During my centering prayer practice this morning, I discovered the scariest of places: my own heart. To be clear, I wasn’t afraid but I could clearly feel my small, egoic self scrambling to get me out of this newer, deeper level I had come across. I could feel its fear and panic: “No, no! This is too deep! We’ll NEVER get out of here! Surely this will KILL me!” Scramble, scramble, panic, fight. I simply sat with it as I do with any thought in centering prayer: no reaction or response other than to gently continue releasing my grip and attention. No fighting back. Just softly returning to the space where my Beloved dwells and waits within me.
My practice has been a bit rough lately with lots of turbulent emotions dredging up from the bottom, stirring and clouding the water. My heart is being purified, the clutter being dredged up and cleared out. This leaves clearer pathways for me to descend ever deeper into heartspace where I connect with the Divine. Having touched this place within myself has changed me. I know it’s there now. I know there are greater depths to descend. I want to explore them all; I need and want more.
This is how it often is with me and the Divine: I catch a scent of It, a glimpse, get a taste and instant craving, yearning springs forth, sometimes overwhelmingly. I want to reach out to every heart and spark the same as I continue seeking more of my Beloved nestled secretly in every human, animal, rock and tree. Flowers whisper Her name, water carries the hymns of grace and sometimes I get to hear it even if my ears are out of tune. The Beloved is everywhere and nowhere, inside me and not. And all I can do is keep pursuing, seeking, hoping for the grace of ever closer contact.
In my lust for greater closeness, I’ve begun to see all of creation as the face of the Divine. Touching anything in any way becomes a vehicle for me to connect more deeply with the Divine. Losing that sense of God permeating everything is a profound loss for me. I find myself feeling unmoored, sometimes cranky. I am definitely more prone to tears. I wade through the marshy bog of my desolation and despair seeking land. The bones and snags of my own meanienesses and fears laughing and tearing at me, doing their best to suck me back into the muddy muck, keep me out of alignment and confused. Eventually I find land again, dragging my exhausted self onto it with my remaining strength. And there will sit my Beloved, waiting for me, welcoming me. I have found home once more.