But it's Lent, and as the memorial of the death of the Beloved approaches, I make a bit of an effort. By a series of almost random events, I find myself this year making the most of the Mystics .I hadn't thought them to be so grounded, so loving and humble. I like them.
It's probably an advantage being a poet, to begin to make sense of the language of a mystic, because they have to resort to metaphor and imagery to try to express what is beyond knowing or to make sense of what cannot even be known, that can only be experienced. Frankly, boxing Experience into the word, 'God', doesn't work so well any longer, and may be evidenced in our failure to attract people to our faith and religious practices. Maybe drawing people into the experience of unconditional love, makes more sense than trying to get them into a church?
I'm at the end of what I know, which is so little, but this I have learned. I was known and loved from before the cosmos took shape, and every breath I take is a gift. This is my truth, which will seem delusional to most of you who read this, but as Thomas Merton writes:
"I will not break faith with my awakened heart."
And so, Thomas Merton, by James Finley:
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