like Something or Someone~one healing in one Light
Dec 24, 2019
*Brian Wilcox. 'Quiet'. Flickr.
this Something or Someone asks to be felt let's not escape into the head remain with the body sink into the heart here, all is, and we are
yes, in the heart, the Heart we are
this we feel, this here not you or me but not other than that we are
so, relax feel it, feel it let yourself sink sink sink and sink
this wallless embrace meet me here yes, oh meet me here in a place without windows and such Grace yes Grace!
* * *
I will relay a question, and my non-religion readers could come to the conclusion this is a Christian or religion writing: No, it is not. A query was posed: "What is Eucharist literally?" My reply, "Eucharist is so much more than literally anything? What it is, when you are encountered by it, cannot receive an answer." My speaking of this today is for it relates to Christmas, the day following this writing, and the poem below speaks of "Eucharistic depths." I thought of editing out this reference but decided not to, rather to address it in a way that can speak to Christians and non-Christians, and those of-religion and not. For Truth is never not-of-religion, nor is it of-religion, anymore than is Love or Peace or Laughter or Beauty: It is.
* * *
I, sweet stillness of the quiet rim, form that you, My Love, place your mouth upon to imbibe the Wine; you, the Chalice, my intoxicating fullness contains, your tongue's delight am I, those eyes my Light supply. Eucharistic depths mystify, wash ashore questions never sating longing or giving answers to satisfy. Finally, falling, surrendered, helpless demise to thirst and hunger:
No more bread, no more wine, only This Love beyond altar and steeple, gods and religion, right and wrong, does quiet this lover's restless seeking that led me here to you: One isle of Calm, the gift of life received, for lost the self in your arms.
I never know what this Sun will say.
I know I did not learn it from anyone anywhere.
* * *
Several years ago I lived in a tiny apartment at a RV camp, in a rural area off I16 to and from Savannah, Georgia, nearby working at a small hospice in Claxton. I had been reading about the mystery of the Eucharist. "Eucharist" can refer to the elements~bread and wine~or the rite in which the elements are blessed and consumed by worshipers in Christian communions. In the church of the author I was reading, a Catholic, the Eucharist becomes the body and blood of Jesus through the blessing of a priestly officiant. Other communions maintain the spiritual presence of Jesus is in the elements upon being blessed. My former religious sect, like many Protestant ones, held that the meal is a memorial meal, only in remembrance.
In the readings of the last days, by that mystical-oriented Catholic, the Christ of the Eucharist is not the same as Jesus. Her work sounded like more a Buddhist Catholicism than most Catholics would accept and, so, of course, I much enjoyed her writings. I, too, had come to see the Christ as more than the man Jesus, more alike the Word, or Logos, which we read of in the mystical Gospel of John in the Christian Scripture or in the Gospel of Thomas. I, likewise, sensed the Eucharist was not merely a particular meal, though I did not deny that it was for some; for me, the meal had became something more related to the Sacred, or sacredness, that permeates and is manifested in all Creation, or Nature. This means, for me, the Eucharistic mystery is not Christian specifically, or pertaining to only religion in any way essentially. We could say Eucharist is creational, in that this unseen Grace is manifested as in and through Nature; but, then, we risk reducing it, a reduction alike of Spirit to matter. This has been called, by the transpersonalist Ken Wilber, the pre-trans fallacy: regression is mistaken for progression, for the evolution of Spirit is always forward, never backward. All teachings leading us back to an earlier time, rather than stretching us forth to a time not yet, these reflect the pre-trans fallacy. To move onward, we may have to recapture unintegrated elements of the past, as persons or collectives, but this is for integrating them in transformation, or moving past the forms of past and present into never-before forms. This is why we speak in spiritual work of "trans-formation," not merely change.
Still, there is no way to separate what I was reading about from matter. In transformation matter is never left behind. Rather, Spirit and matter being different are not separate. Spirit is prior, but both being one in a holy union of Life. I have, elsewhere, referred to this union as the Mystical Marriage.
* * *
During this time, living about 1.5 hours from my earthly father and brother, I got up on Christmas morning to drive home to celebrate the day with them. After beginning the drive home, all appeared to have changed. I recall vividly the sense, as I looked out of the truck windows, in all directions. Everywhere was felt-seen as Eucharist. And this was seen with the physical eyes, not merely a mental vision. Nothing appeared as usual. Everything was more alive, was alive, all within a Living Oneness: not impersonal, more. This was not sensed-felt as anything particular, everything was included in the embrace of this Being. So, as John of the Cross taught that we move from sensing God within us to our being in God, this was alike that; everything was seen and felt to be within this unspeakable, alive Isness, this Life. An Intimacy held and made possible all this, the Unseen the home of the seen.
The little girl walked up to me, beside her mother. I was their pastor, was standing before the lectern where I would offer messages of encouragement to the people. The mother told me her daughter had something to tell me. I bent down, listening closely. The child said, "Jesus said, 'Split wood, I am there. Lift up a rock, you will find me there.'" I recognized her words from the Gospel of Thomas. I smiled, delighted at the wisdom of a child able to see and celebrate the simplicity of such a great Mystery.
In tune with Robert Sardello, I could refer to this as Silence. He, in his Silence, speaks of the living Silence as a presence, a being, not merely an absence of anything, such as sound. He distances himself from what he sees as a reduction of this to energy. He and I would agree that any word placed upon this presence is incorrect and easily misleads from the truth of the experience itself. Likewise, of import, the experience is not it itself. From the experience we seek, with mind, to understand; we place upon the native encounter words. In this, however, we easily move from it and the experience to equating, so reducing, it and the experience of it to language, so thought. Yet, we cannot think or say either what was that Christmas morning or what my experience of it was. We cannot speak it, only speak about it.
* * *
We we are visited by Grace, in some way of many ways Life shows up in our lives, we speak of it to invite others to it, not to explain it. We do a disservice when we explain, so explain away, this Mystery. Possibly, poetry is the most respectful means of referring to this Truth of Being everywhere. Possibly, silence is the most respectful mode of worship of Life.
* * *
I am tempted to call this encountered that Christmas morning Love. Yet, it feels more like Something or Someone, or both, unnameable and filled with loving~loving us. This speaks to me of presence, a hopeful Presence, one we meet at the juncture of past and future, in this now here, where all our past, even the scattered pieces, hears the invitation to healing, this where endings become beginnings and what is hinted at by "Christ", even by your face in the mirror, is born afresh, once again. And in your healing, and in my healing, is the healing of our world. Yes, this is a Season of hope, not hope so, but hope! And we are bearers of this Good News! We are born to be lovers, and in love we can find our way, our being each and all different, one in one Light.
Video can be accessed on original site via upper artist-title here... Lyrics below...
Eyes blue and hollow As it rains against their will Feathers falling out of the pillow As if time is standing still
I can't remember much more But I know it happened quiet
So quiet Words falling out through the window All that remains is a silent call Is the earth coloured red? As I land like a flower on the meadow Oh Love is wild
You fell apart Like a stone can be broken into sand A thousand pieces Spread across a crying land And you can't remember that day But you know it happened quiet So quiet
Words falling out through the window All that remains is a silent call Is the earth coloured red? As I land like a flower on the meadow Oh Love is wild
Ooh, ooh ooh, ooh ooh, ooh ooh Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh Ooh ooh ooh ooh, ooh, ooh Are your dreams as dead as they seem? Are your dreams as dead as they seem?
Don't you speak over my voice I will return from the shadows And I'll bleed in your bed Turn it red Like the ground outside your window