Dark night of the soul
obscure depth of being
record of life denied
written beyond my seeing
Shimmering Presence
All-knowing
darkness is not dark to you
a place of interior excavation
Guiding Night
invites me trust
the ongoing process
Grace at work
Active Aura
offers momentary awareness
fleeting glimpses
of sacred possibility
Love beckons me
rest in the mystery
Unknown yet known
hidden life with Life.
*Reflections based on The Dark Night of the Soul by Gerald G. May, M.D.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Signs and Wonders #3
But the man was anxious to justify himself . . .*
I think I've spent way too much of my life being defensive about my actions and my beliefs. Defensiveness is an antagonistic posture which pulls back, assumes the worst and draws lines for self-protection. It shows a lack of trust and is a barrier to healthy relationship.
I wonder if I can be reprogrammed to respond to challenging perspectives and negative judgements without defensiveness, to disarm potential opponents with an open mind and listening ear.
Disarming openness. I like the sound of it.
*Luke 10:29
I think I've spent way too much of my life being defensive about my actions and my beliefs. Defensiveness is an antagonistic posture which pulls back, assumes the worst and draws lines for self-protection. It shows a lack of trust and is a barrier to healthy relationship.
I wonder if I can be reprogrammed to respond to challenging perspectives and negative judgements without defensiveness, to disarm potential opponents with an open mind and listening ear.
Disarming openness. I like the sound of it.
*Luke 10:29
Friday, February 11, 2005
Thin Places
I am on a weekend retreat. It is a time of intentional reflection and guided prayer.
The warmth of the midday sun invites me to leave the austerity of my small, silent room for more colorful and expansive surroundings. I walk into the glistening winter landscape . . . A sensual feast . . . Eyes open, ears tuned.
"Notice." It is spirit's invitation.
Gently rolling hills stretch out before me. Their covering of snow is criss-crossed with tracks, like stitches of a crazy patch quilt, an asymmetric pattern designed by deer and squirrels and rabbits in search of food.
But I see happy children, bundled in woolen snow suits, tracing paths in new fallen snow. The sound of laughter hangs in the frosty air as they chase one another in a game of fox and geese.
When did I forget how to play?
Further along the driveway I hear a curious, rattling sound. I see a large old oak tree. One of its branches is fully lined with clumps of dead, brown leaves, past their season, given life by a gentle breeze.
The dry rustling becomes the sound of applause, increasing in intensity as I approach, as if it were a spontaneous ovation of welcome and encouragement from some great cloud of witnesses. I am aware of my dad and grandpa standing in the front row, clapping, a wordless offering of unconditional love and joyful approval.
I am surprised by an overwhelming sense of affirmation like I've never felt before. It seems a precious and unexpected gift.
Now the end of the driveway comes into view. Large white columns support a gracefully sculpted iron gate, divided in the middle, both parts standing fully open. Residents, retreatants and guests come and go unhindered.
I see a decision point, a marker on the pathway, the proverbial crossroad. The open gate seems to offer freedom of choice. To walk through the gate, away from these grounds says, "Enough, no more." To stay says, "Yes," to continuing this unknown and unpredictable interior journey.
Without hesitation I turn and walk back up the driveway toward the retreat center.
The warmth of the midday sun invites me to leave the austerity of my small, silent room for more colorful and expansive surroundings. I walk into the glistening winter landscape . . . A sensual feast . . . Eyes open, ears tuned.
"Notice." It is spirit's invitation.
Gently rolling hills stretch out before me. Their covering of snow is criss-crossed with tracks, like stitches of a crazy patch quilt, an asymmetric pattern designed by deer and squirrels and rabbits in search of food.
But I see happy children, bundled in woolen snow suits, tracing paths in new fallen snow. The sound of laughter hangs in the frosty air as they chase one another in a game of fox and geese.
When did I forget how to play?
Further along the driveway I hear a curious, rattling sound. I see a large old oak tree. One of its branches is fully lined with clumps of dead, brown leaves, past their season, given life by a gentle breeze.
The dry rustling becomes the sound of applause, increasing in intensity as I approach, as if it were a spontaneous ovation of welcome and encouragement from some great cloud of witnesses. I am aware of my dad and grandpa standing in the front row, clapping, a wordless offering of unconditional love and joyful approval.
I am surprised by an overwhelming sense of affirmation like I've never felt before. It seems a precious and unexpected gift.
Now the end of the driveway comes into view. Large white columns support a gracefully sculpted iron gate, divided in the middle, both parts standing fully open. Residents, retreatants and guests come and go unhindered.
I see a decision point, a marker on the pathway, the proverbial crossroad. The open gate seems to offer freedom of choice. To walk through the gate, away from these grounds says, "Enough, no more." To stay says, "Yes," to continuing this unknown and unpredictable interior journey.
Without hesitation I turn and walk back up the driveway toward the retreat center.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Signs and Wonders #2
As for Mary, she treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart.*
In these words I hear an invitation to notice and to savor the unfolding moments of the day, to welcome and to sit comfortably with life's mysteries.
I've always been amazed to hear people declare, with an air of certainty, what is, was, and will be . . . especially when this analysis involves the character or motivation of another person.
It seems to me we bleach our world of color and nuance when we insist that our way of seeing is the only way.
I wonder. Am I limiting aspects of my world to stark black and white? Am I missing the invitation to expand my awareness? To see as others see? To explore and absorb the lavish abundance of a full-color life?
*Luke 2:19
In these words I hear an invitation to notice and to savor the unfolding moments of the day, to welcome and to sit comfortably with life's mysteries.
I've always been amazed to hear people declare, with an air of certainty, what is, was, and will be . . . especially when this analysis involves the character or motivation of another person.
It seems to me we bleach our world of color and nuance when we insist that our way of seeing is the only way.
I wonder. Am I limiting aspects of my world to stark black and white? Am I missing the invitation to expand my awareness? To see as others see? To explore and absorb the lavish abundance of a full-color life?
*Luke 2:19
Friday, January 21, 2005
Signs and Wonders
You blind-sided me, God! I expected an inspiring Word and quiet
reflection. Instead, the scripture ripped open an old wound from the
past. I thought it was already healed, but I was wrong. The pain of
rebuke and rejection was there, fresh and keen. And then I got angry and
confused. What was this about? Why bring it up again? I wrote
furiously in my journal. As usual, writing calmed my thoughts and
opened my heart. It was as though a gentle voice was saying, 'It is
because I love you. I'm making a new creation. Beauty for ashes.'
reflection. Instead, the scripture ripped open an old wound from the
past. I thought it was already healed, but I was wrong. The pain of
rebuke and rejection was there, fresh and keen. And then I got angry and
confused. What was this about? Why bring it up again? I wrote
furiously in my journal. As usual, writing calmed my thoughts and
opened my heart. It was as though a gentle voice was saying, 'It is
because I love you. I'm making a new creation. Beauty for ashes.'
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