I knew the weekend
would be wonderful. It was intended for Quaker mystics. How I have hungered for
just such an event: one long on heart and short on intellectualism. I have been
disappointed in other promising venues in which the heart was frozen, missing
or unrecognized. I felt drowned out by extraverts and misinterpreted. Perhaps
just missed or skipped over by intellectuals.
This was also the first time I traveled and roomed with a
companion from my Meeting (church) and one whom I could trust and be lured into
playful rebellion. We made great land partners, though not surprisingly as we
have shared our spiritual journeys over many years. In addition to an impromptu
stop at a roadside landmark netting a tour of the private home and grounds, we
snuck a bottle of wine into the dorm one night and gathered with her
divinity-school friends for beer another: great balance to all of the deep
work.
As the collection of 44 people from coast to coast, mainly
from the middle and even Australia, gathered in worship, beginning with the
simple plea of “help me,” I understood this would be fertile, personal ground.
We splintered into home groups of five, where we would repeatedly meet to get
to know one another. That first evening, I was dumbfounded when one suggested it
was her goal to have fun. Then I embraced the idea. We moved our second meeting
outside and another soul, uncertain as to why she was here or even what constitutes a
mystic, burst open and we were able to tend her gently as Spirit’s love
streamed in powerfully.
 |
| The fabric heart Allison gave each of us to remember |
In prayer or worship, when I want to connect, I visualize
offering God my heart in the palms of my hands, unpeeling the layers like an
onion and handing her the core. As I laid my hand on the back of this woman, I
was further directed to offer my heart to her in the same way as I have Spirit.
I’ve never done that before. Yes, you have with me. Now just go ahead. It’ll work, trust me.
I could feel the energy of love moving through me and into
this person. The others joined and we were all connected: to each other and Spirit.
We reluctantly parted after much embracing for lunch.
A few minutes late, I stumbled into the group I had
organized – Art and spirituality: living an authentic creative life. It’s
something I’ve wanted to discuss forever and this was my chance with an
entirely new group of people than my home clan. We were a sculptor, poet,
needlework artist and writer/artist and we spoke of our creative process, its
spirituality and our passions. It was a lovely opportunity and somewhere I felt
another, wordless connection to like-spirited others.
I scuttled upstairs to my next session, one where I was
merely a participant in exploring our mystical experiences. Wow … this IS what
I am here for, I thought when I saw Jan jot down her subject.
Allison walked in and we kind of looked at each other. After
the morning’s worship she said she’d had something to tell me regarding my
vocal ministry of
I’ve been sitting here playing with the idea of God within and not out there – somewhere. How would life be if I could do that?
As we waited for the fifth to gather and saw he was a
no-show, we, too, moved outside to the center of the Earlham campus into a
cluster of Adirondack chairs under a tree. Jan began by saying she was being
given the image of a woman at a market choosing the juiciest fruit and her
interpretation is that we should select our juiciest mystical experience to
share.
Juicy they were:
• A prayer and desire to see the sacred feminine answered by
a giant floating Mother God head gently kissing each person;
• A waking dream of being born to a vacant mother, knocked
out in the birthing process, only to remember being held in God’s fingers.
• Swimming in the ocean, losing normal consciousness to be
held in the living water of God, being gently rocked and knowing unconditional
love.
• Surviving trauma, finding yourself on the floor recognizing
the tiny seed of God within, asking if this all and simultaneously knowing
the vastness of the minute seed.
We collectively acknowledged connecting these stories as a
divine gift we could never have humanly linked. Stories of birth, death and
re-birth, of woundedness, healing and love.
When Allision pointed to the center of her chest and
identified the seed of God, I knew this to be true in myself. I have been
trying for so long to know that of God within. I have witnessed it in others
and intellectualized it for myself, but not truly known it without Allison’s
help.
As we began a second round, the caution not use this telling
as entertainment gave me pause. I shared what had happened earlier that morning.
Diana, also in my home group, corroborated that she sensed the energy flowing
and added her hands to the collection. She affirmed what I had experienced,
giving me confidence in that seed within.
As we contemplated dinner, we opted to continue and ate
together, swept up by the magic of Spirit.
...
[Look for part II]
• H0w have I been called to mysticism?
• How do I experience Spirit?
• When do I have the opportunity to share those experiences?
• Where do I feel safe?
• When have I been swept up with others in Spirit's magic?
dreaming,
longing,
thirsting
not just for
Spirit, but
spiritual
accompaniment
others who
understand the
deep, bodily
connection,
the dreams
searching,
disappointment
and, finally,
an answer to
the hunger and prayer
unraveling the
Mystery
together
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