It was only in rereading the journals for August of ’17 that I happened to come across these words. Oftentimes I don’t get back to entries long after they are written. And then I am often humbled by what is given. I am in the midst of this mental conference and when fatigue overcomes, I shut down. When I go back, there is seldom memory of what transpired.
When I put these words into format, I can only say it is a condition of the heart and there is no reference. These words have come at a cost that is prohibitive. I read them over and tears form another ocean. A favorite doctor counseled and wondered the mystery to him of mystics in modern times and how there had to be something invisible that tied the hearts of one to another.
Proximity to like minds would disturb the ongoing work. It is often a life of isolation. It is tolerable because solitude becomes the favored state when rejection accompanies the mystic. Earlier times were easier on them because seclusion was more prevalent. Laughingly I have said to my sisters of the cloth that no doubt I would be in their convents but heavily sedated. Or in the monastery working in the vineyards. Alone no doubt.
I posted Show Me in late 2017. Speaking of prayers sometimes seems like public autopsy while one is still breathing. But it is a way to show a route that heals the dichotomy within. And we are in need.
Show Me. . .you are the more. . .
When I see you in your prayers,
you pull from me something akin
to obeisance of the highest kind.
I drop to my knees and want
to pray with you to the mighty of
All That Is who garnished upon us all
the sweetness that would turn the hearts
of stone awash with tears.
Tell me, how do you enter that
holy place so quickly when
your thoughts begin with the heart
of the child and take them to
the highest altar of the mind?
You almost take the highest and best
into yourself by some turn of mind
and close out the rest of us
like the door closing against the
onrush of minor thought. . .
How to get there?
Who lets you in?
Somewhere you go that closes us out
but yet. . . .your love includes us.
You step over what is invisible and
takes you to the promised land
which is not a place but a condition.
You know of what I speak and so do I.
I want it for me.
Journal entry August 27, 2017
(primitive art is mine)