(I dedicate this to all those women who found the Sacred and Divine despite the confinements of the times they lived in...Women like St. Claire, St. Teresa and Hildegard of Bingen)
The Mystic
She stands within the empty cell; the only movement save her
beating heart are the dust particles that float in the shaft of sunlight coming
from the one high and tiny window. No
sound; no long intake of breath, no gentle swallow of saliva or shifting of the
robes that drape her body, can be heard.
To look in upon this cell, to secretly and magically see through the
stone walls, is as gazing upon a painting; mostly gloomy, colourless, but
nonetheless inviting curiosity regarding the activity that must be occurring
beyond the reach of the eye.
She stands long, the will of her body holding her upright
beneath the rough grey material that cloaks it.
She has retreated to a darker corner of her chamber, her brow nearly
resting where the walls meet. The air
grows stale and the small room hot as a powerful sun heats the ancient rocks of
the cell. You or I might nearly faint,
confined within such a place, lacking water to cool our parched throat or muggy
body.
Yet she stands; cloaked in heavy fabric, her hair hidden
beneath a tightly wrapped scarf, so that she is devoid of character, made plain
and unassuming, made invisible to a gaudy world.
Her countenance; hidden by a swath of cloth that reaches
from her crown to her shoulders, like drapery framing a window parted only
enough to reveal a sliver of the landscape beyond, paints no expression –
lashes resting on tender and pale skin, lips non-committal and dull - a face
with no expression, holding no clue to the universe unfolding behind it.
She is unaware of her own existence in this dark and silent
place, unaware of aching legs or hungry belly as she is pulled effortlessly
into an ever expanding void where the blackness around her is pierced with
innumerable sparks of light – light that cannot or will not reach her but
promises the eventuality of illumination.
She becomes aware of her own presence when she is visited
with the knowledge of the inescapable aloneness that surrounds her. She knows this companion well and it no
longer frightens her for she has welcomed it thoroughly and it has become
familiar. The awareness of her presence
awakens her to the countless lights around her and she feels the pull of one
among the million and she eagerly submits to it.
Oh how it reaches for her this small and flickering light
and how her companion rejoices each time it flashes a promising ray toward
her. There is the rising of anticipation
within her quiet soul that is cautious and restrained. And so she journey’s for perhaps eternity,
but here time is nothing, neither is space, and she knows these to be the
creations of small minds, measurements of the arrogant. For at once she is embraced utterly in the
warmth and brilliance of the distant star, no place around her hints of the
darkness she journeyed through and the illumination is not shocking.
The light enfolds her but does not stop there; it pierces
her skin through every pore. It reaches
in long strands of gold and silver to ignite each cell within her. The space between each cell like the darkness
she journeyed through to get here. In
this activity she has no earthly body for she expands beyond the confines of
skin and bone until she is as vast as the universe around her, until she is one
with both the light and the dark and there is no separation she can conceive
of. Desire overtakes her but has no
object, is simply pure and unbridled, and she is free.
This light is most glorious and within it there are sounds
unlike her ears could ever hear. Each
molecule of light like a tiny instrument that when joined with the whole creates
a symphony of sound, music so sweet she cannot but cry. As the tear falls down her cheek then descends
past her neck to her breast she finds herself once again contained in her body,
as she stands naked in the light. All
calmness descends over her and she is glad for this boundary, this body that
welcomes her back. It is in her naked
sedation, unashamed and untethered, that she sees the shadow of her God come
toward her.
He comes from the light as though all light converged to
make up his magnificent form – he comes as light though his dark skin is most
human. Wounds upon his hands and feet shed
ribbons of blood, blood he could shed forever; blood of unhealed wounds gladly
bore. His brown eyes are as gateways to
a never-ending wilderness of peace, to fall into the darkness of his eyes would
be to know the perfection of his grace. He
casts these upon her and she catches her breath as she is seized by shame at
her nakedness. But his eyes hold only
love and wonder as though she is a long searched for and finally found
treasure. He gazes past her skin and she
is exposed in an entirely different way.
She exhales as though for the first time. He knows her sins and short-comings, he knows
her fears and doubts, and the weight of his mercy overcomes her and she falls
to her knees. How can she deserve
this? How can she receive such grace? Her mortality, even in this holy place,
cannot contain such benevolence and she cries out her unworthiness.
Yet she cannot hide for there is nowhere he cannot follow
and his eyes never falter in their gaze.
He comes to her and gathers her most gently into his arms.
Oh joy without end and for no purpose! Oh joy so pure and new; joy devoid of small
ideas of worthlessness, but boundless in its capacity to heal! In joy she knows she never needed
forgiveness, in joy she comes to know her own perfection, in joy she leaves all
earth and flesh behind her and knows no separation between the Divine and her
Soul.
He is whispering to her but no one word can be distinguished
for all words and voices are riding on his breath and like a warm breeze caress
her softly. Breath of love, air of
peace, winds of heaven rage over her.
How can this be tolerated, this terrible love that knows no
end, that determinedly persists until its subject receives it? Who can withstand such an assault as God can
reign when the object of his desire is found?
But she must and she does, she submits and dissolves to all else. She submits and blessedly ceases to exist in
any manner not familiar with his love.
And within the tiny cell she now lays prostrate; her cheek
resting on the rough stone floor. No
light comes from the window now as night has descended and the cell has grown
cold. No food or water has passed her
lips these long hours and to the observer she would appear to have fainted –
her thin body succumbing at last to its earthly needs. But this is not the case, she herself is
unaware of making the transition to the floor, no will of her own commanded the
bending of her knees or the descent of her body. Yet here she lay, still and pale, a tear from
her eye the only indication of life beyond the form.
It is the coldness she first is aware of as it seeps past
her heavy robes and bites at her skin.
Oh how she fights the coming of consciousness that cruelly pulls her
back to the world. But there it is…and
once it takes hold she cannot stop its invasion, for the human body will have
its desires known and will always reach for appeasement.
Next comes the aching of muscles long held rigid and stiff
to bear the body in its posture. The
awakening of muscles and joints that cry out for tender stretching brings her
more fully to herself and she is being pulled back through eternity, back to a
most powerful destination, the dominion of her mortal being.
Finally it is the waters of her body that nudge her to full conciseness
so that she opens her eyes and in the darkness cries out in grief at being
forced from her Divine Lover. Her soul
yearns to return, be it through the pain of death, but her body refuses to
obey.
“My God, my Love, take
not your grace from me.” She whispers most urgently into the cover of night;
these words less a prayer then an entreaty of need – sustenance for her soul to
live.
She must rise, she knows this and grievously she does, her
legs shaking, her belly on fire with hunger, her face wet with tears, the union
with her Lord becoming memory; one that brings the rapture of the bond and the
agony of parting and the excruciating desire to return.
So it is, a day and night; her destiny perfectly revealed, a
betrothal forged in a simple cathedral where light and dark collide, where
cacophony and harmony become the chorus of the matrimonial hymn.
And hidden in a fold of her garment a speck of colour dots
the vastness of grey like a buoy upon a fearsome sea, the blood of a wound that
shall never close but will save the life of the drowning.
