“In contemplation God teaches the soul very quietly and secretly, without its knowing how, without the sound of words” (Chapter 39, The Spiritual Canticle).
In the spirit of St. John of the Cross, this blog reflects on the contemplative experience and the poetic experience, sometimes separately and distinctly, sometimes in common, as mutually enlightening.
I will also post to this blog, from time to time, my own poetry, with a short interpretive note attached.
~ Fr. Bonaventure Sauer, OCD
Seven Conversation Poems – Part 4
Sat, Nov 16 2019
Ready for Omnipotence
The sun is sinking as the earth, far away, receives it;
The two recede still further, off into darkness. Dusk
Floats upward, weightless, happy, a last breath
Mixing with the freedom of the stars. Time expires
Into timelessness, and we feel it, this departure—
Like the lifting of August that is September,
Like the vastness of young love that is the night.
One wave of my hand and, presto, there you are,
Willed into being—you who are forever, O Night,
Blind to me here beneath you. I want nothing
But for you to be yourself and nothing else; and if
You were ever to see me, could you still be yourself
High above and without me? But you must be
Without me, existing before me, abiding eternally,
So that I might come to behold you and will you
Just so—for that is the one task assigned me tonight.
As a child I used to believe I could think things away;
I could think poof, and they’d be gone. (Oh, I don’t
Remember actually believing this, although I must have
At some point or other; magical thinking does have
Its draw, and we all give it a try, from time to time,
Just to see how it feels when it fails to work.). So, then,
To will it away and wish it dead, gone for good; or
To will it alive, a living, breathing thing, to will it just so––
If in time I chose the latter for pretty much everything,
Was it just because it works, other approaches proving
Futile? Or was there something more at stake, something
Truly worth choosing? Was the possibility kept from me,
The possibility of omnipotence—kept safe like an
Inheritance—till I should learn to choose acceptance,
Always and everywhere, having no other option. Then,
Once omnipotence was finally handed over to me,
Like a key to a cabin in the woods—to will it away,
Whatever it might be, to say sayonara, goodbye—
Or to will it just so, all of it, precisely—after a lifetime
I knew what to do, and, with little fanfare, I did it.
Written by Fr. Bonaventure Sauer, OCD