I've just begun to listen to a recording of St John of the Cross' Dark Night of the Soul. I translation seems to be alright, but the woman reading it is about as bad as the one who reads Teresa of Avila's biography. They both tend to read these great works as if they were reading a Danielle Steele novel. It is frustrating to me because I want people to take the practice on contemplation seriously. I don't want people to see it as a novelty or fad. I don't want anyone to mistake it for some branch of the popularized version of Kabbalah, which has also gotten a bad rap.
There are many ways to connect with God, as many ways as there are people. It is not a game to see who can achieve the highest contemplation or grow closest to God. It is a manner of being in which one becomes detached from things that distract one from thinking about God.
This detachment is a great thing. It is also an addictive thing. I can find no greater pleasure than just sitting with God, which seems to be most of the time these last few weeks. Each day I grow closer. Each day demands from me a new understanding of who I really am. Since I do not yet understand God's purpose for my inner cleansing, I don't know yet if it is an entirely healthy thing to do. I do know it brings eventually joy, which is good. But am I useful to God and others as a result? I don't know.
I do know this week has been exhaustive and wonderful and terrible. I have been made more aware of life and death than I had ever thought possible. Seeing those who have left the earth, so often this October, causes me to reflect on the mystery that is human life. How precious and fragile it is. How each day is a gift. How nothing should be wasted. And how foolishly we expend energy and worry on things that really don't matter.
What matters is relationship. When we reach out to someone and touch them, that is God. When we smile, it is God. When we let raindrops fall on our face, it is God. Every time we wake up to creation, it is God. No I do not mean to imply some 'stoned love' kind of thing...I'm thinking in the Christian sense in its most basic and profound way. Love one another. Loving brings into us the Holy Spirit. But the Holy Spirit is the true giver of Love. We couldn't do it without her. But she doesn't exist unless we love one another. Sound far fetched? No, it is right here.
I keep having these strange imaginings during Mass. A day or two ago, I saw Jesus on the cross in the large host Father held up in Mass. I wept as I watched the priest break it into pieces. And yet, that is what we do with Christ. We break Him into pieces. It feels both cruel and yet necessary. I haven't sorted it out yet. We did in fact, if we buy into the story, kill our living God. He came to us and we tried to destroy Him.
No it wasn't the Jews, and it wasn't a long time ago. When I think of God, time doesn't exist. In the Mass, time does not exist. What happened 2000 years ago, happens again, right before out eyes...and long after I'm gone, it will happen in just the same way as it does today, because today is yesterday and tomorrow...in the manner of being with God. It is so hard to write about. I feel horribly inadequate.
Today in the Eucharist, I saw first a kind of dove that morphed into what I thought was the Holy Family. Just as easily as I saw in the bread the fire, and the face of Jesus and the the crucifix and now the Holy Family. I attribute it to an active imagination...but something definitely is stirring in me, perhaps it is just the birth of some poetry or maybe a good story, but it is happening to me nonetheless.
My constant prayer has gotten me so connected to absolutely everything and everyone I meet. It feels like a different level of consciousness.
I don't feel competitive anymore. I don't seem to care what happens, only that I stay present to what is happening.
Now what I think I want is a miracle to happen. But I don't know what that miracle might be. I don't know if it will be a private thing or possibly exposed, but that doesn't matter. The curious thing is that I feel the miracle I am praying for might happen and I will never know that it did. But I have faith that it will happen, even if I never realize it personally. And yet I am also aware that is has already happened. This is that time thing that seems to disappear when I am praying. I get to a place where then and now merge, what was is again. In fact, it never left. If I think I sound a bit loopy, I cannot imagine anyone who reads this understanding a single word of it.
I just know. God is present. God is thick in our lives. We just don't choose
see Him or feel Him. But when we do...heavens
I'm very tired now and will try again later. With love to God and to all,
Cindy
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