.. my friend, there’s a very curious thing I’ve done all the years I’ve come here.. I’m not sure you know about it. I’ve hinted at it, but never, ever have I been as explicit about it as I will be now.
Because I’m examining the Tomb of My Heart.. and what it means to contemplate something, what it means to immerse and saturate.. and contemplate.. to create meaning.
See, it’s picking up now, the stirrings.. all because of.. you’ll see.
I’d think of you, think of this space, remember Beauty.. and God, and Good and Truth.. perhaps in not any particular order, usually not. There was never a “trigger,” because I’ve not a trigger person. I don’t sit in wait for a thing to come approach me, for me to say ah, there it is!! eureka-shazaam! o, now, NOW, I must write! My mind and heart and soul had always been a meddling of stuff. Since I quit here — and I mean stopped habitually writing here in a way that created about 500+ posts in about 2 years — I have missed my way of thinking.. broadly, all-encompassing, almost-ominipresently at the elbow of my Father. I didn’t realize this, but I quit the habit of creating of sight.. of cultivating vision.. of mystical sight.. an attempt to see the world as Our Lord sees it in real-time. ..to live as closely to in the moment with Him as possible.. to invite Him into my own creative process by diving into His.. accepting His invitation into His own creation this very moment.. as He allows me to breathe.. my heart to beat.. to love to bear. Playing with God..
It’s like a folding of the senses into me, into you.. whether any of this is legible or not. Yes, there’s an attempt at some Right Order, and in the grande scheme there will be, there always is.. but I believe that’s the beauty of the mess of life, is it not? to discover and be so, so surprised, even in the making of the mess itself, as long as it’s meaningful?
Usually, it’d start with Images. Leafing through and scrolling, turning pages upon pages to marry mood, or even to elicit.. beckon, my darling thought, beckon.. pulling out of the pleats of me the smallest good and spreading it out.. to examine, slowly turning over and allowing it to tumble and trickle into whatever figure it wishes to lay.. or prostrate itself. Drawing meaning, always with the meaning.. What is this? and Why? Why now? until the thought grew roots that burrowed themselves into sand.. rocky asphalt.. fertile soil. Some of these thoughts must be pulled before they die from their poor planting and transplanted.. we know how that goes. Again, Right Order coming at some point, some thoughts meant to be saved, others allowed to whither and die, sometimes even a slow, agonizing death. They’re just thoughts.. not life itself.. allow it to happen.
Has the image of the thought’s Image been planted? Then it’s time to draw water from the deepest well.. optimally from one that is so deep and takes so long to draw from, you’ve forgotten you’re drawing water at all. The movement carries you beyond the movement of your own fingers tapping along the most obtuse, the most hated and inconvenient, the clunkiest of keyboards.. the hardest chair, the coldest coffee, the most crumb-filled table.. the worst corner in the lousiest room with the worst ambience with the most annoying people.. You are so immersed in your paragraphical skills, you’ve lost track of what exactly you’re welling from — if you’re drawing or if you’re lowering.. if you’re even drawing anything it all, your water becoming as fine as the most transparent, most pleasantly perfumed mist you’ve ever walked through.. you can’t even detect it, you’re too involved in your thought that keeps growing, keeps being fed with je ne sais quoi.. let her go.. see her thrive.. all by layering Music.
.. so, that’s two elements.
The third is God.. believing, knowing I’m writing, thinking in His company. Seeing the thread I’ve woven with Him from before, piercing through now, extending.. extending.. thinking of Him, living in Him, loving Him, abiding in Him beyond this space. Who is He? Who am I? What has He for me to see today? yesterday? this moment? over here, over there.. in me? for you? for me? Why? and I’m to learn what? .. my dearest friend, have I stopped to Breathe? .. to Pray? to live the mystery of Life? to live a Mystical Life? If not, what has kept me? Why have I not seen, wanted, desired? Why am I not fully awake? Can I not feel my pierced heart with His? What have I covered it up with? Why can I not play with Him? See as He does? Love Divinely like Him?
This is where I unlock doors, turn knobs and walk through passage ways to find you, to find Him, to find myself.. I walk away past walls and property lines and borders.. beyond shorelines and fields.. allow myself to be suspended, yet supported somehow.. knowing what God wants me to know, seeing everything He wants me to see, like a seraphim.
I look now and ask, what is it He wants me to see? especially in light of these past few days, where I, more than anyone was, was responsible for retreating into this Black, this Night that seemed so familiar, yet so foreign?
The meaning-making I spoke of, the layering of a rich interior life — how writing mirrors the playful & the prayerful — my God, how I’ve missed such a great part of You and of myself, my Lord. My friend, my expression stopped. You know how we understand stand what it is to cease something for awhile, and when we come back, it’s more powerful? or what we do is more pointed? more intense? perhaps a little like sex? and making love after a dry spell or a fight with our spouse? Cultivating the holiness in the soul isn’t like that. God will keep & maintain what is His, but it is for us to find the means to stake and fertilize the talent and treasure He has given us. For whatever reason, I tied mine to here, me and my meaning-making, my way of prayer — at least a very significant one. .. my way of loving, seeing my world.. throwing my net of my mind into the stream, pulling her in and seeing what Beauty, Goodness & Truth I’d captured that day.
So, for 3 days, I experienced this horror of not being able to offer anything to my God. My friend, when I was alone with Him, I had nothing to offer Him.. not the love for my family, not the love for my friend. There was only me. Not the recollected fruit of my Mind, my Heart, & my Soul.
I’d been so wound up in me, my thing, my hurt, my pain — even though I only glimpsed it & regarded it for a moment, what mess it entailed.. what tragic trappings it wished to drag along with it, all my history, my past, and the tragic memories of my loved ones. Just glancing it, dearest, was enough to drag me into a mental space beyond Hope. And so when I was alone with Him, in the depths of my soul, I had not love to offer Him. My naughty Memory was there, in the wings, waiting to for its cue.
What could I possibly do before my God except wait? in silence? and force Memory to relinquish her hold on the past?
That is why He held me, twice.
You wanted to see.. but *there is nothing there for you to go back to.*
My dearest friend, those were His words.
Three days in the Tomb of my Heart. It happened on a Friday and today is Sunday, let me be as simple as I can, create the words for the new Memory this moment.
I’ve missed my writing, I’ve missed my prayer life.. I’ve missed what I’ve been able to offer God through my love for you.
I’d missed and forgotten *the roadmap* that takes me o-so-easily, my beloved, into the depths of me where I can better see, reverence, honor, cherish, love and regard my Lord.
No one understands this, yet everyone understands this. Language, communication, meaning-making isn’t a singular act, entailing a one — there always needs to be another, a someone to look at.. watch, analyze, read.. regard & to whatever degree, love. Returning to read is love, as much as returning to write.. returning to visit, speak, exchange. Somewhere in me, is Christ. See Him. Somewhere in you, is God. I love Him. Whatever other Truth is there? We must love our God.. We must love each other as He loves us — how, He did not say, but to be true, I must be true to me to be true to you, to love you, to love my neighbor, to love my God.
Tombs can be Beautiful places.. they certainly are True spaces, as they hold what has been precious in the course of our lives. What I’ve learned to is to indeed Wait. Think no-thing.. utter no sound.. wait for Him.
Just as I’ve waited for you and you’ve waited for me.
How good it is we are friends. :)
Prayers and love, my friend.. prayers and love.. Lord, take care of them.. and their loves.. and anyone they come across. They are mine, they are special to me. Amen.
In Spiritu Tuo, ad gloriam Patris. 5.21.2023. Ascension Sunday.