I awoke called to prayer, which was refreshing and encouraging, as in recent months I have been, if not averse, at best dispassionate about praying. In any case, feeling drawn to prayer seemed a wonderful way to shake off my most recent nightmare, in which I wandered from room to room with authoritative voices tallying up cost estimates for repairs to property left to its own form of entropy.
Good thing my subconscious is not too oblique. I need waste no time noodling this one out.
How is it that I can try to understand (and it is really a trial, not anything that is anywhere close to intuitive, being loved wholly and totally as I am, yet I am unable to extend that love to others?
I have no answer. Perhaps there is only practice. Currently there is present each day someone whose malevolent anger could corrode the sun. In this person’s presence I tense up, I recoil, I want to run away, I want to lash out, to condemn, to berate, to eviscerate. I do not criticize myself for having these feelings, for they simply show me that something is wrong. Yet that does not go far enough. I seek restoration of the peace in which I seek to dwell at all times, under all circumstances.
Something in these toxic types threatens that equanimity, stirs in me a fear that it will be forever ripped away and that I will be condemned to dwell forever in the land of the dispirited and destructive. No wonder that is fearsome, for that seems the very definition of hell.
Time was that I would say a little pray before special encounters. Perhaps the time to return to that practice has arrived.
Something is needed by way of assurance, by way of a reminder that I do not stare down this devil (dare I say it in this oh-so-enlightened world?) alone. For that is the core feeling that all the inflictions evokes: that one must live forever alone with this ambassador of spiritual death.
Among this morning’s imagistic awakenings was the old hymn, the old phrase from various sources in scripture, eye on the sparrow. A humble creature, gifted with flight and voice, but without color, moving anonymously and innocuously, neither besetting nor benefitting anyone or anything. Yet cherished.