Tag Archives: realization

the Afterlings

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gremlinToday is too big and I am too little. I said ‘yes’ too many times, and now I’m saying ‘Oh no!’

The Afterlings – the menacing creatures that wear guilt and stress like fancy clothes and prance around my present tasks – those gremlins undermine my every effort and then fall to the floor in gales of cynical laughter.

I hate their presence and I despise myself for their creation. They circle me, taunting, laughing, threatening doom. Then they gleefully poke each other and egg each other on. I cover my head with my arms and cower in my corner, deep within my pit of desperation.

Suddenly their yammering is hushed. They look up to see the approach of a misty form, clothed in light. The earth vibrates with its coming. They scatter, racing with each other to fight their way into the deepest corners, pulling their comrades out of their way, stomping on each other in their stampede for the darkness. They retreat into the hidden edges of this pit, with only their eyes catching a reflection of the light and revealing their presence under the rocks and within the crevices of the walls.

light-comesThe misty form has approached us on the ground above, scattering rays of brightness and droplets of reflected sunlight into this hole. A misty hand reaches down and scoops me up out of the hole and places me beside the well of joy.

The whole congregation of angels who come to the well in worship each day, the whole group is covered with this shimmering mist and they begin to chant, slowly, steadily, with words that tingle with the energy that lies within them, impatient for release. “He comes, he comes,” they chant. “He comes.”

I am more than a little scared by their chanting, by the power that pulses in its cadence. Before long, the whole meadow is filled with a blinding, brilliant light. I cannot even close my eyes to mask the brilliance, for it shines as brightly within my eyelids as it does within the meadow. It permeates every living form, every leaf and blade. We are all filled, filled with light.

Though I can see nothing, I can hear. The crowd is singing an ecstatic chorus, almost beyond words themselves. The well has overflowed its brim and is sending a torrent of water out at my feet, tumbling over them, almost massaging them with its power. I reach and touch the water and then touch my eyes. The water strengthens my eyes so that I can see within the brilliance.

I see the whole congregation on its feet, full of awe, hands up lifted, seeking to bring light into themselves. Indeed, the light is everywhere. There is an overwhelming oneness in the congregation, in the meadow. All are light together, although, with my strengthened eyes, I can also see each separate form and hear each separate voice of praise.

All the screeching noises of my Afterlings have been hushed by the magnificence and power of this scene.   But, quietly, in the still-dark chambers of my heart I can still see them – the Afterlings – as they scuttle and vie for the opportunity to mock me again.

Why do I let the Afterlings cross the realm of meditation into my daily heart, the heart that faces the drudgery of my day?   (See? I use an Afterling term for my duties. Yet, the angels of light do not disdain the simple tasks that I have let the Afterlings claim as drudgery.)

What a battle rages in the crevices of my being! The light and the dark are at war. The power of the light stands against the overriding fear and mockery of the dark. Indeed, it is fear that rivets my attention on the dark – fear that my failures will sneak up behind me and devour my soul.

I fear that I have no power that is it’s equal. It taunts me with that message every moment. But it is not my own power that I must seek. Instead, I must learn to see the light. I must refocus my gaze from the Afterlings to the angels. Each proclaim a potential truth. I must choose which will be true in me.

“I choose light.” At first it is a whisper, but in hearing my own words I am strengthened and I say it louder. “I choose light.” It rises in my throat and becomes a shout. “I choose light!” The congregation is again on its feet. The Afterlings scatter and run. “I choose light.” It is a plea and a promise, made with my own lips. “I choose light.”

“And I choose you, too.” The light answers. The voice is deep, and full and resonating with love and power. “I choose you.”

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[first image filtered from photo by dun_deagh per cc 2.0; second is a photo by Fabio Rava per cc 2.0; third is a photo by Martin LaBar per cc 2.0]

waiting for a friend

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waiting here I am sitting on a log beside the edge of the woods. It is a cool, clear morning and I am waiting for something … the day? … a friend?

Yes, that’s right, I am supposed to meet a friend here, a good friend. As I remember, my heart warms and quickens. It is so easy to forget the comfort and completion friends can bring. They own a piece of you – take it with them when they go. It’s not that you begrudge it. It is a free gift and they leave a bit of themselves in exchange, but from that time forward, you are a little empty without them. Daily activities fill the void, and as you grow and change, that void may even fade, but a deep friend’s hole remains and only their voice, their smile, their presence can fill that particular hole.

So, who is the friend I am waiting for today? Whose presence will delight my soul?

After a moment’s quietness, I realize that the friend I’m waiting for is me. I’m a little embarrassed by the thought. How conceited to be waiting with such anticipation for myself! But deeper in, I know that there is reason to look forward to this return. The harried hurry of my days have emptied me of my better self, the one that had time to think, to contemplate, to let an idea rise and form itself before expression, the one who was connected to others and devoted to purposes which had depth. In dashing day to day I have lost that better self, have operated on scraps and vestiges of being, until this shell of me sits empty on this log.

At last my friend, this deeper self, approaches in the company of the Holy One. I find that I am sobbing, realizing how deep the hole has been. The Holy One and my friend stand beside me and place their hands upon my head. Their strength and silent power flows into me and suddenly I become one with that deeper self, standing beside the Holy One. The Holy One looks me in the eye and lightly brushes my cheek.

“There is time to be. Take it. Do not neglect your purpose here with busyness.”

Then she is gone and I am left alone – alone with myself, my full self – at least as full as I have come to be – and I rejoice.

4/8/95

[photo by Seth Wilson per cc 2.0]

Always

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circle dancingThe Holy One has need of nothing,
Not even me.
(No great surprise to anyone but me.)

Yet . . . the Holy One desires my love.

It isn’t needed.
It adds nothing to that Holy fullness.

Yet, She yearns for my gift of love.

And when I give it,
And sometimes I do,

I am more.

This dance always seems so unfamiliar
until the very end,
when I know
that I have danced it always.

1/15/01

[photo by Julie Pimentel per cc 2.0]

The Door into the Meadow

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door ajar in a stone wallI push open the door, slowly.
It seems dark inside and quiet, and somehow holy.
I hope that it is holy – for it is You I seek.
My fingers tremble on the frame.

My eyes strain to see, my ears to hear.
All is quiet and dark.
But still … that faint sense of the holy keeps me here.

‘Please come,’ I whisper.
‘Please come.’ I hear in reply. Continue reading →

The First Stone

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stone in hand

I hold the first stone I my hand, turning it over and over.
I feel its heft, notice its edges, understand its power.
I know the anger swirling in my chest,
Sensing that everything I honor has been violated.
I want to strike out – to protect what I see as the very anchor of my soul.

I want to throw this stone.

I want to use it to quiet, even if by murderous force, the voices that I hate.
And didn’t the Psalmist say we should hate those who hate you?
Didn’t he brag about it?
Well, I want those bragging rights, as well.
I want to be seen as a defender of truth – to use what power I have in my hand
To win the day, to force obedience to what I see as your commands.

I want to throw this stone.
… but something constrains me

Perhaps it is the vision of all those cloaks at the feet of Saul,
As he watches the stones hurled to silence Stephen.
Perhaps it is the line in the Psalm that follows the hate-full bragging,
Where the Psalmist hesitates, trying to weigh his own motives.
Perhaps it is the understanding that true obedience
Can never, truly, be forced.
Or, perhaps it is that encounter with the woman
Caught in the act, as they say (though apparently by herself).

I want to throw this stone,
But according to your criteria, I don’t qualify.

And the One who does qualify … refuses to throw it.
Instead that One uses a different power.
A power that can actually change the heart
And free it for joyful obedience.

The quick and angry fix is not a fix at all.

I put down the stone.

I place it on a stack of other stones
Released by those who have, with you,
Chosen love over rules as the first step toward
The world you are calling to yourself
Your kingdom come on earth as it is … heaven.

Golem’s Redemption

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golemAnd so I sit, a small golem-like creature in the dark cavern of myself, hiding from you, even as I long for connection. I shiver in my hidey-hole – cold and alone, peaking out from the crevice and then quickly withdrawing, lest I be seen.

My fingers are as cold as the stone they touch. My heart has lost its beat, my eyes, grown large, are still afraid to see. I huddle in my corner, closing my eyes and holding my hands over my ears, until I can stand it no more. Continue reading →

The Dragon of Too Much

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dragonThe push and pull of the day are already upon me. Lists are forming in my head. Shoulds and oughtas scream at me from corners in my mind where they dropped, exhausted, at the end of the day yesterday. I rouse myself and steel my resolve to go forward, but there is sorrow and despair in my step.

Where is the joy of encountering life? Where is the abundance? That is what you promised, isn’t it – not overwhelming life, but abundant life. A small tear trickles down the corner of my cheek, burning my eyes and the inside of my nose, carrying its silent resignation to spiritless despair. Continue reading →

machinations

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ancient gears in a machineI am on a catwalk that rings what looks like an operating theater – tall windows to my right, dark shadows to my left. I turn and place my hands upon the rail beneath the windows and look down onto a room that is inhabited by a great machine, all levers and valves and gears and boxes that hide deeper mechanisms, chugging away together, burping steam and dripping oil.

As I look I see myself. I am connected to this machine on what looks like an exercise bike. My hands are tied to the handles, my feet are tied to the pedals and strapped to my head is a device that holds a small screen in front of my eyes. On that screen plays a message that tells me what I must do, how I must perform, what is true and important and worthy.

I have been there for so long that I nearly believe it all. I am caught in a daze of duty and effort and urgency. Peddling away – sometimes out of my own energy and sometimes just because the bike still moves and my feet are tied to the pedals. On and on I go, blindly thinking I can see. Repeating in my heart the mantras of the screen.

The me at the window seems a mere shadow compared to the me at the machine. And we are separated by this glass and soundless space. I am sad, this me at the window, soul-sad and alone. Nearly empty. Nearly a vapor with an almost hand upon the rail and an almost prayer in my heart.

Then someone appears beside me – a friend whose eyes speak kindness. She quietly reaches over and places her warm hand upon the wisp of mine and looks down into the room and whispers to me, “There is more.” My heart almost hears her. “There is more. There is more.” Her hand hugs mine. She continues to stand quietly beside me.

And the me on the machine blinks.

I blink. For a moment the screen in front of my eyes flickers. I blink and begin to breathe. I blink and begin, softly, to cry and to feel the ache in my limbs. I blink and even the me on the bike hears the whisper, “There is more.”

I try to look around, but since the screen is strapped to my head, it does not change what I can see.   Still . . . that blink . . . it has made a difference.

A deep difference.

Amen.

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[grayscale of a photo by arbyreed per cc 2.0]