Post 131.
The Eager Seeger Half Marathon is a mountain race offered by the Tussey Mountainback Ultramarathon. I ran it in June, last month. In the second mile I ran into a bear. A large bear came out of the woods in front of me, to the right. He stopped and looked at me. I told him to move on, and he casually walked into the woods on the left. I was grateful, but I was terrified. I could not move on of my own accord. I was there for some minutes, unable to see the bear in the woods. It could be right there, waiting to pounce. Or it could have moved on. No amount of logicking could make my feet move. Out of nowhere, an angel of the Lord came up behind me. I did not see her but there she was. Brave when I was scared. And she walked with me past this spot where I last saw this bear. She got me past it. The bear is not what I ought to follow but the angel is. After walking with me for a few minutes, she jogged on—much swifter of foot than I.
I am no great mystic like Hildegard of Bingen or Theresa of Avila or John of the Cross. My visions are seldom some great and direct arrow to the pure light of God’s radiance—my interior castles are decaying temples in the woods, overgrown with moss. But I am a mystic, however limited in ability. When I woke this morning, I felt a longing to re-enter the spiritual realm—the first time in a while. I have abundant command of logic, but I also have a spiritual yearning. Unexplainable, and undismissible. It’s more than merely immaterial in the way the great transcendentals of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty are immaterial. Those are large, and difficult for me to symbolize. I realize Boethius experienced Wisdom in his jail cell—so I guess we can add him to the list of great mystics who I am less than. My experiences with the spiritual realm feel lesser, realer, smaller, and more personal. Perhaps this means my experiences are not meant for the whole of the world—in which case I shouldn’t be publishing today’s reflection. But perhaps there can be some use for somebody reading this post. As the Little Flower said, there is the big way of the Big Theresa, with her interior castle, and then there is a little way.
Entering the spiritual realm this morning, at 3AM, I experienced quick flashes of images from previous spiritual encounters ... the tree of life, my bear guide, the dirt road in the woods, the overgrown mossy temple beneath the trees, the fallen angel, the bear. The bear was the spirit guide when I explored these things in the early 2000s, when I made a study of shamanism. The black bear guided me through the tree of life and down into caverns and eventually to find the fallen angel. I was not the fallen angel—unalike acknowledging unalike I suspected the power to destroy the material universe with his voice—and what restricted him doing it? I have no such power. When I speak, not much happens directly or immediately. To my flawed ears, people seldom seem to listen to me, and I feel weak. I feel unsureness. But I do also appreciate that my words take like roots, which you don’t perceive are growing, but which hold strong after they have taken and can weather frightful weather. It was like this with eco-literate music pedagogy. Roots slowly embracing my profession, and ultimately collectively holding it. I guess this is the weak path of roots.
In my weakness, to return to today’s vision, struggling vines propagated over me, slimy and muscular, squeezing me beneath them, and I was powerless to breathe freely. They writhed. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I am the light. I received the light from the source of all light, the Creator, the Lord, the God of all realms, material and spiritual. I tried, with my light, to escape, but I could not. I saw the bear and followed it into the mountain of the half marathon—those distinctive mountains of Rothrock—real, actual, and not general and spiritual. I followed the bear there, and as it travelled into the woods, I went to follow it, but remembered my way was the small road up the mountain.
When I was there last month, I could not of my own power move on. I began video recording, but ultimately deleted that, because of its fear. Because of my fear. I did not want to post my inadequacy on YouTube. I carried a rosary on my wrist, and a medal to St. Joseph, who fathered God on the material realm. The eternal Beloved was also the actual beloved of Joseph, who held him as an infant, instructed him as a boy, played with him, laughed with him, and cried with him. Joseph explained the world to Jesus as he comprehended it. Joseph embodies the terror of demons in tradition and stands at the turn of the material and spiritual realms, having that very real material encounter with the spiritual Creator of all.
Again, I could not move on of my own accord, and even though I had my phone recording and there’s no reason I could not see her, a woman walked up behind me unseen. Where I was terrified, she was brave. When I told her of the bear right there, she wasn’t petrified like I was. Her movement permitted my movement. Her walking, my walking. Her calmness, my mobility. And I was able to go on, in fear. My fear did not go away. I was terrified but no longer petrified. Fear lessened throughout the event, as I ran for hours after, in the woods—mostly alone.
Lord God, what ought I remember from this—the encounter in the wild mountains last month, and the encounter in the spiritual realm today? You have sent your angel to me. I must remember—put the members together—I am light, because your Love is light and eternal.
In the beginning You, eternal Parent, Loved the eternal Child. You Loved Him when He was an infant, and when he was a child, and a teenager. You Love Him when He became an adult, and when He worked as a carpenter, when He preached, and when He was killed. What I experience, He also did—the terrifying bear in the wilderness, the help of angels, the writhing vines. The guides. Kind recognizing kind, and unkind recognizing unkind.
Lord, I am not a great mystic, but to deny my mystical encounters and yearnings is to deny a part of myself—the way You made me. Did you make all people with this mystic side? If so, why do so many people ignore it? Why can I go weeks discounting these experiences? Noah listened. Joseph dreamed—and followed that dream in Egypt. Daniel interpreted and bravely faced lions. Do others experience this, and dismiss these occasions? What happens in our life when we make commonplace dismissing this whole part of ourselves? Lord, God, help us. Forgive us. Send us your angels. Guide us. Give us light in the darkness. Shelter us.
In a Springtime reflection another mystic, Thomas Merton wrote: “When warmth comes again to the sea of Tritons of spring shall wake. Life shall wake underground and under sea. The fields will laugh, the woods will be drunk with flowers of rebellion, the night will make every fool sing in his sleep, and the morning will make him stand up in the sun and cover himself with water and with light” (When the Trees Say Nothing, p. 67). I, a Summertime creature, adore the warmth, and the underground life of roots and the mystery of the depths of seas, wherein whales sing their still songs, I hear the fields laugh, and stand in harmony with flowers in rebellion. At night I awaken from sleep singing, and anticipate the sun’s rising, when I can wash my face and go outside to cover myself with the Lord’s light.
DS
Link to Image: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jasper-Bear-Hunt-2.jpg
The Eager Seeger Half Marathon is a mountain race offered by the Tussey Mountainback Ultramarathon. I ran it in June, last month. In the second mile I ran into a bear. A large bear came out of the woods in front of me, to the right. He stopped and looked at me. I told him to move on, and he casually walked into the woods on the left. I was grateful, but I was terrified. I could not move on of my own accord. I was there for some minutes, unable to see the bear in the woods. It could be right there, waiting to pounce. Or it could have moved on. No amount of logicking could make my feet move. Out of nowhere, an angel of the Lord came up behind me. I did not see her but there she was. Brave when I was scared. And she walked with me past this spot where I last saw this bear. She got me past it. The bear is not what I ought to follow but the angel is. After walking with me for a few minutes, she jogged on—much swifter of foot than I.
I am no great mystic like Hildegard of Bingen or Theresa of Avila or John of the Cross. My visions are seldom some great and direct arrow to the pure light of God’s radiance—my interior castles are decaying temples in the woods, overgrown with moss. But I am a mystic, however limited in ability. When I woke this morning, I felt a longing to re-enter the spiritual realm—the first time in a while. I have abundant command of logic, but I also have a spiritual yearning. Unexplainable, and undismissible. It’s more than merely immaterial in the way the great transcendentals of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty are immaterial. Those are large, and difficult for me to symbolize. I realize Boethius experienced Wisdom in his jail cell—so I guess we can add him to the list of great mystics who I am less than. My experiences with the spiritual realm feel lesser, realer, smaller, and more personal. Perhaps this means my experiences are not meant for the whole of the world—in which case I shouldn’t be publishing today’s reflection. But perhaps there can be some use for somebody reading this post. As the Little Flower said, there is the big way of the Big Theresa, with her interior castle, and then there is a little way.
Entering the spiritual realm this morning, at 3AM, I experienced quick flashes of images from previous spiritual encounters ... the tree of life, my bear guide, the dirt road in the woods, the overgrown mossy temple beneath the trees, the fallen angel, the bear. The bear was the spirit guide when I explored these things in the early 2000s, when I made a study of shamanism. The black bear guided me through the tree of life and down into caverns and eventually to find the fallen angel. I was not the fallen angel—unalike acknowledging unalike I suspected the power to destroy the material universe with his voice—and what restricted him doing it? I have no such power. When I speak, not much happens directly or immediately. To my flawed ears, people seldom seem to listen to me, and I feel weak. I feel unsureness. But I do also appreciate that my words take like roots, which you don’t perceive are growing, but which hold strong after they have taken and can weather frightful weather. It was like this with eco-literate music pedagogy. Roots slowly embracing my profession, and ultimately collectively holding it. I guess this is the weak path of roots.
In my weakness, to return to today’s vision, struggling vines propagated over me, slimy and muscular, squeezing me beneath them, and I was powerless to breathe freely. They writhed. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I am the light. I received the light from the source of all light, the Creator, the Lord, the God of all realms, material and spiritual. I tried, with my light, to escape, but I could not. I saw the bear and followed it into the mountain of the half marathon—those distinctive mountains of Rothrock—real, actual, and not general and spiritual. I followed the bear there, and as it travelled into the woods, I went to follow it, but remembered my way was the small road up the mountain.
When I was there last month, I could not of my own power move on. I began video recording, but ultimately deleted that, because of its fear. Because of my fear. I did not want to post my inadequacy on YouTube. I carried a rosary on my wrist, and a medal to St. Joseph, who fathered God on the material realm. The eternal Beloved was also the actual beloved of Joseph, who held him as an infant, instructed him as a boy, played with him, laughed with him, and cried with him. Joseph explained the world to Jesus as he comprehended it. Joseph embodies the terror of demons in tradition and stands at the turn of the material and spiritual realms, having that very real material encounter with the spiritual Creator of all.
Again, I could not move on of my own accord, and even though I had my phone recording and there’s no reason I could not see her, a woman walked up behind me unseen. Where I was terrified, she was brave. When I told her of the bear right there, she wasn’t petrified like I was. Her movement permitted my movement. Her walking, my walking. Her calmness, my mobility. And I was able to go on, in fear. My fear did not go away. I was terrified but no longer petrified. Fear lessened throughout the event, as I ran for hours after, in the woods—mostly alone.
Lord God, what ought I remember from this—the encounter in the wild mountains last month, and the encounter in the spiritual realm today? You have sent your angel to me. I must remember—put the members together—I am light, because your Love is light and eternal.
In the beginning You, eternal Parent, Loved the eternal Child. You Loved Him when He was an infant, and when he was a child, and a teenager. You Love Him when He became an adult, and when He worked as a carpenter, when He preached, and when He was killed. What I experience, He also did—the terrifying bear in the wilderness, the help of angels, the writhing vines. The guides. Kind recognizing kind, and unkind recognizing unkind.
Lord, I am not a great mystic, but to deny my mystical encounters and yearnings is to deny a part of myself—the way You made me. Did you make all people with this mystic side? If so, why do so many people ignore it? Why can I go weeks discounting these experiences? Noah listened. Joseph dreamed—and followed that dream in Egypt. Daniel interpreted and bravely faced lions. Do others experience this, and dismiss these occasions? What happens in our life when we make commonplace dismissing this whole part of ourselves? Lord, God, help us. Forgive us. Send us your angels. Guide us. Give us light in the darkness. Shelter us.
In a Springtime reflection another mystic, Thomas Merton wrote: “When warmth comes again to the sea of Tritons of spring shall wake. Life shall wake underground and under sea. The fields will laugh, the woods will be drunk with flowers of rebellion, the night will make every fool sing in his sleep, and the morning will make him stand up in the sun and cover himself with water and with light” (When the Trees Say Nothing, p. 67). I, a Summertime creature, adore the warmth, and the underground life of roots and the mystery of the depths of seas, wherein whales sing their still songs, I hear the fields laugh, and stand in harmony with flowers in rebellion. At night I awaken from sleep singing, and anticipate the sun’s rising, when I can wash my face and go outside to cover myself with the Lord’s light.
DS
Link to Image: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jasper-Bear-Hunt-2.jpg
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