Let Him sing to me like the days past
/16th August Tuesday, 2011
Bucharest, Romania
Christina Hotel, 9.45 p.m.
Black absorbs all frequencies of light, but no, not this Light.
“Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements- surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone when the morning stars sang together and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?” (Job 38:4:7)
“I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me…” (Dylan Thomas)
“Each person’s journey to God, of course, is unique, even if it takes place within the context of the beliefs and rituals of a religious community. To that extent, the construction of standard mystical itineraries… is to some degree artificial- like reading a map, not actually walking through the terrain. These itineraries are intended to be guide books to help people, usually with the advice of a spiritual director, to gain some sense of where they are and what lies ahead.” (Bernard McGinn)
Let Him sing to me like the days past
Source: Image by dre2uomaha0 from Pixabay
I need to remember that there is no dark place where the Light cannot reach. Black absorbs all frequencies of light, but no, not this Light. Lord, I pray for all those, my brothers and my sisters, who are tonight likewise sharing in this temptation and for the child who is hungry. Catch me. Hold me. Cradle me. There is almost nothing left. “Why did I come forth from the womb to see toil and sorrow, and spend my days in shame?” (Jer. 20:18) I want to sleep. I want to feel warm and dry. I want this to stop. I want for my ego to dissolve. I want to remember that life is about bigger things than what I see. Let me hear the great murmuring of the Holy Ghost tonight. “And in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life…” (the Nicene Creed). Let Him sing to me like the days past. Let me be set alight that I might become one of “the burnt men” of Christ. Hold onto this gift of life, this precious little moment of existence with all of its strong impulses. You will not be here again. “Hear my voice when I call, Lord; be merciful to me and answer me.” (Ps. 27:7) Get past this dark hour. Hang on for another minute. Neither the presence nor the absence of God are an illusion. I think on Jacques Derrida’s ‘traces’ of presence. We find allies in unexpected places. All will be well. Take it one day at a time. Stop and look into your soul. Think of those you love. Look into their souls. Believe, truly you must believe, that the experience of Love will always outweigh any potential suffering that might return. The pieces to the puzzle will never altogether fall into place, not the way you might want them. Learn to separate the joy from the pain. Be grateful for the joy… it is the pain which will bring you love.
Outside my window the mesmerising beauty of a lemon Moon, which hangs over me like the love of a Mother.
The next morning the Sun also rises
I have sometimes wished that I did not believe in prophecy, but I do and from the moment that I did, my life was under the providence of God and in the hands of angels. This did not ‘change’ me as a man nor make me any more special than my neighbour. I mean not in the sense of becoming virtuous or suddenly enlightened like in some of the great transformation stories we might read. No, certainly not in my case. Too often I would go the other way, increasingly becoming aware of my own mortality and depressed at the raw and uncompromising carnality of both my flesh and mind. And the more I wanted to love God, and the more I wanted to approach Him, and the more I felt called to Him, the more cognizant I would become of my fallen state and want to run away from Him. “You, God, are my God, earnestly I seek you; I thirst for you, my whole being longs for you, in a dry and parched land where there is no water.” (Ps. 63:1) Whatever else we might try to present to the world, whatever our reputation whether as teachers or charity workers, or priests, concupiscence never completely leaves us.[1] At the same time I am not trying to justify my beliefs, I know too well, what might be true for me, need not be true for you. Divine disclosure similarly to our individual realities resists simple definition and cannot be captured in any net regardless of its size. Yet, paradoxically, the more holes we rip into that net, fewer the holes. What this means is for each soul alone to determine as it goes about its journey. At the end of the day, the most important thing as the British philosopher and logical positivist A. J. Ayer might say, our beliefs survive our discoveries.
Bea has brought me another cup of Romanian coffee. It is around four-thirty in the afternoon. Outside the hotel a light drizzle. Perfect. Where have I been?
- You remembered. Thank you.
- You have not slept, again?
- No… again.
- What are you writing?
I am last night’s mascara running down your face… I am the little streams of black and blue… I am the two crescent moons beneath your eyes… I am the porous stones on the island of Skyros in the Aegean Sea…