New recruits for the swim team, in a sense

An Episcopalian prepares to cross the Tiber. (An aside, I've never understood the metaphor, perhaps because i know nothing of Roman geography -- what exactly is on the other side of the Tiber?)
He should NOT, from the little that I know about it, be required to endure RCIA, but I stand to be corrected on that point.
http://bovinabloviator.blogspot.com/2007/09/good-bye-to-all-that.html
He seems to have no doubts, but does have some fears.

the Holy Catholic Church possesses something the Episcopal Church does not: sound doctrine, along with a Pope (especially the present one) and magisterium to ensure that it remains so. Sound doctrine will make it possible for me (I pray) to tolerate Masses where the priest sits in the Captain Kirk chair while the miasmal excrescences of [dreadful "liturgical composer" X] and [dreadful "liturgical composer" Y] waft into the nave.

How wrenching it would be to go from a reverent, beautiful, perhaps even splendid liturgical experience, with elevated language, precise ritual, beautiful surroundings and fine music; to the "Here Comes Everybody" of the Catholic Church which, far too many seem to think allows for a "Here comes everyTHING" approach to fabricating the Liturgy.
I have never been fortunate enough to, and probably never will, live near an Anglican Use catholic parish. If i could foresee such an eventuality it would heavily influence our emerging retirement plans.
As it is, I am praying for a Canons Regular of St John Cantius parish. That, or I ask for That to Which I Am Entitled. (What a sad way to have to look at it -- needing to exercise my rights, proclaim my "entitlement" merely to insure something that EVERY Catholic should have access to, without question, in whatever usage.
It is to be hoped that such new members bring with them the genuine breath of the Holy Spirit, to blow through the fusty, dusty corridors of the Church and refresh us all, driving out the industrial pollution that found its way in when the windows were opened by the 2nd Vatican Council, and seems to have left a gritty, greasy black film on everything.
(Not unlike that which coats the tomatoes I just picked... one takes one lumps living in rust belt. On the other, for someone with my housekeeping skills and proclivities, the built-in, perpetual excuse for the state of ones domicile is a God-send.)
Continuing my loopy metaphor, I wonder if what seemed to us as homeowners, a burglary, a terrible crime, when such a treasure was forcibly removed several centuries ago, was that work of that same Holy Spirit, who foresaw the Time of Grime, and providentially removed things for safe-keeping.
God drawing straight with crooked lines.
Surely Blessed John the XXIII and Pope Paul VI are neither the first nor the last well-meaning stewards to have, desirous of fresh air, left the windows of the Master House open only to discover that Hurricane Katrina bearing down on them, packing a little more than "fresh air."
Ah! New loopy metaphor.

Anyway, all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.