Canticle of Canticles
“Open to me…
My love, my dove, my perfect one;
For my head is wet with dew,
My locks with the drops of the night.”
I had put off my garment, how could I put it on?
I had bathed my feet, how could I soil them?
My beloved put his hand to the latch,
And my heart was thrilled within me.
I arose to open to my beloved,
And my hands dripped with myrrh,
My fingers with liquid myrrh,
Upon the handles of the bolt.
I opened to my beloved,
But my beloved had turned and gone.
My soul failed me when he spoke.
I sought him, but found him not;
I called him, but he gave no answer.
The watchmen found me,
As they went about in the city;
They beat me,
They wounded me,
They took away my mantle,
Those watchmen of the walls.
Somewhere I read, the guise, the adorning, the presenting of the lovers as enveloping detachment. Enthrallment with God usurping all concerns. When a level and experience of God is attained all else fails. I am experiencing an emptiness after the incident with Joseph. Nothing dramatic nor sour, yet a letdown in reality. The concentration upon the Canticle of Canticles centering upon the authenticity of prayer establishing the only time one truly feels alive. One’s relationship with God has reached an earnestly passionate level. Today was a men’s fellowship meeting at Sacred Heart. It is truly a stepping up in maturity regarding my Cleveland experience. Wonderful in depth and nature. Individuals on an elevated plateau in social regard. The Wednesday Arise gathering at St Clare possess promising potential. Today, upon the natural level, a soothing comfort was provided by an hour long foot massage at an oriental spa catering to foot care. I have been have feet pain, nothing severe, however a harsh soreness upon rising or after sitting for a while. The woman did a tremendous job loosening up my feet, driving away achiness. I was touched when upon completion she pulled a nail trimmer out and preceded to give me a quick pedicure. She spoke no English so it was difficult to thank her, aside from a healthy tip. All these things bring forth comfort, and others point decidedly to affirmation, even within negativity, yet like Abbot William it becomes clear my true solace is my prayer life. To a certain extent, nothing else matters. Nothing else is able to penetrate. The evening with Joseph, the first time it was evidently obvious to me another was passing away before my eyes, elevated my prayer life to a level I have never experienced. Drawing me closer to God, the profoundly prayerful moments pronounced my vocation. Simply, I am a man of prayer. How this plays out in the future is only to be determined by God. I must learn to bring myself and my life to rest, quietness, purity, and peace forefront, providing Presence, in order to discern better how to live, what to do with myself and where to go.
