Dark Night of the Soul and Kaleidoscopes
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My dear ol’ dad in all his wisdom spoke with me today about suffering, both my own and that of so many others who have a uniquely heartbreaking story to tell. (He’s a little like Mr. Miagi or Yoda sometimes, but with better grammar. “kaleidoscope is human suffering inter-woven meaning, yes?”)
I don’t know why life is so hard sometimes. I don’t know why humans hurt each other, sometimes just selfishly, but sometimes brutally. I don’t know why children are abused or babies die. I don’t know why people worry about where their next meal will come from or how they will pay rent. Sometimes life doesn’t seem very painful - count your blessings for such a season - because, somehow or another, sometime or another, shit hits the fan for everyone it seems.
What are we to do with it? How do we make meaning out of it? How do we learn from it, grow and support others when they go through it? How do we feel loved by Someone Greater in the midst of it?
Sometimes it creates la noche oscura del alma, or the dark night of the soul, an english professor once told me, in reference to St. John of the Cross’ poem. I can certainly attest to this dark night lately. It’s a desolate place, and all attempt at faith seems futile. I just hope mine doesn’t last for 45 years like it did for the saint.
The Dark Night of the Soul
One dark night,
fired with love’s urgent longings
- ah, the sheer grace! -
I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled.In darkness, and secure,
by the secret ladder, disguised,
- ah, the sheer grace! -
in darkness and concealment,
my house being now all stilled.On that glad night,
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything,
with no other light or guide
than the one that burned in my heart.This guided me
more surely than the light of noon
to where he was awaiting me
- him I knew so well -
there in a place where no one appeared.O guiding night!
O night more lovely than the dawn!
O night that has united
the Lover with his beloved,
transforming the beloved in her Lover.Upon my flowering breast
which I kept wholly for him alone,
there he lay sleeping,
and I caressing him
there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.When the breeze blew from the turret,
as I parted his hair,
it wounded my neck
with its gentle hand,
suspending all my senses.I abandoned and forgot myself,
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.
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