To Embody the Poetically Hard

There are moments in life that are easy to navigate, and others that are simply hard. But it is the poetically hard moments, those moments that lie within the soul and guide our salvation. The poetically hard are those moments found within sacrificial suffering for the purification of souls. Moments when I stared up from the abyss, from the depths of hell, from the inferno that rages on, that to walk away from life would have been easy. To watch that life burn. To move on with a sinister smile on my face. But Saint John of the Cross writes, “strive always to choose not which is easiest but that which is most difficult,” to not shy away but to embrace that which is most demanding.

Here these instructions run contrary to my belief. Still, they aid in my ability to enter into complete detachment, emptiness, and poverty of spirit. That while holiness resides within me, my will will lead me astray. Thus, I must enter into the night of the senses. I must mortify the concupiscence of the flesh, and the concupiscence of the eyes, and the pride of life, all of which are things that reign in the world from which evil proceeds.

Though I am not seeking just holiness. For holiness is not poetically hard. I must seek a complete union of my soul with God. But I ask, what lust do I commit, what desires do I hold onto? What prohibits my union with God? What thought lingers deep within the recesses of my mind that is not of Him?

If I forgo my will to enter into that night, to enter into that “darkness and in concealment, hidden from evil, to whom the light of faith is more darkness,” I can be free. I can be free within the laws of God, free from my desires within, those that plague me, leaving me feeling empty, leaving me without hope.

Such freedom is purchased at a great cost, indeed, to enter into such a night requires faith. For faith is “the consent given by the soul for that superior light to enter.” But my faith resides within the mind. I am guided by my will, not His Will. I fail to surrender. I fail to grow in union with Him. If I surrendered, I would be blinded by the light, no longer in darkness, and understand that which is only taught by faith.

I battle, I argue, and I pray to understand how God works, as if what He has shown me is not enough because it did not conform to my understanding, to the manner in which I would conduct my life. “But the soul must pass beyond everything to unknowing.” To the unknowing, as if wisdom itself were an unreachable point in space.

The whispers of wisdom have been heard, for as Saint John of the Cross writes, my “soul has progressed farther in love.” To a love that willed the good of the other. Yet, I fail to resign and detach from the armor within. That if the fortress of my soul were gone, I would desire it back.

That armor that protects me. Protects me so that I might not let go. As if I do not have faith. As if I do not hope. As if I do not love.

Who can enter, or even desire to enter into this complete detachment and emptiness of spirit? For I must have no burdens with respect to the lower things. How can I find such a path, and follow it? I cannot determine the path myself. I cannot walk a path believing it is the narrow one that God instructed me to take. For only God can illuminate the path I must follow.

“For the deepest things of God are the least known to men.” My finite mind cannot comprehend. What are these deepest things? What fraction of an idea could there be that I am unaware of? And here, a desire to know more, even these questions, I must detach from. For only God can imbue me with such wisdom. That is, if He wills it. Even the slightest desire to know more about God is a form of attachment. Thus, the more I let go, the less I understand, but it is here that God seeks me.

I must remember, the language of God is different. It is a spiritual language, far removed from my understanding. And when my soul hears God, I trust that I do not understand Him, for I cannot understand the hidden truths of God. I must rely on faith alone.

Yet, there lies the juxtaposition that I must seek the deepest things of God. I must remain and journey in darkness, to love, to maintain faith, to forgo my reasoning and memories. For my memory must be annihilated, allowing it to attain union with God and the wisdom that accompanies it. My soul shall become Divine.

To advance beyond the knowing into the unknowing, I must freely allow everything to fall into oblivion, as if all things were a hindrance. So when all is forgotten, there will be nothing that can disturb my peace or that moves my desire. I busy myself with that which can be comprehended, such that I am not free to attend to the incomprehensible, which is God.

When I can, I will be able to bear everything with equitable and peaceful tranquility. Thus, the only manner in which I can find peace within my soul is to die to myself, to embody the poetically hard and enter into union with God.