone in his body.

He had never tried to persuade me of anything, even when I wished he could have. He never condemns anyone for being different, which is why, I suspect, we are good friends.

Theologian Timothy Keller, the author of Making Sense Out Of God, has already taught me some things I didn’t know. Although the Greeks are credited with inventing democracy, the early Christian theologians first expressed the idea that equal rights were not just for the wealthy or the natural hierarchy of Rome and The Greeks. Christ’s atonement on behalf of all humanity advanced the idea of the new and Western view of the value of the individual “immeasurably.”

Christianity argued for the first time in human history that every human being had “natural rights” not granted by the state, which could be used to challenge the state. This had never been promoted in our world before. Christian philosophers like St. Augustine argued that some things are owed to all persons, regardless of their social status, gifts, or abilities, just by their being human.

This is the idea we now call democracy, and after all these years, we are still fighting over what it means.

It was an enormous and still controversial idea to change the world. It changes the lives of the Western world. I confess I didn’t quite realize this. It doesn’t make me believe in God, but it helps me make sense of the idea and why it became so important. I thank Ron for that. I can learn from this book and never stop trying to learn.

Ron, visiting here from Ohio, came to the farm to join us for dinner last night. He fell in love with Lulu and Fanny and fed them from a bag of carrots he picked up on the way. They loved him in return.

Ron And Fate.

The day before, he came with me to the Mansion Memory Care unit to see the team and watch Zinnia work. The morning before that, we had breakfast at Jean’s Diner. Today, he came to visit and meet my medication class.

Ron and I have known one another for a decade, but our time together has always been fleeting and occasional. This week, our friendship blossomed. We are so different, yet at the core, we are just alike and have so much in common we can never get through all the things we want to discuss.

Ron visited me at my Meditation and Contemplation Class at the Mansion today; He was very much at home there, and the residents loved him immediately. He shook every single hand, saying to each one: “God Bless You.” I think I will borrow that greeting.

The Mansion invited him to come and conduct a service next year when he returns, as he always does. He was delighted to be invited. He couldn’t get over how great a job Zinnia did as a therapy dog. I said he could borrow her for the service.

Ron brought me the gifts below; I gave him a gift of a straw hat modeled on the caps the Amish wear. I think he liked it. He is a worse photo hound than I am; he takes photos of everyone to bring back to Ohio and show to his family.

Ron brought me two gifts, the book by Keller called “Making Sense Of God: An Invitation To The Skeptical. Ron does not ever seek to convert or proselytize with me; he wants me to know about his faith and beliefs. He kidded me about the piece I had just written about how I hoped people would stop sending me books, I didn’t have time to read them. “You might be mad at me,” he said. We both laughed about it.

I was glad to get t his book; it is right in my wheelhouse.

Ron says he can read about my feelings on my blog, but he wants me to know more about his beliefs. he also gave me the metal plaque above, quoting Michelangelo when he was in his 80’s: “I Am Still Learning.” Ron didn’t know it, but this is practically my motto. When I stop learning, I’ll be dead.

Keller’s book already resonates with me. He made the case for God’s relevance in our greedy, chaotic, and violent world.  He quoted a scientist who rethought his whole idea of religion when he realized how compelling the central ideas of Christianity – sacrifice, redemption, forgiveness – were to him.

This was always my problem with Christianity. I love almost all of the values the early Christians promoted, yet as I look around in my life today, I see very few people who call themselves Christians following or even believing in them. So many people evoke the pleas of Christ, and so many Christians don’t even seem to know what they are. It smells like hypocrisy to me, and I greatly dislike hypocrites. Whenever more than three people get together to talk about an idea, it seems that trouble occurs.

 

Ron’s background was in the Southern Baptist Church, but he has been with the Evangelical Free Church for twenty-five years. He was born again and drawn to worship Jesus when he was 12.

Ron is marine to the core. He spent six months in a VA Hospital after being mortally wounded by the Viet Cong while working as a medic in a marine combat unit. The five other unit physicians were killed the same day he was shot.

I am fortunate to have him as a friend, and I look forward to continuing to break through the barriers that so often keep men from real friendship. Ron is the real deal, and I won’t let him slip away or push him away. I’ve done enough of that in my life.

18 July

Portrait: Ron Dotson. People I Love/Like/Respect. A Pastor, A War Hero, A Very Good Man Who Does Good

by Jon Katz

I met Ron Dotson eight or nine years ago.

He read Running To The Mountain, a book I wrote about my year on a mountain with Thomas Merton.’s Journals, and came all the way from Ohio to track me down and meet me. He remembers driving up to the first Bedlam Farm. I wasn’t home; Maria was; he stopped to ask her if he could take some pictures. She was awfully nice, he said, and she said sure.

(This photo will join my Portrait Gallery – people I love or respect. It was taken at Jean’s Place in Hoosick Falls today.)

On that early trip, he ran into me in Scott Carrino’s cafe a day or so later. He introduced himself. We talked, and we became friends.  We never pushed it or talked about it. It just happened.

We have stayed in touch. Ron has followed my life and shared his. He showed up at one of our Open Houses.

On the surface, Ron and I have nothing in common. But that is not true in reality. We have a lot in common. Ron is a person of deep faith. He said he found God when he was 12 and has been with him ever since. I am always looking for God.

Ron does not live the way I do, but he is, to me, a role model who represents the best in men – kindness, duty, empathy, faith,  devotion to family, and generosity.

Ron is a very proud Marine.  He wears his Marine cap everywhere he goes.

I joined the National Guard to stay out of the war; Ron went to Vietnam and volunteered as a Marine medic, one of the most difficult and dangerous jobs in the military in wartime. Medics were a particular target for the Viet Cong; they knew killing them would demoralize the soldiers and deprive them of medical care so many urgently needed.

Every medic in Ron’s unit was killed. He narrowly missed being killed. He was shot and severely wounded. He recovered, came home to Ohio, became a pastor, and ministers to the needy, the vulnerable, and the elderly. He has three children; his wife works as a teacher with autistic children.

When he recovered, he answered a different calling: doing good – something important that we have in common.

Tomorrow, he and I will visit the Mansion Memory Care unit; we often talk about his work as a pastor and our work with the memory challenged and the elderly. I’m bringing Zinnia to show him our therapy work; he has a sweet Spaniel and hopes to do therapy work with her one day.

If I’m lucky, I see Ron once yearly; he and his wife come east to vacation in nearby Vermont. He always lets me know he is coming, and I am always very happy to see him.  I don’t get a lot of visitors here, and I am always happy to see Ron.

This year, Ron joined my Bedlam Farm Blog Zoom group, and we see each other every Wednesday morning on the computer. It’s great to see him there.

Ron has a John Wayne streak in him. He never gains weight, gets sick, or gets rattled. I think it would take a great deal to upset him.

There is a brotherly vibe with us.

Ron has a remarkable back story; he should be the one writing books.  We talked this morning about climate change, and I told him I envied his trust in God. From Vietnam through life, Ron has always counted on God to get him through.

I told him I couldn’t come to terms with God, but my life has much spirituality. It’s all okay with him; like me, he doesn’t embrace the social media passion for telling other people what to do.

I suppose I am the literal opposite of a faithful Marine, but it doesn’t feel that way. Ron and I are brothers of different mothers; he is a brother in many ways, someone I can trust and respect. I am at ease sharing my secrets and concerns with him.

Among the things we share is contentment with our lives. We have everything we need and everything we want. We care about our spiritual work and lives. We love working with the needy and vulnerable. He has a wicked sense of humor.

He is a rock, a steady force in the universe. Ron doesn’t say too much in our Zoom meetings, but when he does, the words count. We caught up at lunch, talking quickly for over an hour.

We met for breakfast this morning at Jean’s diner in Hoosick Falls. Ron fit in there quickly and instantly. He had corned beef hash and potatoes; I had my usual: two eggs over light wheat toast and crispy potatoes.

We’ll meet at Memory Care tomorrow, and Ron is coming over for dinner on Thursday. I’m thinking of a Shift pizza.

He’s leaving on Saturday. I’ll miss him.

21 April

Portrait, Ellen: Meditation Class: The Mystery Of Aging

by Jon Katz

Being older allows us to stray as we have never strayed before in our lives, writes Joan Chittisster, whose book The Gift Of Years was once again the subject of my Mansion Meditation Class Friday morning.

Old age can liberate us, as it has liberated me.

That was the topic I chose to talk about this morning. (Photo of Ellen, just recovering from sickness but always ready to smile.)

We talked about this idea of aging and liberation before the Meditation session ends each class – I try to offer stimulating and meaningful readings, and almost everyone in the class has asked me to get them a copy of this book and other books I’ve read from.

We could go for a walk with a friend on Wednesday, for instance. Well, why not?” writes Chittister. “We could go down to the library, sit in the reading room, and read all day. Well, why not? We can sit outside or at the water’s edge and read a book. Well, why not? “

Why not, indeed. Can we walk through the mystery of life until we are comfortable enough with secrets to trust it even at the end? I asked the women and men sitting around the table this question. Their eyes were wide, but no one had an answer. I didn’t either, not really.

Years ago, I ended a book – Running To The Mountain –  by writing that life is full of crisis and mystery. I feel these days differently, or perhaps I’d just put it differently. There are crises, and there is life. I have no control over the one, but the second is up to me.

Mystery, for me, is what happens when I allow life to evolve rather than having to be responsible for making it happen all the time. It is spotting a beautiful cloud, taking a beautiful flower photo, walking in the woods with Maria and the dogs, listening to music, reading a wonderful  book, and riding up the hill to see a beautiful sky.

For me, there is something holy about simply presuming that what happens to me on any given day is sent to awaken my soul to something new, another smell, a different taste, a moment when I permit myself to lock eyes with a stranger, to smile unexpectedly, to say hello to someone walking by, to do a good deed for someone in distress, to take a beautiful picture.

Who knows, indeed? Maybe any of those things will open me up further to the healing memory of pain, an uplifting recollection of success and glory, a decisive moment of acceptance or astonishment, and a sense of the presence of some God in my life.

Meditation class often feels as good for me as I hope it is for the other people in the room. I need it too. And I have come to value it deeply.

Three of them thanked me today; they said they have begun meditating every morning, seeing the world differently and more positively.

Talk about a moment of glory.

Bedlam Farm