The Kiss of God

Last night I spent a short period of time in imaginatio divina. The Christian fitness program that DiDi and I are attending concluded with 10 minutes of stillness, so I used the time to go back to the waterfall.

My time there showed me just how much healing has taken place in this last, grueling year, despite the pain and loss that continues. Or more likely, through it.

Normally when I step under the deluge, the water is so cold it snatches my breath. It pounds and rips my clothes away, along with the crust of accumulated sin. Once through, the air is warm and I catch my breath and go to Him, primarily as a child, to crawl on His lap.

Last night was different.

I approached the waterfall across the same stone bridge (strange to see a bridge leading into a river rather than crossing it...) and began bracing myself for the impact. But as my foot first touched the downrushing water I felt the difference. I stepped in fully, and instead of the icy shock that I expected, the water flowed soft and warm over my body. It was more viscous than normal water, and scented. I stood beneath and breathed, watching as it poured all around me. Flower buds coursed down as if growing within it like water lilies.

Knowing I didn't have a lot of time, I walked out of the beautiful water into the cavern behind. The air was warm and scented with its usual mix of perfume and incense. And He waited there, as always.

He waits on an elevated stone seat. This time I approached Him standing tall, perfumed from the stream. I walked, not rushing, luxuriant as he watched, waiting. I climbed the steps. His arms reached out for me and I stepped in to His embrace.

Skin to skin.

Thank you, Lord, for teaching me what the kiss of God is like.

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What a difference this was from the cold, huddling child who first climbed on His lap. What a difference a long, hard year can make. What a difference to go through such a year with a friend and encourager who speaks God's love into your heart.

Thank you Lord. Thank you DiDi.

Alone and yet not alone

It has been a long time since I went to Him in the waterfall, which is stupid, given how much I need to hear from Him, and to get His direction and counsel.

I thought about this this morning, and imagined Him waiting there alone. Imagined Him exposed in the Blessed Sacrament, alone on the altar. I thought about the intense wrongness of such an abandonment.

And I apologized, not that it makes it any better.

In His love, He whispered that it was all right. That others visit Him there.

How beautiful a thought; that in and out of centuries, people meet Him there in meditation. They go to him in the place that I thought was mine, even though He was the one who wove it as I opened my mind to receive Him.

Others also go to Him there.

Imagine that.

I appear once in a while and He greets me as if He has waited solely for me, all His days. In a way, He has. But...

Imagine a monk from 1,106AD coming in humility each day, to rest in His presence.

Imagine a Celtic warrior princess visiting to request help with battle strategy.

Imagine a little child from 278AD Galilee climbing on His knee to be cuddled.

Imagine the mantra of a Hindu guru carrying him there, to this place of divine union.

How interesting that this place He created for me, He also created for others, and that even when I am there with Him alone, it is filled with the presence of His beloved ones, time out of time.

Naked vulnerability and freedom

The other day as I drifted off to sleep I visited our Lord under the waterfall, and He spoke to me of skin.

It was important and compelling, but given that I fell asleep, I lost what it was that He actually disclosed.

In contemplating it this morning, I thought about the skin being the largest organ of the human body, and I thought about how I climb on His lap and sit, skin to skin against Him.

There is more, much more, to explore on this. But what did hit me is that in nakedness, there is both vulnerability and freedom. And that the two, perhaps, go hand in hand.

Day 28: return to nakedness

I was looking at Genesis again over the weekend, this time at the story of the fall. The passage regarding covering the nakedness of Adam and Eve caught my attention. I thought about what it must have been like before the leather garments which God crafted for them.

It reminded me of how God strips away my clothing as I walk through the waterfall, so that I come to Him naked.

Francis de Sales, my patron saint, coached his protege Jeanne de Chantal about being naked before Him.

I think that in the fulfillment of time we will cast off all barriers to each other and to Him, returning to the nakedness of the garden, gloriously resurrected and unashamed.

Day 27: the flavor of His love

Yesterday I was blessed by the opportunity to do my devotionals in the sanctuary, before Him. I tried hard to listen rather than just talk talk talking.

Not an easy task.

I went to Him through the waterfall, and He did indeed reveal something.

He told me that His love is a love which can only be satisfied by consumation.

Day 14: Who am I?

This weekend I spent a bit of time behind the waterfall and thinking about who the core me is. The true and beautiful core that God wants to whittle me down to.

(Great grammar, eh?)

He showed me a few traits, and I'm going to begin compiling a list. Given that it will only include good traits I'm afraid it will read like vanity, so I'm not going to make it public.

I'm doing it to help me focus on strengthening these characteristics. Or more accurately, to help me get better at stripping away everything that obscures them.

And the core, of course, is love. He made me to be a lover.

So I am working on being a better lover.

Wish me luck.

Day 4: Back to the waterfall

This morning while approaching my waterfall, I remembered something I'd meant to write about a few weeks ago.

Usually when I go through the pounding water, all my clothes are stripped away so that I approach Him naked, the way He sees me anyway. On days when my sin is particularly apparent, the water also strips away the sins which have latched on to my flesh like ugly black leeches. Sometimes I enter with scabs covering the sore places where I've ripped them off myself, and the scabs are sloughed off and the soreness healed.

But one day, as I entered, I was not able to let a certain area of sin go. It connected to me and trailed off behind me like a thick rope, traveling back through the waterfall, and tugging on me as I tried to move forward. I stood naked before Him, simpering and posing, trying to hide the chain of sin behind me and trying to move toward Him. But the cord was pulled as tightly as it could be stretched, and I could move no further unless I let go.

How silly I was to try to hide it, to pretend prettiness before the One who knew my every action, my every ugliness. How silly to carry my sin in to Him, to reach for Him with one hand while gripping my sin with the other.

That day I never did let go and climb up on His lap. I couldn't seem to.

And that, my friends, is purgatory. Standing in the presence of God and holding on to our sins, until the beauty and fire of His presence burns off our desire for anything but Him.

Consuming fire, come.

Day 2: Reminder to go to my waterfall

I am reading Gregory Maguire's Wicked, the Wizard of Oz story told from the witch's perspective. I've been a fan of the Oz books since I was little, and have been collecting the beautiful old hardcovers for a few years. Maquire's version is rather dark and joyless, so why I'm persevering through it was a mystery until last night. Before falling asleep I read the quote below, and am now contemplating the connection between the waterfall of my imagiplation:

"I had a Lives of the Saints" once. Saint Aelphaba of the Waterfall--she was a Munchkinlander mystic, six or seven centuries ago. Don't you remember? She wanted to pray, but she was of such beauty that the local men kept pestering her for... attention."

"To preserve her sanctity, she went into the wilderness with her holy scriptures and a single bunch of grapes. Wild beasts threatened her, and wild men hunted after her, and she was sore distressed. Then she came upon a huge waterfall coursing off a cliff. She said, "This is my cave," and took off all her clothes, and she walked right through the screen of pounding water. Beyond was a cavern hollowed out by the splashing water. She sat down there, and in the light that came through the wall of water she read her holy book and pondered on spiritual matters. She ate a grape every now and then. When at last she had finished her grapes, she emerged from the cave. Hundreds of years had passed. There was a village built on the banks of the stream, and even a mill dam nearby. The villagers shrank in horror, for as children they had all played in the cavern behind the waterfall--lovers had trysted there--murders and foul deeds had taken place there--treasure had been buried there--and never had anyone ever seen Saint Aelphaba in her naked beauty. But all Saint Aelphaba had to do was open her mouth and speak the old speech, and they all knew that it must be she, and they built a chapel in her honor. She blessed the children and the elderly, and heard the confessions of the middle-aged, and healed some sick and fed some hungry, that sort of stuff, and then disappeared behind the waterfall again with another bunch of grapes. I think a bigger bunch this time. And that's the last anyone has seen of her."

There are a number of connections to my contemplative waterfall experiences. I also go behind the coursing water to a cavern that is lit. I also go to pray, though in my case Yeshua meets me there. I am also naked, though it is the purging waters that strip away my clothing. I also am strengthened by my time there, to better perform His works of ministry and charity.

I think that His gift of this passage lies in further contemplation of what it said about time, given that time weighs heavily at present. I think He is saying that if I spend time with Him behind the waterfall that He created for me, time will pass much more quickly in the "other" world. The "real" world.

This is confirmation of my beloved priest's urging as well.

It is a good gift.