leaving the saints -- augustine

[like neon lights]

<center>Archives collected:
The Vatican, Vatican City, Italy

The Life and Death of Augustine</center>

Augustine was born at Tagaste on 13 November, 354. Tagaste, now Souk-Ahras, about 60 miles from Bona (ancient Hippo-Regius), was at that time a small free city of proconsular Numidia which had recently been converted from Donatism. Although eminently respectable, his family was not rich, and his father, Patricius, one of the curiales of the city, was still a pagan. However, the admirable virtues that made Monica the ideal of Christian mothers at length brought her husband the grace of baptism and of a holy death, about the year 371.

Augustine received a Christian education. His mother had him signed with the cross and enrolled among the catechumens. Once, when very ill, he asked for baptism, but, all danger being soon passed, he deferred receiving the sacrament, thus yielding to a deplorable custom of the times.

But a great intellectual and moral crisis stifled for a time all these Christian sentiments. The heart was the first point of attack. Patricius, proud of his son's success in the schools of Tagaste and Madaura determined to send him to Carthage to prepare for a forensic career. But, unfortunately, it required several months to collect the necessary means, and Augustine had to spend his sixteenth year at Tagaste in an idleness which was fatal to his virtue; he gave himself up to pleasure with all the vehemence of an ardent nature. At first he prayed, but without the sincere desire of being heard, and when he reached Carthage, towards the end of the year 370, every circumstance tended to draw him from his true course: the many seductions of the great city that was still half pagan, the licentiousness of other students, the theatres, the intoxication of his literary success, and a proud desire always to be first, even in evil. Before long he was obliged to confess to Monica that he had formed a sinful liaison with the person who bore him a son - "the son of his sin" ? an entanglement from which he only delivered himself at Milan after fifteen years of its thralldom.

But the religious crisis of this great soul was only to be resolved in Italy, under the influence of Ambrose. In 383 Augustine, at the age of twenty-nine, yielded to the irresistible attraction which Italy had for him, but his mother suspected his departure and was so reluctant to be separated from him that he resorted to a subterfuge and embarked under cover of the night. He had only just arrived in Rome when he was taken seriously ill; upon recovering he opened a school of rhetoric, but, disgusted by the tricks of his pupils, who shamelessly defrauded him of their tuition fees, he applied for a vacant professorship at Milan, obtained it, and was accepted by the prefect, Symmachus. Having visited Bishop Ambrose, the fascination of that saint's kindness induced him to become a regular attendant at his preachings. However, before embracing the Faith, Augustine underwent a three years' struggle during which his mind passed through several distinct phases.

It was this Divine grace that Augustine sought in Christian baptism. Towards the beginning of Lent, 387, he went to Milan took his place among the competentes, being baptized by Ambrose on Easter Day, or at least during Eastertide.

Augustine did not think of entering the priesthood, and, through fear of the episcopacy, he even fled from cities in which an election was necessary. One day, having been summoned to Hippo by a friend whose soul's salvation was at stake, he was praying in a church when the people suddenly gathered about him, cheered him, and begged Valerius, the bishop, to raise him to the priesthood. In spite of his tears Augustine was obliged to yield to their entreaties, and was ordained. The new priest looked upon his ordination as an additional reason for resuming religious life at Tagaste, and so fully did Valerius approve that he put some church property at Augustine's disposal, thus enabling him to establish a monastery the second that he had founded. His priestly ministry of five years was admirably fruitful; Valerius had bidden him preach, in spite of the deplorable custom which in Africa reserved that ministry to bishops. Augustine combated heresy, especially Manich?ism, and his success was prodigious. Fortunatus, one of their great doctors, whom Augustine had challenged in public conference, was so humiliated by his defeat that he fled from Hippo. Augustine also abolished the abuse of holding banquets in the chapels of the martyrs. He took part, 8 October, 393, in the Plenary Council of Africa, presided over by Aurelius, Bishop of Carthage, and, at the request of the bishops, was obliged to deliver a discourse which, in its completed form, afterwards became the treatise "De Fide et symbolo."

He departed this Earth on 28, August, 420.

------------------

What do you call it when you become a priest because your peers forced you into it?

You call it heresy.
And no matter what spin the church put on it, no matter how saintly they thought him -- Augustine had been put to Earth at first as a test. The test. Do you have faith in the Lord Almighty? Do you believe in the Creator of Heaven and Earth? Do you believe in One God?

It took him twenty-nine years to sift through everything and even after that, his time on Earth left him wondering.

What kind of God would do this to His people? Lucifer, the Most Wicked, had his own fingers in the mix moreso than anyone else. It made even the most pious wonder...


And that is how Augustine fell.

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ March 20, 2005 01:09 PM: Message edited by: pull the trigger ]</font>

[like neon lights]

<center>


The Mediator
In between what is real and what is divine, what is metaphysical and what is supernatural, all that is pure and all that is dark --
Your salvation.

Augustine Monroe</center>


[IM the bouievard.]

<font color="#FFCC00"><font size="1">[ March 20, 2005 12:32 PM: Message edited by: pull the trigger ]</font></font>

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ April 22, 2005 02:09 PM: Message edited by: pull the trigger ]</font>

[like neon lights]

My favorite time of year is Mardi Gras. Carnivale. The Festival -- Fat Tuesday is the best. I don't think anybody knows how many people die on those days, how many people wind up passed out on the street of New Orleansa lingering near death. It's always the frat boys. The ones who get alcohol poisoning and pass out in gutters until I wander around and touch their pretty little heads. Heaven or hell or life on Earth? I am the mediator between them all, the one who gets to judge while you're on the threshold of death.

Death himself isn't such a bad guy. You'd never know it was him with the way he stands out. The popular notions are that he hides in corners and thrives in the dark -- but death itself is not as sad a phenomenon as the Western world would like to make it. Death is a nice guy. He gives you time if he feels you deserve it. Most people don't. Most people don't have business that pressing that Death should warrant them anything more than an extra hour or minute or breath. The funniest thing is that he prefers red to black, but not because it's the color of blood.

I shouldn't ramble on about death though, because everybody is going to make his acquantince sooner or later. I bet you want to know more about me -- not everybody gets to meet me. The Elusive. The Judge. The Mediator.

I'm responsible for the balance. There are so many people in this world that God does not wish to keep his knowledge inherent. He could, believe that, but he doesn't wish to. That's how The Mediators were born. Torn from heaven, angels in disguise, we do the dirty work down here. We sift through people's lives, we make sure they're worthy of heaven before they lay eyes on the pearly gates and we escort them personally to hell if we feel it necessary. Each of us has our own specific charges. People that we follow around, people that we keep eyes on. Nobody ever notices, even if we're wearing flashy clothing... people don't want to notice you. Have you ever, out of the corner of your eye, seen the same person passing you everyday on your way to work? Or maybe a certain person who frequents the same bar and drinks the same coffee and happens to end up behind you more often than not in a line? That's me. That's us. We keep our eyes and ears open, looking for signs of your personality, for signs that you deserve redemption or that you are worthy of damnation.

It isn't hard. You wouldn't believe what people do when they imagine nobody's looking.



<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ March 20, 2005 12:36 PM: Message edited by: pull the trigger ]</font>

[like neon lights]

"So, are you seeing anyone?" Everyone always asked this question, August knew. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he found it amusing. Irritating... but amusing.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I haven't found anyone."

"Have you looked?"

"It's not in my stars."

"The stars aren't always right, Augustine Monroe. You should know that by now."

Priests were always the ones with hopes like that for him. Why? He wasn't entirely sure. Maybe they wanted to live vicariuosly. Maybe not. He knew the call of God was greater than that of any woman... but that applied to mortals, not angels. Not that he was much of an angel anymore. The beauty of free will, especially in his case, was choice. August loved choice, which landed him on the mortal plain, with which he was pleased. (All right, so mabye "landed him" was more like "had banished him to" and maybe "pleased" was more like "disgusted," but who needs technicalities?)

"What's it like in heaven?" That came second. It always came second, whenever anybody found out about who he was or what he did.

"Be good and you'll find out." He liked cliches, it pissed people off. He especially liked walking into church, finding some insanely obese man, and making a comment about gluttony being a sin.

"How does one become what you are?"

"You die. And then you piss you somebody off. And then you get stuck in this shithole."

Nobody ever asked questions after that.

[like neon lights]

I'm getting tired of this.
I'm getting tired of telling people where to go -- heaven and hell, I'd choose either.
I'm getting tired in having no say over my fate.

I'm getting tired of following people around all day; suburbia is killing me. Suburbia is not bliss, it is not Eden and SUVs are ruining the environment day-by-day, only to be reinvented as newer and bigger and more safe. Surrounded by eight tons of metal will make anybody safe. If there weren't any cars, you wouldn't have to worry about impacting them. You wouldn't have to worry about steel. You wouldn't have to worry about crossing a street. Bicycles don't do a lot of damage.

I remember time before you were woven into the fabric of existence and I recall the day I thought that you mortals were all fools. Pitiful creatures-- I understood why you were God's favorite. Fuck up after fuck up, he never holds it against you if only you repent -- and most do not. Stupid, silly, pitiful beings. It's the way battered housewives make excuses for their husbands. She can't change him, so she has to pretend something good is coming of it. She can't stop his beatings but everytime one is less severe, she perceives it as progress. It isn't progress so much as lacking the same energy as was contained in the previous round.

I suppose the logic is lost on most anyone who would ever dare read this.

I am getting tired of keeping to myself. And what will they do to me, dare I break the sanctity of keeping my mouth shut to the mortals? Send me to hell? He/She/It/Lucifer/Satan/Whatever they call the fallen one now -- does not want me. God does not want me.

So what, oh what, will they do when I decide to mediate part time? Send another, perhaps. Though energy cannot be created nor destroyed, I will have to go somewhere. I believe my destination has been reached and this so called temporary banishment has become my plague.

I am never getting out of here -- maybe it's time to make a change in the world. Or maybe it's time I get back to my work and quit whining. I've been down here too long; I complain like a mortal.

[like neon lights]

Her name was Sarah, but Augustine rarely ever remembered it. He wasn't good with names, Mediator or not, because once you died you were just another bag of bones rotting in the Earth. Trivial mortal things had little meaning to him, like titles and names; everything had to be personified now-a-days, he didn't understand why.

But he knew her name was Sarah now because his feet had just inched into the pool of her blood and he could see the necklace she'd gotten for Christmas dangling around her neck. She was twenty three and she had dark mahogany hair that was currently matted with blood and her favorite color was red. He didn't think it would be if he let her recover from this incident.

"Do you want to live, Sarah?" He peered over her, the ambulances were buzzing in the distance and the man who had mugged her was running away. "Or do you want to see heaven?" That was the sixty four million dollar question -- if you chose heaven, that was suicide. People never got that in their throes of anguish and so they didn't deserve the pearl-esque gates -- God was always fair but that didn't mean she wasn't sometimes cruel.

"Live. I want to live." Her voice was clotted and blood was gurgling at the back of her throat. Of course she wanted to live, she was smart. She was religious. She knew what this was all about and she had even seen right through him once when she was very small. Augustine felt a father's pride, though it was shortlived with only a fleeting smile.

"Then you shall."

It was easy as that, nobody really even realized what his job entailed. There were no emotions involved. Pain was temporary, he didn't mind seeing people in pain. Dying wasn't a punishment because you either deserved heaven or you deserved hell. Being put on Earth was a privelege, something you needed to prove that you were worthy of, and then you could come back. You could choose --

But that is all getting far too deep into the stream of things, isn't it?

"Be good, Sarah." She was out of his hands, now, and onto a stretcher. He wouldn't need to visit her anymore. One little moment, one little decision -- it can determine your entire fate.