The Narrow Gate: Accepting the Choices We Make

© 2012 Philip Pascarella. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/5/12

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8552-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8551-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8553-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012920355

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

The Day before Dying

We Are All the Same

Maria Michela Razzano Pascarella

Saints for All Causes

The Letter

How Could She Forget

Finding a Solution

How Guilt Can Obscure Reality, Causing Us to Make Bad Decisions.

The Whole Town Knows

The Spiteful Man

Sunday Mass

Me Ne Frego

We Must Go Back

Malaspina

Why Must We Die?

How Maestro Vitelli lost his will to live because he sought too much knowledge without taking the time to enjoy what is provided for everyone.

Vatrizia

A woman, any woman is predestined to corruption, as long as our view of her means that she must have saint like qualities: the pure woman of aphorisms, the perfect matriarch. Permit her to imagine, fantasize, rest, and hunger without consent, and she breaks faith with the male ideal.

Andrea Was My Friend

I Grasped My Future

Watching the Sun Set

About the Author

About the Book

All is the same. Like others before you, you too will be gone in a like manner. —Marcus Aurelius

Exactly how many recollections of my childhood come to me as I watch the setting sun over Lake Michigan from the balcony of my house, the skyline of Chicago in the background? A thousand forgotten memories come back to me—far off, enjoyable, and melancholy now. Coming to me with a renewed understanding, remembering a time when all was pleasing, full of optimism, inviting, and invigorating. I summon my parents, old friends, uncles, aunts, cousins, sisters, brothers, the food, and the stories from those times when life was nothing but a series of happy events and occasions for self-determination.

Do you, now and then, do the same? Recall those everyday events of no value other than to remind you from where you came and to bring delight. Bringing back the color and smell of nature, the street where you lived, the flavor of your favorite drink, the fragrance of fresh cut grass emanating from the field where you played. All little intimacies kept hidden, only for your enjoyment.

Concepts have their histories and must withstand the ravages of time.

I maintain a kind of homesickness for the scenes of my childhood. I’m afraid I require but slight encouragement to share those experiences with you. How wonderful are those memories about the happenings and characters within the tiny village where I came from?

I will tell you.

It was so long ago, too many years having passed, appearing to me now as if they belong to another life from which I now appreciate and have become conscious of the end of the journey.

The Day before Dying

On the picturesque early morning of October 26, 1988 under a clear blue sky bursting with sunlight and full of color, she sat quietly on a straw-bottom chair, indifferent toward all around her. Her head pressed against the palm of her hand. Her mind was drenched with the endless grief of which the world is everywhere full, which originates out of the obligation and anguish pertaining essentially to life, should be aimless and completely random. Closing her eyes as she took in the agreeable fragrance originating from the roses encircling her chair, the confusion was at its worst and hoping only for one more day by his side, she sat as a nonbeing; suffering was all she remembered.

In the stillness of her mind, she allowed thoughts to enter, to bring to mind their life together, humbly pondering on its expectation. Gradually, a host of images, the years, days, and hours of her life came back to her, interrupted only by the fluttering of fig leaves in the breeze, barking dogs, and distant conversations of which she showed no interest. She had left him, her handsome, much-loved husband the night before, trembling and silent, not giving notice to her departure while gently touching his hand. Her tenderness for him was greater now more than ever while, at the same time, she doubted why this was happening to her. Has she not suffered enough, with one child stillborn, another dying at the age of three, and her beloved Alessandra, suffering for twenty-nine years before being taken? Her children, separated for years by a great ocean, now briefly united merely to suffer through such a heartbreaking event.

If the purpose of our life is total enjoyment, then our existence is the most ill suited to this end.

Her memories controlled her vision.

Gasping for breath, trembling, she was at a frantic pace reliving each specific misfortune and all wandering occurrences; ill luck was all she could remember. When death is near for those we love, we, for the first time realize, life is but a short dream. Her life was but the sum total of every choice she had made every moment of her life, and she accepted full responsibility for every reflection that entered her mind. Her accomplishments relived to make real all her actions for every day of her life, bringing her to the realization that every word she had spoken and every choice she made affected her life and her family.

At a time such as this, is our nature such that we never notice or cause ourselves to remember or become conscious of what was agreeable? Why is it, if we are to notice something, it is all that contravenes, disappoints, and assaults our determination? That is to say, all that is disagreeable and torturous, making an impression upon us instantly, directly, and with great clarity.

There was simplicity to his life and to their life, along with sharing the tenderness, devotion, boundless certainty, endless revelations of most intimate thoughts and rapturous romance. Why … why is it she can only focus on that which irritates like a sliver and not on the happiness of their life together?

The memories could not replace her need for one more day. She loved him now more than ever. The thought of spending one more day by his side was her refuge in distress. The more she pitied herself the more she sought relief in the image of being by his bedside seeing to his every need. She would accept him in any condition. The smoking, now turned to cancer, had destroyed his breath for life and his ability to sustain himself. Never blaming him, she had to blame it. Moreover, completely accepting whatever was left, she could not envision a life without his company. For time, the greatest of her tormentors, which plagued her throughout her life, not letting her draw breath, pursuing like an angry boss, was about to cease and deliver her over to boredom. Her body was ready to burst, feeling the very air around her being removed by forces she could not control, thinking only of the hardships she had endured and would continue to endure, never complaining.

What a different world if the pressure of want, work, misery, disappointment, and death were removed from her life?

The sufferings kept her balanced, always at one with God, keeping her on the right path. Work, fear, travail, and trouble were indeed her lot for their life together. What if her every desire was satisfied as it arose, how would God view her in his eyes? It is a sin to think of joy without hardship. If not for death, how could she appreciate life? If not for hate, how could she enjoy love? She was holding on to the pain, but she could not find blame. She just wanted to keep on loving and caring for him.

This most humble of all women had not wanted for things that at death become worthless. At the end of her life, nobody will ask her, How many things do you have?

She did not finish her thought and, as if triggered by a preset timing device, walked briskly toward the dogs circling within their domain. Associating her life with that of the dogs, she pondered, as one might during difficult times, how much stronger are the emotions aroused in us than those aroused in animals? Would it be that she was a common dog, how incomparably more extreme and burning are his emotions? The dog lacks both worry and expectation because its knowledge is imprisoned to what is in the present; a dog is only concerned about the needs for survival. And because of this—a dog appears to be truly discerning as compared to us—is more at peace, is calmer, and enjoys the present. If she were but an animal, then she would be content with a mere existence, and her life would have less suffering. Her life, surrounded by suffering more than any animal, is blamed only on enlightenment, for otherwise it would be nothing but random cruelty. In her youth, she sat before life anticipating what the future would bring, hoping for the highest to appear, not knowing what would really occur.

This image of her I have forever embedded in my mind along with my fixations to achieve all my goals, which began with sincere intentions, full of twists and turns, and finally brought me back to my family. As I look back, few things have given me the kind of joy and sadness as my relationship with my mother. However, I need to let you know, to enlighten you, on how this simple woman affected my life.

Confused? Yes, yes, of course, by all means, an establishment of the facts, a beginning, an introduction, a reason for you to continue reading.

You, me, all of us, or all of you—we are the survivors, the good domestic people who love their recliners. We are people who value home the most, and, may I say, those who best understand all the luxuries of that cherished institution—a happy life.

In support of your grandparents and parents, life may have been bleak; they may have been poor, struggling every day to survive. For you, now, they are a family who adores you, cares for you, and wants only the best for you.

A comfortable life nearly complete.

Still, is it possible you are just getting started, feeling prepared, asking, Why should I bother?

You’re the ones I can’t stand. The arrogant ones, experts doomed to fail. Who think love and attainment of all your aspirations are out there just waiting for you to come along. The ignorant fools who think they have a plan and actually believe they are in control of their future. You will fail and you will never experience true love and peace of mind. For you see, life can only be understood backward, but it must be lived forward.

We survivors know better, and if you survived and are pleased with what you have accomplished then maybe it will reinforce your achievements.

It is just a short story actually, in relation to one thing among other things.

We Are All the Same

We are empowered to succeed in whatever endeavor because of a strong belief, and this courage or belief is not the result of some momentary impulse.

Have you ever questioned why people behave as they do and why certain individuals seem to accomplish amazing things when others who are given countless opportunities fail? You’ve been told if you have goals you will succeed. My thoughts are goals, but by themselves, they are not enough.

Successful people possess and live by a set of values, which are clear and worthy. Productive individuals have a basic understanding of what is important, judging themselves by their own yardstick, never alongside what others accomplish.

Individuals need a value-based inspiration that will energize them and sustain them during difficult times. An individual’s persistence to achieve whatever he or she is striving for, at times with great personal loss, can only be attributed to a set of principles or values, which drive that individual’s conduct. People who achieve the greatest success, despite personal or public resistance, are clear about their beliefs and purpose. They understand that nothing is properly considered good or bad, aside from those events, which are within their power to control, and the only issue fully within anyone’s power to control is choice. By applying the power of individual choice, it is possible to maintain poise in the face of either criticism or praise.

In our childhood, we learn the ability to overcome disappointment. Individuals need a value-based inspiration to help them conquer defeat and advance achievement. For me, it was my mother and her stories, providing me the knowledge, morals, humility, and courage I needed to succeed. Her stories cascaded, one followed by one more. When I think of her, I see a long list of stories, bringing her back to me. Yes, every so often, I am reminded of her. I have kept her anecdotes to retell, and each one is amazing. Each one of her stories was a short journey, allowing me to focus my attention as she attempted to demonstrate to me that my human existence is worth it.

And I now present to you:

Maria Michela Razzano Pascarella

Where do I begin? How can I make you understand?

She was strong and quietly rebellious with a worldly interest and a keen belief in the unbridled laws of nature. She borrowed freely, as from a collective treasure of stories, verbally explaining all the difficult questions and situations I brought to her attention. Possessing a sharpened sense of the contradictory characteristics of truth, she introduced me to the mockery of life. Her stories focused on our natural weaknesses and promises broken. She was passionate about teaching me the importance of salvaging our ancient wisdom preserved by the common people, which enabled them to survive every hardship they encountered. She clearly understood that people keep their promises to one another only when neither side gains an unfair benefit from that promise. Also, no written law could ever restrain duplicity and avariciousness. That only the weak and poor followed and obeyed the laws, written specifically for them, as a means for the defenseless to be broken by the powerful and rich.

Her sympathetic insight into the feminine aspect of human nature and its corrupting effect was evident in her stories. She adored women. She disagreed with their acceptance of their understated role in all events, especially marriage and child rearing of male children. She helped me understand that women are at the behest of fathers, husbands, and other male influences, which enslave them, keeping them as prisoners, never allowing them to express their desires. A woman, more so than a man, is forced to suffer serious pain from unpleasant thoughts because she has no outlet for releasing or forgetting them. Furthermore, women far more than men understand the universal power of love and sex. In general, men are brought to affection weak and unarmed by reason. Men suffer not enjoying love and affection because of their fear of commitment. What they fear most is future loss of identity, which causes those uninterrupted pains, trembling, and grief.

It is generally accepted that every country enjoys oral traditional tales passed down from generation to generation—narratives about witches, warlocks, superhuman individuals, local characters, as well as actual stories about difficult situations. What has now become a novelty was, for me, a daily event. I listened intently to all her anecdotes about love, fear, greed, lust, jealously, conceit, and all other conditions affecting our ability to be happy.

Her stories helped me psychologically to understand and create an image of myself, making me conscious of where I came from and who I wanted to become. Each narrative helped me comprehend my uniqueness, inconsistency, and superiority. Each story elevated morality that helped control my vices.

Her extraordinary storytelling nature stemmed, I believe, from the crucial fact that she created her stories pretending to speak as a man or from a man’s point of view. She was not a compulsion affecting the multitude, but a single person, a noticeable shining example of virtue supported by moderation and justice, which is the highest benefit to others a human being can confer. She never announced it, for it would have been unheard of for a woman of her place and time, but I believed her to be a feminist. The men in her stories always seem to disappoint us. She depicted them as ungrateful and unsuited of sustaining good acts.

Her greatest advice was to pursue peace of mind.

Many individuals make an effort to reach a condition, which will enable them to be happy and content. Few individuals achieve this condition, but many think they can by pursuing different paths. Her advice was simple: a person’s mind naturally pursues an unchanging and uninhibited way, always at peace with itself with a divine natural joy. We are all special creatures naturally blessed, pursuing endless joy with a happy heart. This natural condition enables the mind to stay steady and calm, never agitated or depressed. However, because we inevitably seek to elevate the state of our mind to a higher feeling of joy, we create conditions, which compromise our principles and erode our moral behavior. When we question our status, the mind descends into depression and we begin to hate our situation and blame others.

Her lessons were always about choice. Her theme was happiness does not require inactivity or total retreat from all interactions, but rather, a question of choosing which actions are appropriate. Most people believe happiness is expected or deserved; a way of life guaranteed for everyone, and any form of suffering is a sign of failure. Therefore, if you are unhappy the cure is to change your lifestyle. For example, if you are unhappy because you are poor, simply seek to become rich, and if your life lacks love, try to find it. Her stories and objective was to illustrate that this is false; the mind creates happiness or sadness, and one must cure the mind and not the circumstances in which it participates. Also, an individual’s intelligence, morality, humility, and an understanding of his or her own character influence the remedy.

We are not alone in this world, and we cannot always choose the situations we wish to participate in, or are we in control of them. However, we can help ourselves with a strong mental understanding of our circumstances and take advantage of what luck, or lack of luck, comes our way.

According to her, our ability to accept rationally those factors that are out of our control will determine whether we live happy or unhappy lives. The most important factor for happiness lies within each individual rather than in the state of affairs or condition outside of that individual’s control. Each person must understand his or her qualities, abilities, and character and never overestimate them.

Saints for All Causes

Let me begin as far back as I can remember.

The drive home was exciting. I was on the alert, watching, wanting more.

I wished the day would never end. The happenings around me awakened my need for discovery, that need we all possess to see what is behind the next door. Knowing I would be leaving for America within the next sixty days was like waiting for an adventure to begin. I was about to set out for a new and wonderful place.

At the age of six, I was living almost entirely in my imagination and expectations. The world, today, for the first time, presented itself as enormous, alive, and pleasantly confusing. Yes, I was naive, and I knew the late afternoon sky quite well. In the meadow, I lay on my back looking up at the blue sky and the white puffy clouds slowly floating by, daydreaming what I desired, and constantly pretending and planning my escape.

At times, I became oblivious to my actual surroundings while I fantasized about my importance to my family and the world. However, I knew nothing of the world past my yard, my street, my village, and my family’s land. My days were filled with its never-ending wealth of silky grass, fruit trees, olive trees, and a wonderful variety of insects, which grown-up people did not have knowledge of because they were too old to have a desire to lie in the grass. I knew I must live in America to make those fantasies real because everything was possible in the greatest of countries where there were no limits.

Oh, what joy … I was about to set out for the ends of the world for a new and perfect place.

While at the hospital, I carefully watched everyone and everything. Nothing distracted me. I needed to pass the physical examination, and I focused on everyone’s every move, interpreting every action.

Why wouldn’t I pass the physical? I am in great physical shape.

At my age, I am the best soccer player in town. I can run fast and climb cherry trees to the very top to pick the sweetest fruits. Even when my friend Nello broke his leg; he failed to make the jump vaulting from rooftop to rooftop, crashing through the roof of the outdoor bathroom of his grandfather’s house, and landing on him while he was in it causing a great gash on his grandfather’s head when the bricks came crashing down. But I made the jump, and they let Nello go to America. You never know, these doctors, they don’t want to know anything personal about me, and they don’t care.

Why would he care? The short plump one with the puffy face and squinty eyes dressed all in white and wearing a medal in the buttonhole of his lab coat. He keeps talking to a tall thin woman dressed in an unbuttoned white lab coat. She speaks so slowly and timidly that it seems as if she is stuttering. They do this every day—draw some blood, listen to your heart