I have been reading Ronald Rolheiser’s book on contemplation and mysticism, “The Shattered Lantern: Rediscovering a Felt Presence of God.” I have previously read (or tried to read) some of the work of John of the Cross, but Rolheiser seems to put it into a more accessible language that fits everyday people. John of the Cross wrote about the Dark Night of the Senses and the Dark Night of the Spirit, ways to divest ourselves more and more of our need for pleasure, gratification, satisfaction. Instead of needing to find our value through the positive feedback, respect and appreciation of others, we can do what is right simply because it is the kind and loving thing to do. We learn to understand and follow the motivation of Christ.
This is a letting go of our ego to allow God to be more in touch with us. It is what St. Ignatius of Loyola was talking about in his Suscipe prayer: take all that I have, know, am and give me only your love and grace for that is all I need.
My decision to continue to write my thoughts and release them to the world through my blog whether they matter or not was a step in this direction, but I didn’t realize it fully until I read these passages last night. “We are to move beyond our need for praise, affirmation, recognition, status, and attention” and do whatever we feel God is calling us to do. “Persevere . . . despite the lack of gratification.” Such a hard thing to do: let go of my need to be acknowledged, appreciated, respected, and complimented. Let go, even, of needing to know that what I do or think or say makes any difference to anyone. It seems like the whole point of my life so far has been to impress others to earn love and worthiness. How do I accept that has been a lie? How do I live in the truth that what I do or know, how I look or what I accomplish is irrelevant?
As usual, my mind was wandering and pondering this heavy stuff as I was walking Charlie on this beautiful though still chilly day. We so often take for granted the many gifts in our lives; and it is only when they are missing that we realize how much they meant to us, how much we value them. Today was a rare sunny day in the Pacific Northwest. We have had nearly constant gray, dark, very rainy days since February. It has been at least 10 degrees colder than normal springs. The flowers have managed to push their way through and the bees and other insects are finally starting to appear so spring is coming, though it could take months to dry out.
One of the thoughts that occurred was the supposition that perhaps these unusually dark, gray days are a gift from God in helping us let go of our need for the pleasure of spring. Maybe these are a little experience of John’s Dark Night of the Senses. We are all praying, begging, whining for sun and warmth because it makes us happy, brings us out into the beautiful world, fills our senses. Even if the flowers are finally blooming, we are reluctant to go out into the cold rain to enjoy their beauty. Being deprived of that delightful experience of spring is a way to help us give up our need for that small pleasure, even if we are dragged into the experience kicking and screaming!
So I am trying to be equally thankful for the dark, dreary, cold spring days as well as the bright, blue, warm days. I am trying to find the gift in things that don’t feel at all like gift. For me, the gift of dark and rain is an intentional drawing in, a chance to move deeper, find the quiet stillness of God. These days give me time for solitude and reading, for writing and praying instead of being out in the world enjoying its beauty.
As I walked, I felt the warm sun on my face and shoulders; I drank in the blue sky and the pale green new leaves, the fluffy white cherry blossoms. I heard bees humming and birds singing and smelled the faint scent of grass and damp earth. As my mind admired this beauty, a prayer formed.
Thank you for eyes to see the beauty of this world you gave us,
The blue sky, the flowers and trees, Charlie running ahead of me.
But were I to lose my sight,
I could still sing songs of praise and thanks,
Could whisper I love yous and share laughter with friends.
But if I could no longer sing or speak,
I would still have ears to hear the beauty of birdsong
And bees humming among the flowers, children laughing.
But were my hearing to be lost,
I could still taste the sweet and
Juicy tartness of your apples and peaches.
But were everything to taste like bitter ash in my mouth,
Still I could smell the delicate aroma
Of lilacs, of fresh-mown grass, cinnamon rolls and coffee, of a baby’s neck.
Even if my sense of smell were taken, I would have touch,
the feel of warm sun on my skin, cooling rain or breezes on a hot day,
Of velvet rose petals between my fingers,
the softness of a kitten or a child’s face.
But were I even to lose my sense of touch, even then, God,
you have given me memories of all these gifts,
enough to last a lifetime.
But I know that even memories, even minds can wander away,
and should that some day happen, I know you will be there,
by my side, filling my senses,
guiding my blind feet, showing your love. Always.
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