“…by introducing them into the dark night…There, through pure dryness and interior darkness, he weans them from the breast of these gratifications and delights, takes away all these trivialities and childish ways, and makes them acquire the virtues by different means. No matter how earnestly beginners in all their actions and passions practice the mortifications of self, they will never be able to do so entirely – far from it – until God accomplishes it in them passively by means of purgation of this night.”
The above quotation is from “The Dark Night of the Soul” by St. John of the Cross. Many of us, if we want to be truly free from all that ties our minds to the past and to sin, must go through this dark night. I had to go through this, the hard way, and completely blind. I will never forget: after being in the religious life for almost a year, I was still not receiving the profound and constantly streaming flow of consolations that I wanted. It was like I needed a daily main-line heroin fix. Suddenly, everything began to get worse: the specter of homosexuality started to appear in our community. It was as if the devil had followed me from San Francisco. I didn’t know what to do. I knew that I did not want to leave, because, although I was beginning to perceive that my safe hiding place was disappearing – I absolutely did not want to return to California. I tried to push through, begged God to help me, and asked Him to just make it all go away. I wanted to stay; I wanted to disappear; I wanted to be safe. Then, one day, I knew I would have to leave. I stood in my tiny little room, looked up to the ceiling, tried to speak with God, and felt completely and totally abandoned. I was absolutely alone. It felt as if the room in which I was standing was getting bigger and bigger; until, finally, its emptiness would swallow the universe. There was nothing within this room, and nothing without. Right away, I just stopped. I said, angrily: “God, you have abandoned me; now, I will abandon you.” I stiffened up and went back to my old hardened and bitter form. Again, I was that crazed porn-star and battle scarred hustler. I thought to myself: “I am going to have to get through this on my own.” I put on my tough persona: first, I tried to get a ride to New York City, from anyone who was around on that dreadful Sunday; once, at the airport, I aggressively went from counter to counter – trying to book a last minute flight to any city in California; lastly, on the plane, the mask dropped, and I freaked-out. Having never experienced one in my life, I had a seizure. I was so frightened that I imagined the plane, with me in it, flying right into the black mouth of hell. And, it hit me: I was going back. I was going back to all the pain and the torment; but, what I didn’t realize; I was going to the Cross.
When I got home: I was really mad at God. For a while, I abandoned Him. I thought: “What had He done for me?” After all, I had endured so much and given up everything: I had left behind the gay life, porn, my friends, notoriety, acceptance, companionship…everything. I thought, He owed me. Why couldn’t everything be easy? Why couldn’t He take away the memories? Why couldn’t He heal me? I would scream: “I did what you wanted; why won’t you take this away?” I never got an answer; or, more precisely, the answer I wanted; but, that was the answer. I went on this way for a while. I moped around the house, never bothered to take off my pajamas, and endlessly watched TV. Out of nowhere, an old buddy from San Francisco called me. He wanted to see me, hear about what I had been doing (he had no idea that I had just spent two years in a monastery,) and talk about a possible role in another porn film. I thought: Maybe things aren’t so bad. Perhaps, being with God won’t be so tough. I can go back to my old life, and keep Him on the side. After all, He is not fulfilling my needs. I need friends, I need camaraderie, I need love. And God was not giving that to me. He was giving me nothing! Since leaving porn: my health began to horribly deteriorate, I got fat and looked terrible, I was always alone, no one called, and no one wanted me anymore. So, I ran again. This time, I ran back to my old life; because it was familiar, comfortable, and dependable. And, that night, I partied in the Castro like I had never left. It felt good. People embraced me. When I arrived home, I got undressed. I had been wearing the Rosary around my neck. I thought: “So much for this thing…What good did it do me?” I had fallen again, and God did not protect me. The Cross was over my heart. I looked down and held it in my hand. It was the Cross.